To Take Away His Voice

 In The Blood 

After a night of intense sex between Samir, Brynnan, Nijal and Geraint, the Warlord and Brynnan stood alone at the terrace wall overlooking the mountain and the high waterfall.

“So, you have survived yet again,” Samir told the Bard, “I marvel at your resilience to my abuse.”

“It is a learned behaviour, my Lord. I’ve had much practice. You and I both know that, deep down, part of our bond is the conditioned response between captor and captive, although I had love for you for years before you took me as your prisoner.”

Samir smiled and shook his head, “Sometimes I wonder, Bard, if you live your life outside of yourself—analyzing, looking in, controlling your own behaviour and responses.”

“My Lord, you are perceptive. But it’s an integral part of how I was trained in order to be effective.”

“I want to see you broken down, to be your naked and unvarnished self when you are with me!” Samir spoke with sudden passion, and, on that same impulse, he pulled his lover/slave towards himself and kissed him deeply.

Brynnan felt a flood of heat in his groin as his body responded to this man who had mastered him. Whatever he meant to say suddenly unravelled and vanished into silence.

Later, Brynnan asked Samir, “My Lord, when I sucked off the Council members and Geraint, you said I gave you information. What did you mean?”

“First off, you must understand about Geraint. Of all of us, he has lived the longest while taking the highest risk. When you have fought like he has, you become aware that each day could be your last. Thus, he plunders life and takes all he can get. I do not begrudge him: he has been intensely loyal, and I would share almost anything with him—including you.

“But my colleagues in the Council of Seven, I have not yet given them news about the star Invaders. I wanted to get a fresh read on each of them beforehand.”

“By having me suck their cocks?”

“Precisely. First of all, I learned that I could sway them: I encouraged the Council into behaviours that were not normal to them. I did this by invoking pack behaviour mentality and fresh meat.”

“So I noticed, Lord.” Brynnan’s tone was dry.

“Next, I observed the Council individually. Two of them were uncomfortable with the initial situation, and they turned out to be the roughest and most inconsiderate. Cail is the one who fucked your mouth so aggressively. I expect self-interest and possibly an openness with the Invaders from him. He bears watching. The other, Aidan, is merely an opportunist; however, he has always done his duty. But I will watch him too. Raith, of course, was the most considerate and paused to let you catch your breath. Tangar was the most reluctant. He is the type to protest beforehand, indulge himself, and despise you after he has done the deed, and I think he is possibly capable of treachery. The other two are simply followers.”

Brynnan appreciated the Warlord’s cunning. Did he not do the same sort of observations himself? Although not quite in the way Samir had done.

“Your comments concerning Geraint are noted, Lord. I, too, have come to value him—for all his qualities; and he has been a good caretaker.”

“Yes, and he will continue to be your Keeper when needed,” agreed Samir, “Come. Let us catch some sleep before morning breaks.” He led Brynnan inside.

Lying in the great bed next to Samir, Brynnan felt a sexual stirring as he reviewed the night’s activities after the Council had left. The scene played out again in his mind . . .

When Silver-Hand escorted him back to the Warlord’s sleeping chamber after their bathing, Brynnan discovered it was not a night for tenderness. Samir and Geraint were waiting for them, and it was apparent to the Bard that some sweaty action had occurred between the two men.

“Get up here, all fours,” commanded Samir without preamble.

Brynnan obeyed, and Geraint positioned himself behind him, running his rough hands over the lean muscle of Brynnan’s thighs. He pushed a thumb in his ass before bending over to lick and rim him.

‘Nothing should surprise me anymore,’ he thought, but for some reason, this did. But it was intensely pleasurable.

Samir invited Nijal, “Come, Silver-Hand, shed your garments and join us. Brynnan will pleasure your cock with his tongue if it pleases you.”

“That would please me, I think,” Nijal replied as he took off his own clothes, “I have known our Bard for many winters, since he was an apprentice, and never have we been intimate. I would not take advantage of him without your permission.”

“You have been inside him before, from what I understand,” said Geraint as he straightened up.

“Surgery doesn’t count—” Nijal started to say.

“—Unless you have a really sick mind,” finished Geraint, slapping Brynnan’s ass, hard.

Nijal just smiled and shook his head as he tossed the last of his clothes onto a carved chair.

From his position on the bed, Brynnan could see all of Nijal’s body, and it was impressive: rock-solid muscles dusted with lightly curled golden hair. His skin tone was almost the same colour as his body hair in the light of the orbs. And his cock . . . it was nearly as big as Samir’s and already erect, the root nested in golden hairs. Standing before Brynnan, he looked like a young lion in his prime, except for his strange eyes, which bore an expression of far older wisdom and experience. Brynnan suddenly desired to taste that big, golden cock, and yearned for Nijal to touch him sexually.

Fortunately, Samir said, “Bard, you will suck Nijal right now. Make him welcome.”

As Brynnan rubbed his cheek against Silver-Hand’s cock, Samir took Geraint’s position, but instead of rimming him, he penetrated Brynnan’s ass with three fingers covered in lube. Then without ceremony, pushed his big cock in. Brynnan felt a stab of pain—fuck! His ass was tight, and the cock filled him totally. Samir did not pause this time but gripped his ass and started thrusting. Brynnan leaned into the pain, welcoming it.

The animal scent of Nijal’s cock was as intoxicating as Brynnan thought it would be, and he wished that Nijal had not showered with him. He craved that taste of unwashed lion. He surrendered to the sensation of Nijal’s fingers running through his hair as he sucked. He let Samir’s hard thrusts in his ass power the thrusts of his own mouth onto Nijal’s cock.

For a while, it was uncertain who would be first to cum, Samir or Nijal. But eventually, the Warlord’s hard action caught up to him, and he cried out as he ejaculated into Brynnan’s ass. Simultaneously, Nijal’s orgasm brought hot, salty-sweet cum into the Bard’s mouth. Taking cum at mouth and ass simultaneously was an overpowering experience for Brynnan, and he begged Samir to allow him to cum also. The Warlord’s response was to flip Brynnan onto his back.

“Shall we let our Bard cum, Silver-Hand?” Samir queried.

“He’s served us well this night. Let’s bring him to orgasm. We will give your hound a bone.”

The comment sounded humiliating on its face, but Nijal followed it with a deep, sensual kiss on Brynnan’s mouth. Then both the Warlord and Nijal moved over the Bard’s now-sweating body. Samir held the root of Brynnan’s cock in his hand, and Nijal lay down, half sprawled over his body, and sucked the cock deeply and slowly. Brynnan was in ecstasy, his entire body trembling, and he realized he had always wanted this. Being with two people he loved overwhelmed him after the starvation of his soul for the past year. When Samir began to stroke the cock, feeding the head to Nijal, that intense feeling of sexual surrender overtook him again.

Meanwhile, Nijal seized the Bard’s testicles in a firm but gentle grip with his left hand. Then Samir bent down and began to suck Brynnan’s cock, too, alternating with Nijal. Now and then, the two men would pause to kiss each other. Brynnan strained under their ministrations.

Meanwhile, Geraint lay on his side, watching the action and stroking himself lazily.

Samir gave his Bard permission to cum, and Brynnan moaned as he ejaculated. Nijal had stopped sucking so he and Samir could watch Brynnan’s orgasm as semen ejaculated over his lean stomach. Then Nijal moved up the bed, and the three of them kissed profoundly and with a hint of savagery, like animals feeding. Then they slowed down to more gentle kisses and finally rested together, with Brynnan’s head on Samir’s shoulder and Nijal on his left, idly tracing a finger around the Bard’s nipples. Geraint moved in on Samir’s other side.

Although Brynnan stroked himself as he relived the intense and erotic experiences, he found his eyes closing. The events transformed themselves directly into his dreams.

 *    *    *

Brynnan spent most of the next day in Nijal’s company. They visited the infirmary, where Nijal subjected the Bard to an unusual procedure.

With Brynnan lying on a bed, Nijal inserted a needle connected to tubing into the deep vein on the left side of the Bard’s chest, just above the heart. Slowly, blood was transferred into his system from a bag hanging nearby.

Brynnan submitted to it readily enough, but he was puzzled. “Whose blood are you giving me?” he asked the surgeon.

“Mine,” replied Nijal. “I have been collecting some over the last three days. I have more set by for when I operate on you tomorrow. My blood has special properties that change your response to infection, stress, and other things. It also contains a little something that will infect you of itself and will change you at the deepest levels of your cells.”

Brynnan was shocked, but he wanted to know what else it would affect.

Nijal gave an answer. “It will help you heal and give you a better chance that you will be able to reclaim your voice and touch. It will strengthen memory and give you a resistance to a variety of poisons—as a matter of fact, I gave you my blood a year ago when I repaired your abdominal wound. It helped you survive.”

Brynnan shuddered at the revelation. It meant that if the Warlord had poisoned his water with the mind-destroying drug, as he had once threatened to do, he might have been immune to it.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing it will do—”

“—And what is that? Will I be able to dodge arrows with superhuman speed or leap over tall buildings? Do tell.”

Nijal just smiled, “Sarcasm becomes you, my friend—it shows a fighting spirit. No, the other effect is that your sex drive will increase, and your orgasms will be more intense.”

“For the Mother-of-All’s sake, Nijal. Don’t let that get around—or you and your kind will be hunted out of existence so that desperate men can harvest your blood for their inadequacies. There are too many creatures already that are hunted for their horns, testicles and feet!” Brynnan replied, only half-joking.

“Relax, my friend. No one will know unless you tell them.”

*    *    *

That evening they gathered together in Samir’s chambers after the evening meal. Brynnan, sitting next to Samir, who had his arm around him, was silent and contemplative, while Nijal entertained them with stories of his travels.

The following day would see the Bard under Silver-Hand’s knife. For a time after that, he would only be able to communicate in limited ways—he couldn’t write or speak. Geraint would once again be his Keeper.

“I can tell him all my stories, and he won’t be able to stop me,” Geraint said, “and, by your leave, m’Lord, he has to thank me every day. And since he can’t suck my cock—”

“Do not overuse him!” warned Samir.

“But, Lord, Silver-Hand is operating on Brynnan’s throat and wrists, not his as—”

“Enough, Geraint!”

“Oh, all right,” the old Warrior grumbled, “You know I’ll care for him like my own heart.”

Samir squeezed the Warrior’s shoulder. “I do know, Geraint. But tonight, I will care for our Bard. Let tomorrow look to itself.”

*    *    *

It was finally tomorrow, and Brynnan lay naked on a bed in the infirmary, covered by a sheet. He was in a state of mind that waited, accepted, and anticipated . . . nothing. He allowed himself just to be, and his mind was empty of thought.

Nijal came beside him and briefly squeezed his hand. “In a minute, I will put you to sleep. When you wake, it will be over. I will be with you. You will lose some of your blood, but see, you are hooked up to my blood. It will flow in your veins, and now you know what that means.”

Brynnan looked into Nijal’s glittering eyes as a cool hand was laid on his neck, gently pressing. He tried to speak, but his spirit flew away from him, his mind falling into a dreamless sleep.

*    *    *