To Take Away His Voice

Rite of Passage

The torture frame took up half the space of the tower chamber. Four thick corner posts, connected by several cross beams, reached the ceiling. It was high enough to totally suspend a tall man. Hooks, blocks and pulleys enhanced the frame’s functionality.

The old Warrior, Geraint, the Bard’s current keeper, pounded in the last few tacks that attached a leather covering to a broader, padded beam, set at crotch height, spanning the short side of the frame.

“That’s it. I’m done.” He set down the mallet and wiped his hands on a towel. “I could use a break.”

He strolled over to where Brynnan sat on his sleeping pallet, wrapped in a dark blue woollen cloak. The Bard’s wounds from the terrible bullwhipping five days past that he had received at Warlord Samir’s hands were healing enough so he could sit without severe pain. He had watched Geraint work.

Geraint picked up a tankard of ale from the table and drank deeply. Then he reached out a hand to stroke Brynnan’s dark hair.

“You know what I want, lad.”

“I do. It’s time for me to suck you off.”

“Well, then . . .”

Brynnan was learning obedience as taught by a bullwhip. He rose to his knees without further hesitation and opened Geraint’s leather breeches with his teeth: his hands were barely functional. The old Warrior’s thick, mushroom-headed cock presented itself at port arms. It did not take Brynnan long to get it truly hard.

He did not hurry in his daily duty. As he sucked the cock deep down his throat, he took his time and edged the old Warrior, bringing him close to orgasm three times.

“Enough of your games, Master Bard. It’s been fun, but there are other things to see to, so finish your work.”

Brynnan did indeed finish his work. Sucking deep and hard, then working the head with his tongue and lips brought Geraint to a shuddering orgasm while the old Warrior switched his grip to pull Brynnan’s mouth onto his cock, both hands tightly wound in the Bard’s hair. Geraint shouted his pleasure aloud as hot cum hit the back of Brynnan’s throat. Then he stood still for a time stroking the Bard’s head. Brynnan was ashamed to realize he was leaning into the man’s touch like a dog being petted.

He pushed the emotion aside, telling himself, ‘This sexual slavery is my new reality now. I will accept it. False shame is equivalent to false pride.’

Consequently, he bent down and kissed the old Warrior’s boot and thanked him as he had been ordered to do by the Warlord.

Geraint responded with a chuckle, “You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me, lad, when it’s just us two here. Just say ‘thanks!’”

Brynnan found himself almost smiling.

In the early afternoon, Geraint took Brynnan down to the bathing room. He hung up the blue cloak and unlocked the cock cage. He then stripped off his own clothes.

Brynnan was becoming accustomed to seeing his attendant’s naked body as Geraint bathed him daily. He was a muscular and solid bear of a man, sporting thick, grey curled hair that covered his chest, shoulders and back. Like the Warlord Samir, he had numerous scars, all of them from weapons as far as Brynnan could judge. None were whip scars.

Geraint led the Bard over to a tiled area with an open drain. A hose was attached to a tap in the wall.

“We will be some time doing a deep clean-out today, Master Bard, but, as they say in the camps, ‘Cleanliness is a soldier’s friend.’ Now, bend forward for me.”

Brynnan complied with a sense of resignation. Geraint made water flow through the hose in a modest stream.

On a ledge beside him were several bottles. He chose one and poured a thick, clear lubricating fluid into his hand, and with a sure and practiced touch, applied the lotion to the metal tip at the end of the hose. He carefully pushed it into Brynnan’s ass.

The water produced the expected action. Brynnan winced at the cramping in his gut, but, eventually, after several long sessions, the water ran clear.

Exhausted, Brynnan rested on the bench while Geraint sluiced down and disinfected the tile floor.

“This is nothing compared to a battlefield after the fighting: blood, shit, guts, body parts, the screams of the wounded and the moans of the dying . . .” he looked grim for a few moments, “But you know, you’ve been there.”

“Indeed,” Brynnan laughed shortly and without humour, “I was Bard to the dying.”

“Ah, but your music gave them something to listen to as they died, besides screams of wounded men and the harsh cries of ravens. I was told the ravens gather around you when you play. Me mates say it keeps them buggers from the eyes of the dead and dying. And they called you the ‘Servant of Ravens’.”

Brynnan wanted to stop this dark talk; the memories for him were all too clear. He had accompanied the Warlord on his military engagements in the seven years he had been with him. They had been companions in a common fight to keep the city-state free.

Geraint, too, seemed to want the change of subject. “Anyway, it’s in the past, and a good soldier doesn’t dwell on it. Come now, we’ll have a wash and a shave, then I’ll take you back. The lads will have finished fitting out the frame by now.”

They stood under the warm waterfall pouring off the ledge, and Geraint soaped and scrubbed Brynnan’s body and hair before he washed himself.

Geraint dressed then laid a towel on the bench. “Sit back there, and I’ll give you a shave.”

He brought out a bowl of hot water, a straight razor and a leather strop. Then he brought the razor to Brynnan’s throat.

“I’m good with blades,” he chuckled at his own joke, “So relax and let me get on with it.”

He shaved Brynnan’s neck and parts of his face and trimmed the developing silky black beard. His touch was gentle over the fading bruises that the Bard suffered when he was beaten by the guards.

“Good, top bit’s done. Now lie back and spread your legs—go on, I’m not going to cut your manhood if that’s what worries you. M’Lord Samir has his uses for you yet.”

Brynnan did as he was told. He felt very vulnerable as Geraint sharpened the razor on the strop and proceeded to shave the hair around his cock and balls. At the same time, he found himself trusting the old Warrior, whose competence was apparent.

Geraint used a balsam oil to massage around the base of the cock and on the testicles. Brynnan’s balls retreated into hiding at the approach of the razor but came hesitantly down as the blade was stroked almost sensually over his sac.

The Bard’s cock, uncaged, stirred and started to become engorged with blood. When Geraint finished shaving the area, he took some more oil and slowly and deliberately rubbed it on the now hard penis. His hand slid gradually up and down the shaft, gentle revenge for Brynnan’s teasing of the morning. Brynnan moaned.

His cock had been restrained for a week and unable to become erect. At the same time, sucking Geraint’s large and thick member every day, as ordered by Samir, had aroused him intensely. It was torture of a different kind.

Unfortunately, Geraint stopped his play. Brynnan felt like begging the man to continue.

“Turn over, lad, and spread those ass cheeks as best you can. I know your hands don’t work properly but do what you can do.”

Reluctantly Brynnan complied. Geraint again used the balsam oil and massaged it into his skin. Then Geraint skilfully shaved the back of Brynnan’s testicles, the sensitive perineal region and the area around his anus.

Brynnan shivered at the sheer sensuality of Geraint’s touch with the razor and the oil. Underneath him, his cock came to full hardness, but he could do nothing to respond to the feelings while the razor was stroking the back of his ball sack. He kept very, very still.

Geraint wrapped the cloak around the Bard’s body when they were finished while Brynnan stood. His legs felt weak and shaky, and he shivered. His hair hung in wet ring-curls and dripped on his shoulders.

“I’ll leave the cage off until your cock backs down. Won’t fit right now. It’s a pity to waste a good hard-on, but m’Lord will be arriving soon, and he wants you primed.”

Geraint looked with a certain amount of pity at Brynnan as they entered the upper chamber door, leaving the guards behind.

Brynnan started at the sight of the completed torture frame. A sling chair hung under its cross-beams, with cuffs and straps dangling from it. A bench was placed in front of the sling. An awful feeling crept inside him. He didn’t know the Warlord’s plans for him that night, but they couldn’t be good.

He tried to calm himself as Geraint refastened the cock cage on him after allowing him to piss. Then he attached a simple collar of black leather, not the claw collar, around Brynnan’s neck. A light chain linked it to one of the top bars of the cock cage. There was no slack, and his penis was lifted up against his stomach. Brynnan didn’t know why. Then Geraint brought over a large goblet that the Bard could grasp with his wrists. It was filled with salty mineral-tasting water and was slightly sweet.

“Drink all of it, lad. Then I’ll refill it. You’re dehydrated after the emptying. You will need all your strength tonight.”

“Why?” The Bard asked him, but Geraint simply tightened his lips and said nothing in reply.

Brynnan had just finished his second drink when the Warlord entered the chamber. He pinned Brynnan with his icy gaze.

“Tonight, our journey begins,” he said.

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