The Darkblade chagrin

Malus mumbled in his quietus, lost to the foggy dream that only a operose night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could produce. He was sprawled on silk sheets, an strange luxuriousness but one necessity for the conservation of what trivial sanity he retained ; after the bedlam, and the battle against said chaos, of the sea-borne pleasure trip against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life of his dearest brother Bruglir but failed to deliver the heads of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed water, genus Malus needed a day or two of on-key, complete repose. He dozed on in this confutative figure firm, still groggy but, after a steaming bath, at least no foresighted grimy.

He did n't bring up at all when the threshold to his common soldier chamber opened and a hooded bod slipped inside. The phantasma who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the mass of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its oral sex. Malus let out a cranky stertor and muttered some ancient expletive, giving the figure a start. The could-be assassin 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 poison dagger or some early weapon system of murder.

genus Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible opposition, then bolted upright piano, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy middle widened in alarm at the sight of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it was n't where he 'd pull up stakes it. His wooden leg were already swinging out to make touch 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 middle, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The dead word still came out regardless, now edged with angriness. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a question as a terror or a instruction. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tonicity at once with this execrable mercenary.

'' Aye, my God Almighty. '' 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 clock time to waken a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the flesh theater 's deferred payment, fine human pelt had been hung from inadequate hooks to cover the brickwork, Malus addressed his consideration. `` What in the night mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my door and leave me in peace until aurora. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if diffident what to say. After a minute he cleared his throat. `` I brought the ... good you asked of me, my lord. ``

'' What goods ? '' Malus barked.

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

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a deep breathing time. `` The lubricant. ``

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

'' The lubricant, my overlord. '' The sometime skipper produced the ampul from his robe. A clear liquid glistened in a little glassful bottle, lit by the crackling spark of two low-burning brazier in the expensive chamber.

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

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too much of the theatre wine-coloured. You asked me not four hours ago. Told me you wanted the o.k. human being tongue. ``

Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his ribs, slithering about his vital electronic organ. His heatbeat quickened. Was the fiend playing some curve trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The Drinker of earth could n't generate voice to a reply courtesy to the alcoholic drink coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus know the reply in early ways.

The love child son of Lurhan let out a gasp of joy as T'zarkan slowly built up pressure on his prostrate, tickling the inside workings of the Druchii genital organ. Malus felt his hammer instantly harden, and then keep to inure, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his penis to grow, to stretch, to fill with evil seed. Wracked with tardily Wave of grievous pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became purge. His cautious respiration gave way to wet panting. lecherousness and desire coursed through his animal body. The daemon sparked a sexual appetency that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to dishonour. Malus needed an wall plug. Something. Anything.

His hand raced down his bare chest, tweaking the mamilla as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting cheek. When they came upon the leather covering his inguen and legs, they set to exploit deftly undoing tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't free himself from their tyrannical clutch quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a glorious spire ready to unleash fist of tempestuous semen. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted class, though here royal venous blood vessel throbbed just as severe as black ones. 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, eyes ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his attention rent between the steaming pants that had landed by his feet and by the fantastic natural process of his noble. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to endorse away slowly, afraid.

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

Hauclir, with trembling mitt, 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 glee 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 theatre, and the interview was in uproar. His fragile spirit joined in with the ailing cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that vial, my perfumed Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain from the laughing. His costa had gone tight. The complex number consultation was in unlimited Chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' lubricant yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the manic revel raging at the back of his promontory. blank out the pleasure of the raid. Forget the joy of plotting. bury all the power in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the demon for talent with such ... delicious enactment before ? He should have forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never desire to indurate in his wildest of dreams. Inferno, even Urial. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would suffer put him in his place. Malus'promontory swam with sick sentiment and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed expansion slot. The whole thing was phantasmagoric, but a theatrical role of the retainer wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his nobleman was about to do to him. He was no stranger to anal intercourse ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crew on their last risky venture, that had been something his penchant had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own overweight penis barely raise, 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 image of a prostate gland Hauclir, his pinkish 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 imagine what hellish torture awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your peter, dear, dear Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the run-in 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 demigod. T'zarkan, the consultation that had been laughing all along, was aching to explain, but first he continued to address Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, penetrate your lord ! ``

With a striking brandish, Malus found himself fling his soundbox around, raising his lordly buttocks to Hauclir 's shocked typeface. `` Take me like one of your salty cabin boys ! ``

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his face still a picture of consummate fear. 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 passage as best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped Malus'shank, and poked his half flaccid cock into the breach. He let out a slight moan. Malus was sloshed than any homo he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all real, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery wood file through genus Malus'ears, over the phone of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the strait of his Ball slapping about with each knife thrust. You were a fool, genus Malus, T'zarkan continued, to retrieve you could drown me out with your alcohol or your Druchii concoctions. The demon savoured every second of Malus'forcible pain in the neck and mental screams. I am your master, the Drinker of worldly concern intoned, and you will not leave that. You felt the true great power I offered, the daemon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to illustrate his point, the activity giving a twinge of discomforting joy, but now you will find an impossibly small taste of the penalisation that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the bedroom lurked another figure, though this phantasm was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadower was blacker than fatal, practically unseeable to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deathly storey. A avowedly professional of stealth. A admittedly assassin. The flesh house 's owner prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled circumspection and safety, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would slip out in much the same manner. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to remain hide, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nil to fortune when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied Scourge. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his program and decided to stay away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to make the distance and quietly steal upon his Maker, if only to tally up on the man and make sure that the future tense Lord of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safe and effectual, asleep on silk shroud and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the Lapp of Hauclir, but he bore the later addition to the household 's force no ill will. He had been about to leave behind, after making arrangements with some of the local cultists to make his lord 's stay in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd heard ... well, the night 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could hear it all : their call, their moans, the creak of the bed, the smacking sound of hide on tegument, the slippery disturbance of lubricated penetration. It made him frown as pent-up spirit of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved dead body. There had been no clock time for loveplay in the tabernacle, and since he 'd left to join up the truthful faith, only scrap and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the lord of ruination could indulge in such human action, with the the like of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own delight was not something forbidden ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to play with himself for the first time. He reached down into his flowing gown and tugged at his waking cock. The piddling heavy dais began to grow hard at his touch. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the whores and striver pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out little moans of his own to follow those of his dear high retainer of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the stench of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the corporal fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own shaft had gone off multiple times, adding to the hurt. The figure house possessor would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her striver would be required to do the following forenoon. 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 robes about himself and began making for the door. Despite the dark 's hoyden being entirely at his lord 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been company to, and had decided that the side by side course of action was to notice a drinkable, a bathing tub, and then a female slave to aver his sexuality upon.

As the consideration made it to the door, praying all the piece to the Dark female parent that he 'd be allowed to result with his heading, Malus stopped him with five inadequate words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my noble. '' He could n't present genus Malus. Instead, he left in disgrace, slipping out of the doorway. He remembered to fill up it this time. 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 thread affair. He wiped his publicize foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hook, whips and mountain chain dangling from the dark roof, refusing to let his middle piddle from the pain still throbbing about his keister. He 'd withstood the cruel torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own confection siblings ; he was n't about to disgrace 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 take that away from him. The demigod could only inspire more of it. And with hate, all matter were possible .