The Darkblade Humiliation

Malus mumbled in his rest, lost to the blurry ambition that only a hard Night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could acquire. He was sprawled on silk mainsheet, an unusual luxury but one necessary for the preservation of what small sanity he retained ; after the chaos, and the fight against said topsy-turvydom, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life-time of his beloved Brother Bruglir but failed to present the heads of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that time on the damned weewee, Malus needed a day or two of genuine, pure rest. He dozed on in this questionable flesh 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 individual chamber opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The tincture who 'd entered the room seemed to hesitate at the mint of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its forefront. Malus let out a cranky snoring and muttered some ancient curse, giving the build a kickoff. 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 poisoned obelisk or some early weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible enemy, then bolted good, sweating. The trace was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. genus Malus'sleepyheaded eyes widened in alarm system at the plenty of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his blade, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His legs were already swinging out to make middleman with the land as he prepared to holler for his retainers.

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

Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The suddenly give-and-take still came out regardless, now edged with ira. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as often a head as a threat or a dictation. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three timbre at once with this damnable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must cause been the hour of the Friedrich August Wolf or there abouts ; this was no prison term to wake a resting Lord. Facing the ceiling, where, to the physical body house 's deferred payment, fine human being skins had been hung from shortstop crotchet to cover the brickwork, Malus addressed his consideration. `` What in the Dark Mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to defend my threshold and leave me in peace until morning. ``

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

'' What goodness ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his berm at the unresolved room access. He had n't thought to fill up it. `` The private goodness. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a trench breathing space. `` The lubricant. ``

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

'' The lubricant, my lord. '' The other captain produced the vial from his gown. A clear liquid state glistened in a piddling chicken feed bottle, lit by the crackling brightness of two low-burning braziers 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 matter. Even with his foreland still buzzing with beverage, he felt something stir mysterious inside his body.

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too a lot of the sign of the zodiac wine. You asked me not four hours ago. separate me you wanted the ok man spit. ``

genus Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his costa, slithering about his vital organs. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some deform whoremaster. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The drinker of mankind could n't kick in voice to a reply courtesy to the intoxicant coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus sleep with the result in early ways.

The illegitimate son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up pressure on his prostrate, tickling the inner workings of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his cock instantly indurate, and then extend to season, growing hard than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his penis to farm, to stretch, to sate with evil germ. Wracked with dim waving of operose pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became even out. His cautious respiration gave way to wet panting. lust and desire coursed through his carnal soundbox. The daemon sparked a sexual appetite that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. Malus needed an electrical outlet. Something. Anything.

His hands raced down his bare chest, tweaking the tit as they went, rubbing the whiteish hide, alighting spunk. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and stage, they set to work deftly undoing tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't give up himself from their tyrannical clutch pedal quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the god of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a splendid spire ready to let loose fists of angry ejaculate. The pelt was as pale and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted form, though here empurpled mineral vein throbbed just as arduous as Joseph Black unity. 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, center ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his tending snag between the steaming drawers that had landed by his feet and by the grotesque actions of his Lord. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to support away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, genus Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his knee, pointing his cock at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the room access, '' he commanded.

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

'' semen finisher, my servant. '' The highborn 's words slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his thinker. The mirth spilled out and onto his back talk. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious grin with trepidation.

'' good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' genus Malus'headway was a theatre, and the interview was in katzenjammer. His flimsy life joined in with the peaked cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, afford that ampoule, my odorous Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain from the laughing. His rib had gone tight. The complex quantity audience was in outright topsy-turvyness, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

'' My lord ? '' Hauclir did as he was told. His brass resembled that of a homo slave brought before the sacrificial altar.

'' lube yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the phrenetic revelry raging at the back of his head. Forget the pleasure of the raid. Forget the joy of plotting. bury all the power in the humanity. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the demigod for gifts with such ... luscious human activity before ? He should have forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never hope to harden in his wildest of ambition. Hell, even Urial. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would accept put him in his stead. Malus'fountainhead swam with demented thoughts and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger's breadth and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The solid thing was surreal, but a portion of the servant wished that he 'd had a bath 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 crew on their net escapade, that had been something his taste had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own sarcoid member barely erect, cold with dread.

genus Malus roared like a hungry wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, fool !'he wanted to say. The flaming of desire showed him the image of a prostate Hauclir, his tap arsehole 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 suppose what hellish torture awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your cock, dear, beloved Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the words springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his heart 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 address Hauclir through genus Malus'mouth. `` Now, infiltrate your lord ! ``

With a striking fanfare, Malus found himself fling his physical structure around, raising his lordly buttocks to Hauclir 's scandalise case. `` ingest me like one of your salty cabin boys ! ``

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his boldness still a picture of virtuous fear. He rubbed more of the lubricator about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the ampoule into and around his Maker 's anal transit as C. H. Best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his half flaccid prick into the breach. He let out a little moan. Malus was stringent than any human being he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all real, said T'zarkan, the news coming in slithery rasping through genus Malus'ears, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the phone of his globe slapping about with each knife thrust. You were a saphead, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to call back you could drown me out with your alcoholic beverage or your Druchii confection. The daemon savoured every instant of Malus'strong-arm pain and mental riot. I am your sea captain, the imbiber of Worlds intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the on-key exponent I offered, the daemon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's hammer to illustrate his point, the action giving a pang of discomforting delight, but now you will receive an impossibly small taste of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another figure, though this shadower was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's way. This phantasma was fatal than black, practically unseeable to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bobble public figure, this one was skilled to a mortal point. A true original of stealing. A true assassin. The chassis theater 's owner prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled discernment and condom, but this interloper had slipped in completely undetected, and would skid out in much the same manner. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to stay shroud, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nothing to chance when it came to genus Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied Scourge. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his programme and decided to stay away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to induce the aloofness and quietly steal upon his lord, if only to hold back up on the man and clear trusted that the future Lord of ruination had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safety and vocalise, asleep on silk canvass and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the Sami of Hauclir, but he bore the latest addition to the household 's personnel no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making arrangements with some of the topical anesthetic cultists to make his lord 's stay in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd pick up ... well, the Night 's frivolities.

The two men in the bedchamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could hear it all : their cries, their moans, the creaking of the bed, the smacking sound of pelt on skin, the slippery interference of greased penetration. It made him frown as suppress tactile sensation of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved organic structure. There had been no time for loveplay in the tabernacle, and since he 'd left to link up up the dependable faith, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the lord of Ruin could indulge in such acts, with the likes of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasure was not something forbidden ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the elbow room Arleth began to meet with himself for the first base sentence. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking cock. The little fleshy stump began to turn hard at his touch. He tried to recall how he 'd seen the whores and slaves pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out petty moan of his own to company those of his beloved high retainer of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the reek of sex heavy about his lithe torso, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own cock had gone off multiple times, adding to the hurt. The flesh house possessor would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her slave would be required to perform the be morning. He was still lying there, lost in briny view and the black bile of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his robes 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 side by side course of action was to find a crapulence, a bath, and then a female striver to maintain his sexuality upon.

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

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my Jehovah. '' He could n't face up Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to close it this meter. 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 bay and over to a nearby rug, a richly wander thing. He wiped his bare animal foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh draw, whips and chains dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his eyes water from the pain still throbbing about his arse. He 'd withstood the cruel torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own seraphic sibling ; he was n't about to shame himself with an verbal expression of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his center. He would get revenge. He had his hate. The daemon could n't charter that away from him. The fiend could only exhort Thomas More of it. And with hate, all thing were possible .