To Take Away His Voice

Journey to the Heart

The Warlord Samir sat in front of his victim and let his gaze rove over him. Brynnan lay strapped into the webbed sling suspended from the torture frame. Leather cuffs immobilized his limbs. The thigh and leg straps that held his legs apart and the sling tilt ensured that Brynnan’s genital and ass regions were exposed. The Bard wore a leather collar tonight instead of the claw collar. A fine chain connected at the throat ran down to the cock cage he wore, holding his cock away from his ass.

The Warlord’s gaze returned to Brynnan’s face and studied him. The Bard was a good-looking man, still young and in his prime, but his customary peaceful and easy expression had changed during his long captivity to a stone-like wariness, like a wild animal caught in a trap. Samir had seen the look in the dark eyes on combat veterans who had witnessed too much slaughter. Samir knew he was directly responsible for this change; indeed, he had charted the path of Brynnan’s destruction, for the Bard had once been his friend.

“Well, Brynnan, tonight we are going on a journey, you and I, but I doubt you will get pleasure in it—” he paused, “—but you will thank me when it’s over, one way or the other.”

The Bard’s expression changed slightly, a look in his eyes that said, ‘I am not yours.’ Samir laughed, then leaned forward and ran his hands over Brynnan’s chest, cruelly pinching a nipple.

The Warlord noted the still lithe and muscular body. The Bard’s hair was nearly black in colour, as was body hair that swirled around each breast. A line of it ran from navel to pubes, and a sparser covering of hair darkened his forearms and lower legs.

“Well, it is time,” Samir stood up, “Tonight, it’s just you and me.”

The Warlord stripped off his customary leathers to reveal his own powerful physique. His big cock was semi-hard. He returned to the bench in front of his victim. From a bottle on the end of the bench, he poured a clear, skin-lubricating fluid into his hands. He rubbed the lube under Brynnan’s ball sac and then slowly penetrated his ass with three steepled fingers.

A muscle twitched in Brynnan’s jaw, but that was all. He was waiting.

Samir stood again and put himself between the Bard’s legs while lubricating his cock. It engorged with blood, becoming hard and stiff.

The height of the sling holding his prisoner was set so Samir could take advantage of the man’s ass. He introduced his cock inside the rectal passage, working it steadily until it passed the first anal constriction, then he paused briefly before continuing his forward assault.

Brynnan breathed deeply. His muscles relaxed their tight grip, allowing the Warlord to complete his thrust. Samir withdrew his cock a little then pushed in harder this time. The movement transformed into a steady pumping action.

Pain, then arousal washed over Brynnan but was thwarted by the cock cage that imprisoned his penis and prevented an erection. And so, the Bard’s ass was thoroughly fucked until Samir braced himself and came in long, spurting pulses. Then he withdrew his cock. But he was not done.

Steepling his three fingers again, he slid them into the Bard’s dripping ass. He briefly curled the fingers and put pressure on Brynnan’s prostate gland, eliciting a moan as the urge to cum possessed him. Then Samir made a four-finger steeple and moved in again. All his movements were slow, and all the time he gazed into his victim’s dark-lashed eyes.

Samir then tucked his thumb between his steepled fingers and penetrated again, going as far as the knuckles. The Bard seemed to realize where this was going, for his eyes flashed as his body tried to reject the increasingly penetrating hand.

“Relax your muscles, Bard. I am not going to stop. If you resist, you will do harm to yourself.”

Samir had large hands that were proportionate to his size. Brynnan did not know if he would be able to accommodate him. He bent his mind to the task of overriding his body’s natural response.

Geraint, Lord Samir’s man, had flushed Brynnan’s bowels that afternoon. The cold water inside him had caused painful cramping. He felt cramping now, but there was nothing to expel. He breathed deeply and steadily. Samir’s knuckles were at the ass’s constriction point. The pain increased, and the pressure was slow but relentless. There was an intense ache, then Samir’s fist went in. The Warlord paused then, allowing Brynnan’s body time to adjust. He poured more lubricant on his wrist with his free hand and spread it up his arm.

“No…”

Brynnan could not stop the murmur of protest. It was the first time he had uttered such a denial. Samir’s head lifted, and his eyes gleamed in the lamplight: a tiger catching wind of his prey. His fist resumed its slow assault, navigating the flexures of the curved rectal passage, moving slightly in and out and twisting his wrist gently until he reached the sigmoidal junction. Brynnan’s head tipped back, and he gasped for air, but nothing would stop the Warlord’s invasion of his ass. The hot flesh of the passage gripped Samir’s fist, enveloping it. Muscle contractions squeezed against his arm.

“Give it up to me, Bard. You have no choice. Tonight, I am going deep.”

Samir was now working his way into the sigmoid colon, which curved up into the straight passage of the descending one. Brynnan felt his guts being displaced, and he shied from the knowledge that somewhere inside might be scar tissue from his abdominal wound of over a year past. He looked down and was shocked to see that Samir’s arm was inside him. He felt invaded in so intimate a manner that he had never imagined was possible, and vulnerable to the extreme.

There was no pain now, and the pressure was beginning to translate into something else. A wave of something like pleasure engulfed him, and he felt conjoined with the Warlord. Samir’s fist was now at its maximum reach inside, right at the junction of the transverse colon. He paused in his gentle twisting, thrusting motion.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” he told the Bard.

“Yes . . .” Brynnan did feel as if the Warlord gripped his heart.

The urge to rebellion passed and was replaced by something more than acceptance. Brynnan was translated to a place beyond mind, a spirit realm where submission and desire blended. He wanted this man who had tortured him and was now fucking him with his fist. He became dimly aware that Samir had freed his cock from its cage and that it was hard and erect.

Samir leaned over him, bringing his mouth to the Bard’s. The Warlord’s kiss was deep and full of an animal passion as he tongue-fucked his victim. Brynnan suddenly found himself responding with an equal force as their tongues melded. He had never imagined anything like this, and he had certainly not envisioned his own passionate response. Samir drew the kiss out a long time while his fist continued to penetrate his now-willing prey.

The Warlord straightened up, continuing to hold Brynnan’s eyes on his. Then he did something Brynnan could barely believe. With his fist still inside the Bard, Samir bent down and, grasping the freed cock in his left hand, brought it to his mouth and proceeded to suck it slowly and deeply. At this, Brynnan was entirely and utterly undone. He experienced a whole-body orgasm—an ocean tide of mixed pleasure, pain and submission washed over him. His emotions were out of his control, and tears poured down his face. Samir finished swallowing Brynnan’s cum, leaned over and kissed him again, mingling tears and cum.

Very gently, the Warlord removed his fist. There was some pain when he exited, but Brynnan didn’t care.

“Are you mine, Bard?”

Brynnan sought to answer. He couldn’t avoid the truth.

“You know I have always been, Lord.”

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