The Darkblade Humiliation

genus Malus mumbled in his sleep, lost to the foggy dreams that only a voiceless dark of Clar Karond 's cheapest could get. He was sprawled on silk piece of paper, an strange luxuriousness but one necessary for the conservation of what little saneness 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 sentence of his honey blood brother Bruglir but failed to birth the heads of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed water, Malus needed a day or two of true up, pure rest. He dozed on in this refutable bod theater, still groggy but, after a steaming bath, at least no foresightful grimy.

He did n't call down at all when the door to his private chamber opened and a hooded shape slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the room seemed to intermit at the sight of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient curse, giving the name 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 fold of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poisoned dagger or some other weapon system of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some inconspicuous enemy, then bolted unsloped, sweating. The darkness was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy eyes widened in alarm at the raft 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 link with the ground as he prepared to scream for his retainers.

The form threw back their cowling. `` My Creator, it 's me ! ``

genus Malus narrowed his center, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The dead Logos still came out regardless, now edged with anger. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a enquiry as a threat or a mastery. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable 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 wolf or there abouts ; this was no time to wake a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the flesh sign 's credit entry, fine homo skin had been hung from short sweetener to encompass the brickwork, genus Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the wickedness mother 's epithet are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my doorway and allow for me in peace until dawn. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if unsure what to say. After a consequence he cleared his throat. `` I brought the ... goodness you asked of me, my overlord. ``

'' What goods ? '' Malus barked.

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

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a mystifying intimation. `` The lubricator. ``

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

'' The lubricator, my lord. '' The quondam captain produced the ampule from his robes. A acquit liquidity glistened in a little glass bottle, lit by the crackling igniter of two low-burning braziers in the expensive chamber.

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

'' Perhaps my Jehovah has drunk too much of the house wine. You asked me not four hours ago. severalize me you wanted the ok homo spit. ``

Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his ribs, slithering about his vital harmonium. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some wrestle conjuration. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The Drinker of humanity could n't hold spokesperson to a reply courtesy to the intoxicant coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus know the answer in early ways.

The bastard son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasance as T'zarkan slowly built up insistency on his prostrate, tickling the intimate works of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his cock instantly harden, and then continue to temper, growing solid than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his phallus to spring up, to elongate, to take with evil seed. Wracked with slow moving ridge of heavy pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became flushed. His cautious breathing gave way to wet panting. lecherousness and desire coursed through his sensual body. The demon sparked a intimate appetence that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His hands raced down his bare chest, tweaking the pap as they went, rubbing the whiteish cutis, alighting nervousness. When they came upon the leather covering his breakwater and legs, they set to work deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't discharge himself from their oppressive clutch quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the matinee idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a magnificent steeple cook to let loose clenched fist of raging ejaculate. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the relief of his increasingly corrupted form, though here royal veins throbbed just as knockout as blacken 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, centre ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his attention rip between the steaming pants that had landed by his feet and by the monstrous actions of his lord. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to back away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his genu, pointing his cock 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. genus Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his idea. The glee spilled out and onto his lips. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious grinning with trepidation.

'' good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'head was a theatre, and the consultation was in tumult. His fragile intent joined in with the ailing cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that vial, my angelic Hauclir. '' genus Malus was in nuisance from the laughing. His costa had gone tight. The imaginary audience was in straight-out topsy-turvyness, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' lubricating substance yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revelry raging at the rachis of his forefront. Forget the pleasure 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 daimon for gifts with such ... Delicious acts before ? He should have got forced himself on Yasmir, given her a putz Bruglir could never desire to inure in his wildest of dreams. Hell, even urial. Fucking that spurious cripple would have put him in his topographic point. genus Malus'head word swam with cat thoughts and untamed intimate conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his common slot. The whole matter was dreamlike, but a part of the retainer wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his God Almighty was about to do to him. He was no stranger to anal sex ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crew on their finally adventure, that had been something his tastes had been opened to. But with genus Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own heavy penis barely erect, cold with dread.

Malus roared like a hungry Wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, fool !'he wanted to say. The flaming of desire showed him the range of a function of a prostate gland Hauclir, his garden 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 reckon what infernal torture awaited if this was n't what his master wanted.

'' Lubricate your cock, love, beloved Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the tidings 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 chicane, genus Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the audience that had been laughing all along, was aching to excuse, but first he continued to plow Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, penetrate your master ! ``

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

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his side still a depiction of pure reverence. He rubbed more of the lubricant 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 handwriting, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his one-half flaccid tool into the breach. He let out a cold-shoulder moan. Malus was smashed than any man he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all genuine, said T'zarkan, the give-and-take coming in slithery rasp through Malus'ears, over the auditory sensation of Hauclir 's noisy respiration and the phone of his balls slapping about with each thrust. You were a fool, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could swim me out with your alcohol or your Druchii concoctions. The daimon savoured every second of Malus'physical infliction and mental screams. I am your master, the Drinker of worldly concern intoned, and you will not bury that. You felt the reliable world power I offered, the daemon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to illustrate his stage, the action giving a twinge of discomforting joy, but now you will receive an impossibly pocket-sized taste of the penalty that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another figure, though this shadow was goose egg at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was blacker than black, practically inconspicuous to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a heavy-handed anatomy, this one was skilled to a deathly layer. A true master of stealth. A true assassin. The flesh house 's proprietor prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled discretion and safety, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would slip out in much the like manner. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to persist hidden, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nothing to opportunity when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied Scourge. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his plans and decided to stay away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to realize the distance and quietly steal upon his Jehovah, if only to check up on the man and make sure as shooting that the hereafter lord of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn good and intelligent, asleep on silk rag and enjoying some sleep. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the previous addition to the family 's force no ill will. He had been about to will, after making arrangements with some of the topical anesthetic cultists to urinate his lord 's stop in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd heard ... well, the Nox '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 speech sound of hide on skin, the slippery noise of lubricated insight. It made him frown as stifle feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved eubstance. There had been no prison term for loveplay in the Temple, and since he 'd left to join up the true faith, only fight and the joy of killing had been on his psyche. 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 taboo ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to play with himself for the foremost time. He reached down into his flowing robe and tugged at his waking cock. The little fleshy pulpit began to uprise hard at his touch. He tried to commemorate how he 'd seen the prostitute and slave pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out piffling moan of his own to attach to those of his dearest high servant of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the fetor of sex heavy about his lithe dead body, and the corporeal fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the piece of paper. His own cock had gone off multiple times, adding to the damage. The flesh house proprietor would be expecting a generous fee for the cleansing that her slaves would be required to perform the followers morning time. 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 night 's walkaway being entirely at his lord 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been political party to, and had decided that the following form of action was to find a potable, a Bath, and then a female slave to assert his sex upon.

As the retainer made it to the room access, praying all the while to the Dark mother that he 'd be allowed to depart with his head, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

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

Malus lay there, looking up at the build maulers, whip and Ernst Boris Chain dangling from the night cap, refusing to let his centre piss from the pain still throbbing about his back. He 'd stand firm the cruel torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet sibling ; he was n't about to shame himself with an face of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his optic. He would get revenge. He had his hatred. The devil could n't take that away from him. The fiend could only inspire more of it. And with hate, all things were potential .