The Darkblade chagrin

Malus mumbled in his eternal rest, lost to the foggy dreams that only a hard night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could bring on. He was sprawled on silk rag, an unusual luxury but one necessary for the saving of what little saneness he retained ; after the pandemonium, and the battles against said pandemonium, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled speculation 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 clip on the cursed water supply, Malus needed a day or two of true, pure rest. He dozed on in this confutative frame house, still logy but, after a steam bathing tub, at least no thirster grimy.

He did n't stir at all when the door to his private chamber opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the elbow room seemed to pause at the peck of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky stertor and muttered some ancient whammy, giving the figure a kickoff. The could-be assassinator strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded individual began to fumble in the crimp of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poison obelisk or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible 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 good deal of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his steel, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His legs were already swinging out to wee contact with the ground as he prepared to scream for his retainers.

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

Malus narrowed his eyes, 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 threat or a dictation. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must give birth been the minute of the masher or there abouts ; this was no fourth dimension to stir up a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the flesh sign 's credit, fine human pelt had been hung from short-circuit hooks to cover the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the iniquity Mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my door and go out me in peace until dawn. ``

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

'' What good ? '' Malus barked.

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

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

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

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

'' The lubricant, my lord. '' The former maitre d' produced the ampoule from his robes. A clear liquid glistened in a trivial glass bottleful, lit by the crackling brightness 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 affair. Even with his psyche still buzzing with potable, he felt something stir rich inside his body.

'' Perhaps my noble has drunk too very much of the house wine. You asked me not four hours ago. order me you wanted the finest human being saliva. ``

genus Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his costa, slithering about his vital reed organ. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some flex whoremaster. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The drinker of macrocosm could n't give phonation to a response courtesy to the alcoholic drink coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus know the reply in other ways.

The asshole son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up pressure on his prostrate, tickling the inner working of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his cock instantly harden, and then remain to harden, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the daimon was teasing his penis to grow, to load, to sate with evil germ. Wracked with dim waves of impenetrable pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His font became scour. His cautious breathing gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual body. The daemon sparked a intimate appetite that would receive put a Slaaneshi priestess to dishonor. Malus needed an electric receptacle. Something. Anything.

His deal raced down his bare chest, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his inguen and legs, they set to work deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't loose himself from their tyrannous clutch quick enough. He tossed the trouser away. There before him, towering up, much like the graven image of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his shaft, a magnificent spire ready to loose fist of angry come. The skin was as picket and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted form, though here purple veins throbbed just as tough as Black ones. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of stock. He knew on instinct that his helping hand would not be adequate tonight.

It was now that he looked up, centre ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his care split between the steaming gasp that had landed by his feet and by the grotesque action mechanism of his God Almighty. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to stake away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, genus Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his genu, pointing his prick at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the door, '' he commanded.

Hauclir, with trembling work force, did as he was commanded.

'' seminal fluid finisher, my servant. '' The highborn 's lyric 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 grinning with trepidation.

'' goodness. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'head was a theatre, and the hearing was in brouhaha. His thin spirit joined in with the sickly cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, unfold that phial, my sweetness Hauclir. '' genus 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 lord ? '' Hauclir did as he was told. His face resembled that of a human slave brought before the sacrificial altar.

'' lubricant yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revelry raging at the rachis of his head. blank out the pleasure of the raid. forget the joy of plotting. draw a blank all the power in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for gifts with such ... delicious number before ? He should give forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never hope to harden in his wildest of dreaming. hellhole, even urial. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would have put him in his plaza. Malus'head swam with sick thoughts 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 surreal, but a part of the servant wished that he 'd had a bathtub prior to ... what his Godhead 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 last adventure, that had been something his gustatory sensation had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own fleshy penis barely erect, cold with dread.

genus Malus roared like a athirst Friedrich August Wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, fool !'he wanted to say. The fire of desire showed him the image of a prostate Hauclir, his pink bunghole puckered and afraid of the mighty pounding it was about to take.

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

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

'' Lubricate your peter, honey, dear Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the Holy Writ 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 slickness, Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the audience that had been laughing all along, was aching to excuse, but first he continued to address Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, penetrate your Godhead ! ``

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

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his human face still a picture of pure awe. He rubbed to a greater extent of the lube about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the ampoule into and around his lord 's anal passage as Charles Herbert Best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped genus Malus'waist, and poked his one-half flaccid cock into the breach. He let out a slight groan. Malus was tighter than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

Locked in his own mind, Malus looked askance at the daemon, 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 real number, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery rasp through Malus'ears, over the auditory sensation of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the sound of his balls slapping about with each thrusting. You were a fool, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to intend you could drown me out with your alcohol or your Druchii mixture. The daemon savoured every second base of Malus'physical pain and mental screams. I am your master, the imbiber of humankind intoned, and you will not draw a blank that. You felt the honest power I offered, the daemon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to exemplify his point, the activeness giving a pang of discomforting pleasure, but now you will receive an impossibly low taste perception of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another figure, though this vestige was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was blacker than sinister, practically invisible to any who might fortune upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deadly stage. A true master of stealth. A true bravo. The flesh planetary house 's owner prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled discernment and base hit, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would skid out in much the Lapp fashion. In fact, this soul had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to remain obliterate, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nada to chance when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied flagellum. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his plans and decided to detain away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to build the distance and quietly steal upon his lord, if only to check up on the man and make sure that the future master of ruining had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safe and fathom, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some relief. He could n't say the Lapplander of Hauclir, but he bore the latest addition to the home 's personnel no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making arrangements with some of the local cultists to make his Almighty 's stay in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd take heed ... well, the dark 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could hear it all : their cries, their moan, the creaking of the bed, the smacking sound of cutis on skin, the slippery dissonance of lubricated penetration. 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 tabernacle, and since he 'd left to join up the true up faith, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the Lord of laying waste could indulge in such human action, with the likes of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own joy was not something foreclose ...

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 robes and tugged at his waking prick. The short fleshy stump began to raise hard at his spot. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the fancy woman and striver pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out footling moans of his own to accompany those of his beloved high handmaid of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the malodour of sex heavy about his lithe physical structure, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own dick had gone off multiple times, adding to the wrong. The flesh house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleansing that her slaves would be required to perform the following morning. He was still lying there, lost in brackish intellection 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 company to, and had decided that the future course of activity was to recover a deglutition, a bath, and then a female slave to assert his sexuality upon.

As the retainer made it to the door, praying all the while to the Dark Mother that he 'd be allowed to get out with his head, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't face Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to conclude it this sentence. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the terra firma. 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 invertebrate foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh claw, whip and chains dangling from the dark roof, refusing to let his eyes water from the annoyance still throbbing about his rear. He 'd withstood the roughshod torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own Henry Sweet siblings ; he was n't about to dishonor himself with an construction of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get revenge. He had his hate. The daemon could n't hold that away from him. The daimon could only cheer Sir Thomas More of it. And with hate, all thing were potential .