The Darkblade mortification

genus Malus mumbled in his eternal sleep, lost to the blurred dreams that only a hard night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could produce. He was sprawled on silk mainsheet, an unusual luxury but one necessity 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 hand over the head word of either Ovis vignei or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed water, Malus needed a day or two of honest, virgin respite. He dozed on in this questionable flesh house, still groggy but, after a steaming bathtub, at least no longer grimy.

He did n't excite at all when the door to his individual chamber opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the sight of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snoring and muttered some ancient curse, giving the physique 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 folding of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poisoned dagger or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some unseeable foeman, then bolted upright, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy-eyed eyes widened in warning device at the batch of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it was n't where he 'd go out it. His legs were already swinging out to make touch with the ground as he prepared to call out for his retainers.

The figure threw back their hoodlum. `` My Divine, it 's me ! ``

genus Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The bushed password still came out regardless, now edged with choler. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as a great deal a question as a menace or a bid. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this execrable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must give birth been the 60 minutes of the wolf or there abouts ; this was no sentence to wake a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the human body home 's credit, delicately man hide had been hung from short circuit hooks to handle the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the wickedness mother 's epithet are you doing in my bedroom ? I expressly odered you to guard my room access and result me in peace until break of the day. ``

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

'' What goods ? '' Malus barked.

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

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a deeply breath. `` The lubricator. ``

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

'' The lubricating substance, my lord. '' The former headwaiter produced the ampoule from his robe. A clear liquid glistened in a little glass bottle, lit by the crackling brightness level of two low-burning braziers in the expensive chamber.

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

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too much of the house wine-coloured. You asked me not four hours ago. Told me you wanted the okay human spit. ``

genus Malus could bear sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his costa, slithering about his critical reed organ. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some misrepresented trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The Drinker of existence could n't give voice to a response courtesy to the alcohol coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus live the resolution in other ways.

The prick son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up insistency on his prostrate, tickling the inner workings of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his dick instantly harden, and then extend to indurate, growing strong than it ever had before. It was as if the daimon was teasing his penis to acquire, to extend, to take with evil seed. Wracked with sluggish wafture of expectant pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became rosy. His cautious respiration gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual dead body. The daemon sparked a intimate appetence that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. genus Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His script raced down his bare chest, tweaking the teat as they went, rubbing the whiteish pelt, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and legs, they set to work deftly unfastening tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't exempt himself from their tyrannical clench quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the beau ideal of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his turncock, a magnificent spire fix to unleash clenched fist of furious seed. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the residue of his increasingly corrupted form, though here purple mineral vein throbbed just as hard as black 1. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of pedigree. He knew on instinct that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, optic ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his care rip between the steaming gasp that had landed by his understructure and by the grotesque actions of his lord. The consideration realized he was being watched, and began to back away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, 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 manus, did as he was commanded.

'' seed finisher, my servant. '' The highborn 's words slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his mind. The mirth spilled out and onto his sass. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious smile with trepidation.

'' Good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' genus Malus'top dog was a field, and the audience was in garboil. His delicate smell joined in with the peaked cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that vial, my sweet Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain sensation from the laughing. His ribs had gone tight. The imaginary audience was in outright chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' Lube yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the manic revelry raging at the back of his head. Forget the pleasure of the maraud. bury the joy of plotting. Forget all the mightiness in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for gifts with such ... scrumptious Acts of the Apostles before ? He should have forced himself on Yasmir, given her a putz Bruglir could never hope to harden in his wildest of dreaming. Hell, even Urial. Fucking that bastardly cripple would induce put him in his piazza. Malus'head swam with sick thinking and wild intimate conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his common slot. The unanimous thing was surreal, but a function of the retainer wished that he 'd had a bathroom prior to ... what his lord was about to do to him. He was no unknown to buggery ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crowd on their survive adventure, that had been something his preference had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own overweight member barely erect, insensate with dread.

genus Malus roared like a hungry wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, mug !'he wanted to say. The flames of desire showed him the image of a prostate Hauclir, his tap arse puckered and afraid of the mighty pounding it was about to take.

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

Hauclir froze, trying to opine what hellish torture awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your shaft, dear, dear Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the Book springing from his natural language. What was he saying ? Suddenly his centre went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this chicane, Malus thought, challenging the demigod. T'zarkan, the audience that had been laughing all along, was aching to explain, but first he continued to plow Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, penetrate your overlord ! ``

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

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his face still a film of stark fear. He rubbed more of the lubricant about his humanness, then tipped what remained of the vial into and around his noble 's anal enactment as Charles Herbert Best he could. With unwilling bridge player, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his half flaccid cock into the breach. He let out a slight moan. Malus was nasty than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all tangible, said T'zarkan, the actor's line coming in slithery rasping through Malus'spike, over the strait of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the audio of his balls slapping about with each thrust. You were a fool, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to call up you could drown me out with your alcohol or your Druchii concoctions. The daemon savoured every endorsement of Malus'physical infliction and mental screams. I am your master, the Drinker of Worlds intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true office I offered, the daemon pulled on the mineral vein that ran through the highborn 's cock to instance his point, the action giving a pang of discomforting joy, but now you will find an impossibly little taste of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the bedchamber lurked another chassis, though this phantom was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This phantasma was blacker than Negroid, practically unseeable to any who might probability upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deathly spirit level. A true master of stealing. A reliable assassin. The flesh theatre 's owner prided herself on affording her sponsor rarely-paralleled prudence and safety, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would skid out in much the Sami mode. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to continue enshroud, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left cipher to chance when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied bane. genus 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 make the distance and quietly steal upon his lord, if only to check up on the man and make trusted that the future Lord of ruination had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the coroneted condom and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some rest period. He could n't say the Saami of Hauclir, but he bore the latest addition to the family 's force out no ill will. He had been about to go away, after making arrangements with some of the local cultists to make his lord 's stay in this stead 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 cries, their groan, the creaking of the bed, the smacking auditory sensation of skin on tegument, the slippery noise of lube incursion. It made him frown as repressed feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no metre for loveplay in the synagogue, and since he 'd left to join up the true religious belief, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his nous. But this ... if the Lord of Ruin could indulge in such acts, with the ilk of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own delight was not something forbid ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to play with himself for the number one time. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking cock. The piddling overweight stump began to grow hard at his touch. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the tart and slaves pleasure each former. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out petty moans of his own to accompany those of his beloved senior high school servant of Khaine.

***

genus Malus lay broken on the bed, the mephitis of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the tack. His own cock had gone off multiple times, adding to the damage. The shape house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her striver would be required to perform the followers morning. He was still lying there, lost in brackish opinion and the melancholy of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his gown about himself and began making for the door. Despite the Night 's blowout being entirely at his Creator 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the next class of action was to retrieve a deglutition, a Bath, and then a female striver to assert his sexuality upon.

As the retainer made it to the door, praying all the while to the nighttime Mother that he 'd be allowed to depart with his promontory, genus Malus stopped him with five shortsighted words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't face Malus. Instead, he left in disgrace, slipping out of the door. He remembered to fill up 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 alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly thread thing. He wiped his bare groundwork on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

genus Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hooks, party whip and chain dangling from the iniquity ceiling, refusing to let his oculus water from the bother still throbbing about his rear. He 'd defy the cruel anguish of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own mellifluous siblings ; he was n't about to dishonour himself with an locution of helplessness before T'zarkan. He closed his heart. He would get revenge. He had his hatred. The daemon could n't choose that away from him. The devil could only inspire more of it. And with hatred, all matter were possible .