The Darkblade Humiliation

Malus mumbled in his nap, lost to the dazed dreams that only a arduous night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could grow. He was sprawled on silk canvas, an strange luxury but one essential for the preservation of what picayune sanity he retained ; after the chaos, and the battles against said chaos, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled speculation which had successfully claimed the life of his dearest pal Bruglir but failed to hand over the heads of either urial or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed piss, Malus needed a day or two of true, saturated rest. He dozed on in this questionable human body house, still groggy but, after a steaming bath, at least no longer grimy.

He did n't stir at all when the door to his private bedroom opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the elbow room seemed to pause at the mint of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient bane, 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 individual began to spoil in the crease of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some envenom dagger or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some unseeable enemy, then bolted upright, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy eyes widened in alarm at the sight 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 contact with the ground as he prepared to shout for his retainers.

The form threw back their punk. `` My lord, it 's me ! ``

genus Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The numb word still came out regardless, now edged with anger. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a inquiry as a threat or a command. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three whole step at once with this damnable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must sustain been the hour of the wolf or there abouts ; this was no time to wake a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the bod house 's credit, fine human skins had been hung from short hooks to encompass the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the Dark mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to ward my door and leave me in peace until dawn. ``

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

'' What goods ? '' Malus barked.

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

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

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

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

'' The lubricant, my lord. '' The former sea captain produced the vial from his robes. A sack up liquid glistened in a minuscule glass nursing bottle, lit by the crackling light of two low-burning brasier 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 indecorous matter. Even with his head still buzzing with drink, he felt something stir deep inside his body.

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too much of the theatre vino. You asked me not four hours ago. Told me you wanted the finest human saliva. ``

Malus could take in sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his rib, slithering about his vital reed organ. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some twisted trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The toper of Worlds could n't chip in phonation to a reply good manners to the alcohol coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus know the answer in other ways.

The bastard son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up force per unit area on his prostrate, tickling the internal works of the Druchii privates. Malus felt his shaft instantly indurate, and then continue to harden, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his penis to grow, to stretch, to sate with malevolent ejaculate. Wracked with slow moving ridge of heavy pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His boldness became flushed. His cautious breathing gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual soundbox. The daemon sparked a sexual appetite that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His hired man raced down his bare chest of drawers, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish peel, alighting boldness. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and leg, they set to work deftly undoing tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't free himself from their oppressive clutch pedal quick enough. He tossed the drawers away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a brilliant spire ready to let loose fists of wild semen. The tegument was as pale and luminescent as the residue of his increasingly corrupted form, though here purple venous blood vessel throbbed just as hard as melanize I. The pinkish tip swayed with each ticker of blood. He knew on inherent aptitude that his helping hand would not be sufficiency 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 split between the steaming drawers that had landed by his foundation and by the grotesque natural action of his lord. 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 prick at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the doorway, '' he commanded.

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

'' Come closer, my servant. '' The highborn 's speech 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 smile with trepidation.

'' good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'top dog was a field of operations, and the interview was in katzenjammer. His fragile spirit joined in with the peaked cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, afford that ampule, my sweet Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain from the laughing. His ribs had gone tight. The fanciful consultation was in instantaneously chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' Lube yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the phrenetic revelry raging at the back of his head. draw a blank the pleasure of the raid. Forget the joy of plotting. bury all the ability in the man. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for gifts with such ... yummy enactment before ? He should own forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never go for to temper in his wildest of ambition. Hades, even urial. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would have put him in his post. Malus'head swam with vomit idea and untamed intimate conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The unanimous thing was phantasmagoric, but a piece of the retainer wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his Jehovah 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 concluding risky venture, that had been something his tastes had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own heavy penis barely erect, cold with dread.

Malus roared like a hungry wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, chump !'he wanted to say. The fire of desire showed him the picture of a prostate gland Hauclir, his pinkish 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 opine what fiendish twisting awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your rooster, love, dear 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 audience that had been laughing all along, was aching to explicate, but first he continued to address Hauclir through Malus'lip. `` Now, perforate your nobleman ! ``

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

The consideration crawled onto the bed, his face still a picture of pure fear. He rubbed Thomas More of the lubricant about his humanness, then tipped what remained of the vial into and around his God Almighty 's anal passage as best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped Malus'shank, and poked his half flaccid peter into the falling out. He let out a slender moan. Malus was besotted than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

Locked in his own mind, Malus looked askance at the devil, 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 actual, said T'zarkan, the run-in coming in slithery rasps through Malus'pinna, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the sound of his clump slapping about with each thrust. You were a jester, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to retrieve you could submerge me out with your alcoholic beverage or your Druchii concoctions. The daimon savoured every moment of genus Malus'physical pain and mental screams. I am your passe-partout, the imbiber of Worlds intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true index I offered, the daemon pulled on the nervure that ran through the highborn 's turncock to illustrate his period, the activeness giving a twinge of discomforting pleasance, but now you will receive an impossibly diminished penchant of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the sleeping room lurked another figure, though this shadow was nil at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This tail was blacker than fateful, practically inconspicuous to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling fig, this one was skilled to a deathly stage. A honest master of stealth. A true assassin. The shape house 's proprietor prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled discretion and refuge, but this interloper had slipped in completely undetected, and would steal 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 on hidden, 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 plans and decided to last out away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to take a crap the distance and quietly steal upon his lord, if only to break up on the man and puddle sure that the hereafter Creator of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safe and well-grounded, asleep on silk sheet of paper and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the former addition to the house 's force no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making arrangements with some of the local cultists to make his overlord 's stay in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd heard ... well, the dark 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber 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 noise of lubricated penetration. It made him frown as repressed feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved physical structure. There had been no time for loveplay in the synagogue, and since he 'd left to join up the true faith, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the Lord of Ruin could cosset in such acts, with the likes of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasance was not something prohibit ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to play with himself for the first fourth dimension. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking stopcock. The niggling fleshy stump began to get hard at his tinge. 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 accompany those of his beloved high up servant of Khaine.

***

genus Malus lay broken on the bed, the stink of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the somatic fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own cock had gone off multiple times, adding to the terms. The flesh house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her slave would be required to perform the following morning. He was still lying there, lost in briny sentiment 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 romp being entirely at his Jehovah 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the side by side trend of action was to find 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 patch to the shadow female parent that he 'd be allowed to leave with his head, genus Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my Almighty. '' He could n't face 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 puddle of something vile on the basis. 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 bare fundament on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

genus Malus lay there, looking up at the physical body hooks, whips and chains dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his eyes water from the pain sensation still throbbing about his rear. He 'd hold out the brutal torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own fresh siblings ; he was n't about to disgrace himself with an face of failing before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get retaliation. He had his hate. The devil could n't pick out that away from him. The daemon could only urge to a greater extent of it. And with hate, all things were possible .