*Disclaimer: (Sex scenes types. Warning - spoilers.) The chapter depicts abusive captors being subjected to retributive sex by their former victims — this is fictional justice within a fantasy setting including (almost)consensual BDSM (whipping, caning, spiked paddle, bondage, nipple torture, edging), anal sex (multiple partners, forced and initially non-consensual), oral sex and face-fucking, cum collection, forced orgasm, piss play, scat (one paragraph), bondage equipment (leather cock pouch, posture collar, wooden plug), group sex as justice/retribution against abusers, and a binding curse ritual. The chapter depicts abusive captors being subjected to retributive sex by their former victims — this is fictional justice within a fantasy setting. No underage content.*
The Brothers' Inn
The road climbed slow out of the elven country. The trees turned ordinary by the third hour. No silver in the leaves. No water moving both ways. Just oak and ash. The light was grey and flat.
Joren's underwear was still full. I could feel them against my body — the press of each one where I had set it in the folds. The catalogue was still open in my head. Sixty-seven.
One was different. A king's. The cum he shot inside his attendant. I had set it on its own, deep in the seam where the cloth folded against itself. Closed off. A single jewel in the catalogue.
Joren walked. His left boot struck the road different from the right. I felt the asymmetry against my body. One step soft. The next clean. One. Two. One. Two. I was sensing the crystalized toe.
Vesper walked a pace behind. He held his right hand out from his side. His fingers curled.
Lirael walked last. His hands were tucked inside his sleeves. Arms pressed to his ribs. He had held that posture since the gate. No one had asked.
"Vesper." Joren did not turn his head. "Where's the next stop."
Vesper pulled a folded sheet from his coat. Walked while he read. "A roadhouse two days out. The Brothers' Inn. Five brothers own the land around it. Notes say nothing else."
"Then we sleep there."
The folded sheet went back. Joren's hand dropped from the strap of his pack. His fingers found the bulge through the trousers. Sat there a moment. Moved on. I felt the pressure pass against the nest. He did it walking. Some men whistle. Joren touched himself.
Vesper said something quiet to Garrick. I could not hear the words. Garrick did not answer. I knew he was inside Vesper because the bond had that quality through the air. The quiet of a man who is being carried.
Two more hours and the road climbed harder. Lirael's hands stayed in his sleeves. Joren's left boot kept striking the road soft and the right kept striking it clean. I lay in the nest and counted footfalls and did not say a thing.
We made camp at dusk. We slept under a stand of pines. Lirael did not eat. He sat against a tree and let his hood fall over his eyes and stayed there until morning.
By late afternoon the second day the road bent west. The foothills rose. A long timber roof came up over the next ridge, set against a rise, smoke from two chimneys.
The Brothers' Inn.
I caught the smell before we cleared the trees. Through the nest and through Joren's trousers and through the wind. Sour sweat. Old fear. Cold sweat dried into wool that had not been washed for a season.
I reached for the bond out of habit. Checked for the fragment-hum. Checked for the cold pull I had learned at the river. Nothing. The air around the inn was ordinary. The wrongness was inside it.
"This is human," I sent to Joren. "Not the realm."
His hand found the bulge. One squeeze. He had heard me.
The yard came open. Hitching posts. A stone well with the rope still wet. Outbuildings around a courtyard. Five men stood in a row at the door of the long house, big and loud, hands on their hips. They watched us come.
"Travellers," the first one boomed. He was the heaviest, red-bearded, jovial. "Come in, come in. We have rooms. We have wine. We have everything a tired man needs."
The second was lean and hawkish and quiet. The third was short and thick-armed and grinning wide. The fourth was balding with a soft middle and a warmth on his face that did not move past the cheeks. The fifth was the youngest and had hungry eyes and did not hide it.
Same teeth, all of them. Same set of the jaw. Brothers.
"We'll take the rooms," Vesper said. "We'll eat. Thank you."
The eldest clapped Joren on the shoulder. Joren accepted the clap without warmth. The hand stayed there a beat too long and came off.
The workers came out then. Maybe eight of them in the first wave. They moved fast for the horses and the packs and the water. They did not speak. They did not look at the brothers. One worker, young, maybe twenty, came around the side of the hawkish brother with a bucket. The bucket went wide. The hawkish brother did not touch him. The boy dropped his shoulder and stepped sideways half a step and recovered and walked on. No one had hit him. He had moved out of a reach that was not happening.
Joren's hand stayed at his side. He had seen it.
Inside Vesper's belly there was a stir. I felt the bond shift through the air between us. Garrick was climbing.
I tracked it from the nest. He came up the inside of Vesper's shirt. The cloth moved under the buttons. A small bump worked its way to the collar. Vesper's chest did not change. His face did not change. Only the small movement, and even that was hidden by the breath.
Garrick's head came out at the open collar. He hooked his glasses off his belt and slid them on. Climbed onto Vesper's left shoulder. He stayed there. From two paces off he could have been a brooch on a heavy coat.
The brothers were still talking. The eldest was telling Joren about the wine. None of them looked at the shoulder.
Garrick's eye behind the glass moved. His head did not.
He read the eldest first. I knew because his small body locked one fraction. He read the hawkish one. He read the thick-armed one. He read the balding one. He read the youngest. He stopped on the youngest a beat longer than the others. Then he moved his eye to the workers crossing the yard.
He read three of them in passing. The one with the bucket. A grey-haired one carrying a saddle. The young flincher.
He went still.
Not the small lock from before. Full still. His body on Vesper's shoulder stopped shifting altogether. The eye behind the glass stopped moving. He had not turned his head once in the whole reading.
Vesper felt the stillness. I saw it through the nest. His shoulders shifted one fraction under the coat. His smile did not change. He kept his face on the eldest brother. His right hand came across his own chest. Slow. Three fingers found Garrick on the left shoulder. Closed around him. Held.
"Wine, then," the eldest said. "And the meat. We do a proper meat here."
"Good," Vesper said.
His three fingers stayed on Garrick. Held the small body in place against the cloth.
The eating hall was a long timber room. Three trestle tables down the length of it. A fireplace at the far end. Heavy beams overhead, dark from years of smoke. Maybe fifteen other guests at the side tables. The brothers had taken the head table, lined up across one side of it like they were watching a court.
We sat near the wall. Joren took the bench facing the room. Vesper sat to his left, Garrick still on his shoulder. Lirael took the wall side. His hands were not in his sleeves anymore but they rested on his knees and they were closed.
The workers brought bread and meat and a jug of red wine. They moved between the tables fast and silent. None of them looked at the men they served. The plates went down. The cups got filled. The empty dishes came up. No words.
I watched from the nest. Joren had his hand at the bulge and the heel of his palm pressed me flat against the shaft. The shaft was warm. The pressure was steady. He had not moved the hand in some minutes.
A worker carried a tray to the brothers' table. The young one. He came across the floor in a clean line. At the threshold of the kitchen door he caught his foot on the lip of the boards. A plate slid. The tray tipped. The plate hit the floor and broke.
The whole hall stopped.
Half a second of nothing. Then the youngest brother stood up. He took his time. He walked the length of the head table to the boy. The boy did not look up. The brother stopped in front of him and looked at his face. He was smiling.
"You'll come and see me after dinner."
The boy's voice was no voice at all. "Yes."
The youngest brother walked back to his place. Sat down. The hall went back to its noise. The boy crouched and gathered the broken plate. His hands were steady. He had stopped breathing.
Vesper's hand had been on his knee. His fingers, on the knee, had pulled into a loose fist. Garrick had not moved on the shoulder. I felt Joren's palm press once against the nest and stay pressed.
Vesper started counting. I could not see him counting but I knew. His eyes moved from one table to the next, back across the workers crossing the floor, up to the brothers, down again. He did this through the meat and through the wine and through the second cup. He did it while he chewed.
The eldest brother started telling a story to the hawkish one and the hawkish one had heard it before. So had the workers. One of them, a grey-haired man with a stew pot, walked past the head table with the pot held square in front of him. His mouth was set. The story was the one where the youngest brother is in the stables with a lad from the village and the brothers come up and the lad does not know what to do. The lad was no longer the point of the story. The point was the laugh at the end. The brothers laughed at the end. The grey-haired worker did not change his face.
Joren finished his cup. He set it down. He leaned forward across our table and turned his head toward the eldest brother. His voice was easy.
"Your workers. They've been with you long?"
The eldest brother turned, expansive. "Years. Most since they were boys. We trained them up. They wouldn't leave us if we paid them double. We please them, you see. We please them very well. We have a particular arrangement here. Maybe you'd like to learn about it."
"Maybe I would."
"We are sadists. They are masochists. The arrangement is honest. We give them what they were born wanting. They give us their service. Everyone is satisfied."
Vesper, even: "Honest. Good."
The eldest laughed. He toasted. The brothers laughed with him. The grey-haired worker walked past again with the empty pot, the same mouth, the same eyes.
Inside the nest I held still. The store under me was sealed. The fabric was warm from Joren's body. I sent it to him plain.
"It's not the realm. This is something else."
Joren's hand pressed once on the nest. The pressure held.
After the meal he led the rest of us out a side door. The veranda was stone, a low ledge running the length of one wall, a railing past the ledge looking out at the dark courtyard. The brothers were still drinking inside. The workers were clearing.
Vesper sat on the ledge. He had taken his coat off in the hallway, then his shirt. He sat naked from the waist up on the stone, lit a cigarette, pulled the smoke into him. Garrick climbed down from the shoulder, along the bare arm, down to the ledge. He settled on the stone beside Vesper's hip. Small upright body. Glasses still on.
Joren took the doorframe. Stood with his back against it, one foot crossed at the ankle, his hand at his crotch through the trousers. Lirael went to the railing. Both his hands came out of his sleeves and rested on the wood. First time since the gate.
Vesper exhaled and the smoke went out and away from the ledge.
"What we have here is not what they say it is."
"Tell me," Lirael said.
"Masochism requires consent. What I saw at dinner was a boy who has stopped breathing when he hears his name spoken. That is not consent. That is conditioning. The brothers are not sadists. They are predators using the shape of sadism to dress what they do."
"You are certain."
"I counted nineteen workers between hall and kitchen. Eleven flinched when a brother passed within arm's reach. Three did not. Those three are the leads. The brothers trust them to manage the others. The leads have been with them longest. They have learned to perform comfort. They are not comfortable."
"What do we do," Joren said.
"We separate the leads from the brothers tonight. We get them somewhere private and we let them speak."
Garrick had not moved since the ledge. Now his small voice came up, low.
"And then we fuck the brothers to death."
Nobody answered for a moment.
Vesper turned his head and faced him. His arm did not move from his thigh.
"No."
"Yes."
"No. Listen to me. Listen. Death is too quick. They die thinking they were powerful. We take that from them while they live. We take all of it. Trust me on the shape. Trust me on the timing."
Garrick waited. The eye behind the glass was still working. His small chest moved once.
"How."
"I'll tell you. Sit down."
He was already sitting. He went rigid on the word anyway. The rage shifted inside the rigidity but did not leave the body. I could see the shape of it on the ledge. A small man pulled tight at every joint.
Vesper's hand came off his thigh and rested back on the same thigh, palm down, fingers spread. Garrick was two feet from his hip on the ledge, thumb-sized, watching him. Not inside him. Outside. Vesper's fingers did not move.
I read both of them. When Garrick is inside Vesper, I feel one body with two minds. When he is outside, I feel two bodies holding still in the same air. They were holding still now. Garrick did not speak.
The cigarette burned down between two of Vesper's other fingers. Ash dropped to the stone.
"The plan." Vesper looked at Joren. "We find the three leads tonight. Quiet. One at a time. Take them to a back room. You talk to them first. Let them tell us what's been done. Hear them all the way through. We do not interrupt."
Joren nodded.
"Then we give them what was taken. Sex, by their direction. They name the act. We give it. Three pairings. You with one. Me with one. Lirael with one. Garrick observes. Spark catalogues."
"To what end," Lirael said.
"They become the agents. The brothers were the only ones in this house who got to lead. Tonight that stops. The leads trickle down through the rest. They go to their teams. They give back what they have been carrying."
"All night?"
"All night. By dawn the workers are ready. We move on the brothers in the morning."
"Move how," Joren said.
"They sleep in their wing. They will be drunk. We bind them. The workers bind them. We use the workers' own clothes for the rope. Bring them to the hall. Sit them in chairs. Then we tell the workers what is going to happen. They will not be punished. They will be safe. The brothers will live."
Joren said nothing. His weight came off the frame. He stood square.
"The workers do the work. We supervise. We keep it to fucking. No biting. No striking. No drawn out hurting. The brothers get back the act they have given. They live the rest of their lives knowing it."
"How long does this take," Joren said.
"A day and a night. We leave the morning after."
Lirael's hands closed once on the railing and opened again. "I can speak the form. The old tongue holds binding curses well. Vesper writes; I speak."
"Good. That's the shape."
Garrick on the ledge had not moved. His mouth was set. He looked at the courtyard.
The cigarette was a stub. Vesper drew once more and put it out on the stone. Lirael's hands were still on the railing, both of them, knuckles paler than the rest of his skin.
The storeroom sat at the back of the inn. Sacks of grain lined one wall. Barrels lined another. A single lamp burned on a low table. The beams hung low overhead. Joren had walked it once before he went out into the inn. He came back with the first lead.
Tommy was stocky, mid-thirties, working hands. He sat where Joren told him to sit, on a sack of grain. He kept his palms turned up on his knees. Open.
Joren went out and came back with Halsten. Slim, late twenties, hair tied back, scribe's hands. Halsten sat where Tommy had been and would not look at anyone. He looked at the floor.
Joren went out a third time and came back with Doran. Doran was older. Soft middle. His face still tried to be kind. His hands shook and he sat on the sack and pressed them together.
Vesper stood in the open doorway. He blocked the line of sight from the corridor with his shoulder. Lirael stood near the lamp. His face came up out of the dark when he turned toward it.
Garrick had ridden Vesper's shoulder from the veranda to the storeroom. He climbed down now to a barrel beside the door. Vesper put his palm flat for him as a step. Garrick walked it and sat on the rim of the barrel. The barrel was at Vesper's hip. Garrick's eye behind the glass found each of the leads in turn and stayed long.
Joren took the third sack of grain. Sat. Faced the three of them.
"We've watched. We've counted. We know what the brothers say this place is. We need to hear from you what it is."
Tommy looked up. "Why."
"Because we think they have been hurting you. And we want to know if we have the shape of it right."
Tommy looked at Halsten. Halsten was still looking at the floor. He looked at Doran. Doran's hands had not stopped shaking. He looked back at Joren.
"You're not the first travellers to ask."
"No?"
"Others asked. They got told a story. They believed it. They left. The brothers laughed about it for weeks."
"We are not going to believe a story."
Tommy held it. He drew one breath. Two. He set his hands palm-up on his knees and they stayed steady.
"Then I'll tell you."
He told us. He spoke for a long time. His voice was slow and even and Joren did not interrupt him. The brothers had bought the inn from Tommy's father twenty years ago and the first year had been work and pay and no trouble. Then the youngest had picked a worker for what he called private discipline. Performance review, the brothers called it the next morning. The worker had refused a second time and had been turned out of the district. The brothers ran the local circuit. The man had nowhere to go. Tommy was sixteen then. He had seen the man leave on foot. He had not seen him after.
The next year the framing changed. Private discipline became training. The brothers brought in the leather. They brought in the wrist cuffs. They held sessions that went past one night. Anyone who did not learn to enjoy what was being done was untrained. Untrained workers left. Some of them stayed and stopped objecting. Some of them stopped speaking. The brothers laughed at both kinds.
Tommy paused. He looked at Halsten and at Doran and back at Joren.
"I want to be clear. Some of us, most of us, like to kneel. I have liked to kneel my whole life. I have looked for the right man to kneel to since I was sixteen. What the brothers do is not that. The brothers do not kneel to anything. They have never kneeled. A man who has never kneeled does not know what the kneeling is. He cannot stand over me right."
Halsten's eyes came off the floor for the first time. Looked at Tommy. Looked away again.
"The kneeling is the high place when the right man stands over you. The brothers were never right men. The leads, us three, were chosen ten years ago to manage the rest. The brothers needed us. We were the ones who learned to perform comfort best. They use us to break in new arrivals. We teach the new ones to enjoy what is being done. We have been doing this ten years. We hate it. We have been waiting for someone to ask."
He stopped. He took a long breath. The breath did not break.
"We are not afraid of being subs. We are afraid of dying having only ever been used by men who could not kneel."
Doran's hands had stopped shaking under his own grip. Joren reached over and put his fingers on top of Doran's two hands. Briefly. He took the fingers back.
"Tommy. Look at me. We are here to make this right. Will you help us."
"How."
"We give you back what was taken. Then you help us give it to the others. Then we deal with the brothers."
"What do you do to them."
Vesper from the doorway: "Nothing they will not survive. They will live a long time after. I promise you that."
Halsten, first words: "I want them to live a long time."
Doran almost a whisper: "Yes."
Tommy looked at Joren. Then at Vesper. He took the lamp light on his face and held it.
"Tell us what you need from us."
The loft was over the storeroom. Clean straw on the boards. The workers had laid blankets out across the floor in three rough patches. Three lanterns hung from the beams. The smell of hay was clean.
I climbed out of the nest first. Joren held the trouser pocket open. I stepped down onto the floorboards of the loft. Thumb-sized at the first step. I grew to 5 feet. I stood and stretched once. Joren handed me the small clay bowl he had left up here earlier.
Garrick climbed off Vesper's shoulder onto a roof beam above the loft floor. He walked the beam to a point above the central blanket. Sat. Glasses still on.
I held the bowl in both hands. Empty. Brown clay. Plain.
Tommy was the first. Vesper led him over to a blanket near the wall. They were both still dressed when they got there.
Halsten was second. Joren took him to a blanket nearer the window. The shutters were closed.
Doran was third. Lirael led him to the blanket nearest the lantern. The light caught on Lirael's hair.
I walked the floor between them barefoot. The boards were dry. My feet made small sounds. The bowl was steady in my hands.
Vesper undressed Tommy. He did it slow. He named what he saw. Tommy's shoulder. His belly. The working scar along his ribs. Tommy did not move. His breath stayed even.
Vesper, when Tommy was naked, said, "Tell me what you want. The exact words. We do exactly that."
Tommy said, "I want to be told to kneel. I want to be told properly. By a man who knows what he is saying."
Vesper said, "Kneel."
Tommy went down to the floor. The straw pressed against his knees.
Vesper said, "Open your mouth."
Tommy opened.
Vesper's cock was already out. He stepped close and slid in. Slow first. Halfway. All the way. Tommy's eyes closed. Vesper put his hand on the back of Tommy's head and held him there and pulled out and went back in. The slap of skin against the back of Tommy's tongue was wet. Tommy's throat worked around the head.
"You're doing well," Vesper said. "Take it. Take all of it."
The straw made small sounds under Tommy's knees as he shifted weight to take the angle better.
On the other blanket Joren was undressing himself first. He took his shirt off and then his trousers. Stood in front of Halsten and let Halsten look. Halsten did not look away. His mouth opened once and closed. He reached his hand out and stopped halfway.
"Take your time," Joren said.
Halsten put his fingers on Joren's chest. Held them flat there. Moved them across to the shoulder and down the arm.
"I don't know what I want. They never asked me."
"Then we find out together. I'll go slow. You stop me at anything."
"I won't stop you."
"Yes you will. That's the deal."
Joren took Halsten's shirt off. The scribe had a thin chest and an old burn mark above the left hip. Joren put his palm over the burn mark and held it there. Then he lifted Halsten onto the blanket and lay down beside him.
Lirael was undressing himself slowly. Doran had come down to sit on the blanket. His face was wet already. He had not said anything yet.
"I haven't been with anyone. Not since I came here. Not anyone I chose."
Lirael said, formal, "Then this is yours. You choose what we do. I will give it shape."
"I want to be held."
Lirael lay down on the blanket. Drew Doran in against him. Doran's back fitted into Lirael's chest. Lirael's arms came around Doran's belly and held him. His cock pressed against the small of Doran's back. Not yet inside. They stayed like that. Doran was crying without sound. Lirael did not change anything.
I crossed back to Vesper. Tommy was on his feet now. Vesper had bent him over a hay bale at the side of the loft. He was sliding in. Tommy's back arched as Vesper found the place. The breath came out of him in one rough shape. The straw of the bale crunched as he leaned forward.
"There," Vesper said. "There."
Vesper held a slow pace. He spoke through it. "You're doing it right. Take it. Take all of it. You can come when I say."
Tommy could not answer. His hand had gone down and gripped his own cock. He was pushing back into Vesper at every stroke. His thigh had gone hard. The bale was pressing into his hips. Vesper's palm was spread on the small of his back. Weight loaded.
I stood near them with the bowl ready.
"Come, Tommy. Now."
Tommy came against the side of the bale. Loud. The cum splashed the straw and a little ran down the wood. I knelt and held the bowl under the last drops. One bead caught on the lip of the clay. I named him in my head. Tommy, his first. Set the bowl down. Stood up. Vesper was still inside him. Three more strokes and Vesper came too. Deep. His hand spread on the back of Tommy's neck. Held the grip. Tommy's eyes closed. I caught a drop from where Vesper had been against Tommy's thigh after. Named that one too. Vesper, into Tommy.
I moved to Joren and Halsten.
Halsten was on his back. Joren was over him on hands and knees, kissing him. He had been kissing him a long time. Halsten's hand had come up and was gripping Joren's forearm hard. The mouth-work was slow. Halsten's cock was hard between them, leaking against Joren's belly. He had not been kissed by a brother in his life, and his face showed it.
Joren shifted. He lay on his back and pulled Halsten up to straddle him. Halsten worked himself down onto Joren's cock by his own hand on the shaft. Slow at the head. The rest in stages. Joren's hands sat on his hips, light. Halsten controlled the pace.
He started to ride. Slow at first. The blanket bunched under Joren. Joren's eyes were on Halsten's face the entire time. Halsten cried halfway through. His breath went big, and his hands gripped Joren's forearms. He kept riding.
"You're doing it right," Joren said. "Look at me. There. There."
Halsten looked. He kept looking. He came against Joren's stomach. The cum spread across Joren's belly and ran. I knelt with the bowl and caught a bead off Joren's skin. Halsten, his first. I waited. Joren came inside Halsten a minute later, his hand on Halsten's cheek and his other hand on Halsten's hip. He stayed inside. Halsten's hands stayed on Joren's chest. The pulse in Joren's neck slowed under the lamp light. I caught Joren's drop where the cock left Halsten's body. Joren, into Halsten.
I moved to Lirael and Doran.
They had not moved much. Lirael was inside Doran now, slow. Lirael was behind him still. His arms had not left Doran's belly. Doran's hand had come back and gripped Lirael's hand on his belly. They were holding hands while Lirael moved inside him. Doran's face was wet, but his mouth had gone soft.
Lirael shifted. He turned Doran onto his back, took the entry from the front, and kissed Doran's mouth as he slid back in. They kissed through the act. Doran's eyes were wet and open. Lirael did not look away.
Mid-kiss Lirael paused. He pulled his mouth back a fraction and pissed lightly into Doran's open mouth. Not much. A thin warm stream. The elven blessing made physical. Doran swallowed. His throat worked once. His mouth stayed open. His face changed. The grip on Lirael's hand at his side tightened to the bone.
Lirael started moving again. Doran came inside himself almost at once. The cum pulsed up onto his own belly without his cock being touched. Lirael came inside him a stroke later. Lirael whispered something in the old tongue into Doran's hair and held him through it.
I crossed with the bowl. I caught a drop from Lirael's cock when he pulled out. I caught a drop of Doran's from his belly. Lirael, into Doran. Doran, his first. Then I waited at Lirael's hip for the last thing. Lirael had a little piss left. He took the bowl from my hand without speaking and let one bead fall in. Lirael, his blessing. He handed the bowl back.
I stood with the bowl in both hands. I walked once between the three blankets. Vesper had his hand spread on the back of Tommy's neck still, fingers splayed wide. The grip held. Joren was inside Halsten still. Lirael was kissing Doran's hair. The lanterns flickered as I passed. The straw under my feet had warmed.
On the beam Garrick had not moved through any of it.
I looked up at him. His glasses were full of the lantern light. His face was rigid. The hatred in him was still working. Not at us. Not at the leads. At the bodies sleeping in the wing on the other side of the inn. I felt it through the air between the beam and Vesper's body on the floor. The thread between them was tight.
Vesper, mid-aftercare with Tommy, looked up. He found Garrick's eyes and did not look away.
I watched the thread pull. Vesper's hand on the back of Tommy's neck moved. Three fingers spread. Weight down. He was not holding Garrick from the floor by any reach. He held him by holding the thread.
The lantern guttered once and steadied. Vesper's three fingers on Tommy's neck stayed where they were.
The leads dressed slow. Tommy first. Halsten next. Doran last and only when Lirael let him go. They each came past me at the ladder and each of them looked into the bowl. Tommy nodded once. Halsten said nothing. Doran touched the rim of the clay with one fingertip.
Vesper folded his coat around the bowl and tucked it under his arm. I shrank back. Climbed up Joren's trouser leg under his shirt and back into the nest against the cock. The store was still there. Sixty-seven men's contribution still held. Sealed. Warm.
Garrick stayed on the beam.
The leads went out into the inn. They split at the bottom of the ladder. Tommy went toward the bunk house. Halsten toward the kitchen. Doran toward the older quarters at the back.
I watched the rest of the night from inside the nest. The bond carried small impressions of what Joren saw as we walked the corridors.
Tommy moved from bunk to bunk slow and steady. Each man got him sitting at the edge of the bed. Each man got a hand on the shoulder. Each man got told to ask for what he wanted. Some asked. Some shook their heads. Some asked for nothing more than to be held. Tommy held them.
In the kitchen Halsten was kneeling between the legs of a kitchen boy. Then he held another worker upright who was crying so hard he could not stand. The crying made no sound. The dough on the table had risen and would not be punched down tonight.
Doran was in the back quarters with the older men who had given up years ago. He sat on each bed in turn and put his hand on each chest. They cried and he stayed.
At one point in the kitchen a young worker laughed. Small. Startled. He covered his mouth. He looked around at the two other workers near him. They stared at him. He kept his hand on his mouth a long time. Then he laughed again behind it. The kitchen had not heard a laugh in some years.
The brothers slept in their wing. Drunk. Five doors in a row. No watchman on the corridor. They had never needed one.
In the guest room Vesper sat at a small table by the window. A clean page in front of him. A new candle. He wrote the curse out slow. Lirael sat on the bed and watched him write. Hands open on his knees. Joren stood by the door. Not at it. In the room. Weight loaded. He did not sleep.
Vesper finished. Read the page once with his lips moving. Folded it once. Held it up to the candle.
"Yes. That holds."
The ink was wet. The flame did not touch it.
Dawn came grey. The window at the east end of the corridor had a square of pale on it.
The leads came up the brothers' hallway at the head of about twenty workers. Tommy at the front. Halsten and Doran a step behind. Two workers carrying strips of cloth torn from their own shirts.
Vesper opened the first brother's door. The hawkish one. He was face down in the bed. Mouth open. Snoring small. Four workers went in around him. Two held his arms. Two held his legs. He woke when the cloth went around his wrists and made a sound. The cloth went over his mouth and the sound stopped. They carried him out.
The eldest came up harder. He woke before they reached him and tried to stand. Two workers took his shoulders and a third took his belly. They got him sat on the side of the bed and then off it onto the floor face-down with their weight on him. The cloth went around his wrists from behind. He was big enough that they needed five men on him. He shouted into the gag and the gag took it.
The thick-armed one swung once and was held. Bound.
The balding one pissed himself the moment he saw the cloth in the corridor. The workers walked him out wet.
The youngest brother was the only one who did not fight. He saw the workers in his doorway and watched them for two breaths and held out his hands. They tied him careful. He did not shout into the gag. His eyes moved over the workers' faces and counted.
They were marched along the corridor. The eldest was lifted between four workers because his legs would not carry him. The thick-armed one shrieked into his gag the whole way to the hall and the gag took it. The youngest walked.
The hall had been cleared. Five chairs set in a row at the centre. Trestle tables along the walls. The high windows showed grey. The other guests had been quietly walked out in the night by Joren. Sent down the road with their packs.
The brothers were tied to the chairs. Each chair faced the room. The workers stood in a loose half-ring in front of them.
The youngest brother's gag came off. The eldest's came off. The others stayed.
"What is this?" the eldest said. His voice was hoarse. "What are you? Let me go. We've done nothing. We've done nothing wrong here."
Tommy walked past him.
"You have done everything wrong here."
The gag went back on the eldest.
Joren stepped forward. He spoke to the workers. Not to the brothers. His voice carried but did not lift.
"What is going to happen now will be difficult to watch and harder to do. You do not have to do it. But if you want it. If you want to give them back what they gave you. We are here to make it safe. No one will hurt you again. No one will be punished for any of this. We promise you that. We have the means to keep the promise."
Tommy at his side: "I'm doing it. Who's with me?"
The hands went up. Maybe two-thirds of the room. Slow at first. Then a wave. The rest did not raise their hands but stayed where they stood. None of them left the room. The early light through the high windows brightened by one shade.
Garrick had come down from the loft beam in the night. Walked through the inn in Vesper's cupped palm. He was now on a beam in the hall above the chairs. Glasses on. Eye behind the glass moving across the brothers' bodies one by one.
The workers' clothes had cut the brothers' clothes off them in the corridor. They were naked on the chairs now. Soft. White-bellied. Cock-soft.
I climbed out of the nest and grew on the hall floor. Thumb-sized to adult-sized. Vesper handed me the bowl. The bowl had been sealed with a cloth and the cloth still smelled of the night before. I peeled it back. The bowl was still light.
The workers moved. Not all at once. A small knot of them took the thick-armed brother from his chair and walked him out the side door toward the barracks. He did not fight. His legs carried him but his eyes were moving too fast. Counting the men around him. Counting wrong.
Joren looked at me. The bond carried the question before he spoke it.
"I'll follow them," I said. "I need what comes out of him."
Joren's hand found the back of my neck. One squeeze. Then he turned back to the hall where the other brothers sat bound under Garrick's eye.
I carried the bowl in both hands. The cloth had come loose in the walk and I tucked it under my thumb. The corridor was narrow. The workers' shoulders brushed the stone on both sides. Someone had lit a lantern at the far end and the flame leaned with the draught.
The four workers pinned the thick-armed brother face down on the bed. The same bed chamber used by the brother when he was raping them. It had all the tools to tie him up and restrict him to the bed frame. They even tied his legs up. So his ass was well in view and available to what they were about to do to him. "You fuckers! Leave me! Let me go! I'm gonna kill you for this! Wait until I get out of this." His jaw set. His eyes showed fear.
They paused. One worker said it was not going to happen. He couldn't push his dick in him. He had too strong an anus. Another simply said, "Let's tenderize it." He spread his cheeks and started licking. Slowly around the hole. Just to let the anus realize that something warm was there. Then his tongue started licking on the hole. The brother's mouth opened. This was not pain. This was warm. This was nice. It got him to relax. Then the worker started to push his tongue inside the anus. It got in a little but then using his hands he started stretching apart the anus to make space for the tongue to go deeper. "Come on tight one, open up," he said. The brother's mouth opened. Closed. Eyes squeezing shut then going wide. His cock stirred against the bed. But then a dick was at the door knocking to enter.
"Get away from me! Don't you dare push this into me! I'm going to kill you after this." The worker just smiled and pushed. "Stop! This is painful. You're tearing me apart. Stop! Shit!" At this point the head of the cock had passed the ring. The worker pushed deeper until his dick got in completely. It was not a very big dick. The workers had put themselves in order from small to big. So it was not hitting that bend in the intestine. And the worker just stopped. Looked at the brother and said, "Get used to having a dick in you, you monster. I'm giving you a moment. You never did with us. It will go better if you relax. Accept it."
The brother spat back, "No. I will not. Fuck off." But he went quiet as the pain eased. And he did relax. The worker started pumping. Slow. Steady. And that blew the brother's mind out. The pain had been replaced with something he never understood. When he fucked the others he thought it was just pain they enjoyed. And that's what his sadistic cruelty was. Give more pain. Make them scream. Reverting to his old senses, he started screaming to get his dick out. But the worker simply smiled and went on his way, pumping regularly, showing a sense of detachment that enraged the brother even more. At some point he stopped, turned his head, looked at the brother, and just clenched his face, letting him see that he was coming into him. "Ah! This is a fine arse! It's such a waste it had never been used before." The brother's mouth opened and closed again. His mouth moved without sound.
The next one immediately stepped in and shoved in one go. The pain woke up the brother again. But he was not speaking anymore. He seemed to be trying to comprehend what was happening to him. By the time the fourth one was about to start, the brother's dick was hard as a rock, pointing to the ceiling and throbbing at the same rhythm as the fucking.
The fourth man was different. He was larger and taller. His yellow-green eyes were a clear indicator that he was part of a tribe in a remote region that is used to fight with animals. They had bodies adapted for this. They were the tallest and largest of all males in Thorendale. They also had the largest penises. You could see on the brother's face that the worker had already hit the second door inside the brother's intestine. He was struggling to push it deeper. At least a third of his shaft still needed to go deeper to be fully inserted. He pushed harder. The screaming came back.
"No. What is this. Fuck. You're breaking me. Stop. Stop."
But he went on pushing. Putting pressure and leaving the pressure on. The brother's face clenched from the pain. The other workers watched. In a split second, the bend gave and the dick slammed in. The brother's scream stopped halfway. His face changed. From pain to joy.
The worker bent his face down, almost touching the brother's face.
"You see, you monster? You have now lost your real virginity. I've claimed you. I'm in you. You are my fuck toy. I'm going to fill that arse with so much cum that your belly will bulge."
To our surprise, the brother did not resist. His eyes widened. His cheeks relaxed. His mouth opened slightly and he started to smile. He closed his eyes and smiled even more. Then a moan. As the monster cock ravaged his arse, his dick started leaking pre-cum. The brother's cock pulsed and shot across the sheets. His body went loose. The worker clenched his arse and started coming. He went on for a good minute. The other workers watched. Surprise on their faces. And envy.
I stepped to the bed. The brother's hole was slack and open. Still pulsing from what had been inside it. I dipped a finger in. The mix of the four of them was warm against my knuckle. I scooped it into the bowl. The justice fluid. A blend of all four workers brought back from the brother's body.
The four workers looked at the brother who was now resting on the bed, beads of sweat dripping from his belly. They looked at him with contempt, and left him there tied up on the bed with his thoughts.
I ran from the barracks. The bowl was warm in my hands. The mix of the four workers still thick on my finger. I wiped it on the rim and kept moving. The dungeon stairs were narrow. Stone worn smooth from years of feet going down and not coming back up. I heard him before I saw him.
The youngest brother. Already hanging.
They had him against the back wall. Thick rope around his wrists. Coarse fibres that bit. His arms were pulled straight up and out. Elbows locked. Shoulders stretched wide. The rope went through the rings and down to the floor rings on either side. His ankles were the same. Spread. Rope tight just above the bone. His feet barely touched the stone. Most of his weight hung from the wrists.
He was still clothed. The same rough shirt and trousers he had been wearing when they dragged him in. The shirt had ridden up from the stretch. His hairy belly showed. Dark hair matted with sweat already. His trousers were still on but the front was tight. His cock was hanging heavy inside the cloth. Not hard yet. Just there. The head outlined against the fabric from the stretch of his body.
His head was forward. Beard soaked. Eyes wide and furious. He was already yelling.
"This is not right. You're the one that needs to be in there. I'm not a masochist. I will have every one of you strung up for this."
The four workers stood in a loose half-circle in front of him. One of them had a coil of thinner rope in his hands. Another was leaning against the old wooden table that still had the straps bolted to it. They were not looking at him. They were looking at each other.
The one with the rope spoke first.
"I remember when he put me here. First time. He said it was to teach me control. Said I moved too much when he fucked me. So he tied my wrists exactly like this. Same rings. Same stretch. Then he left me for an hour. Just hanging. Every time I tried to take weight off my shoulders the rope cut deeper. By the time he came back my arms were numb."
Another one nodded.
"He did the same to me but lower. Ankles up to the ceiling rings. Head down. He liked that one because he could fuck me while I was upside down. Said the blood in my head made me tighter. I could not breathe right. Every thrust made the ropes swing. I threw up once. He laughed and kept going."
The third one was older. Rope scars on both wrists that had never faded.
"He used the thin rope on me. The one that leaves the little cuts. He tied my cock and balls separate. Pulled them down and tied them to the floor ring. Then he fucked me slow. Every time I tried to pull away from the pain in my shoulders the rope on my cock pulled harder. He kept asking me if I was learning. I said yes. I said anything he wanted. He still left me there another hour after he finished."
The fourth one had not spoken yet. This one was still bruised from three days ago. Being in this exact room being terrorized by that brother. He looked up at the hanging brother now. Not angry. Just measuring.
"We are not going to do any of that," he said. "We are going to do what he should have done if he actually wanted us to feel something instead of just hurt."
The hanging brother was breathing hard. His face had gone red.
"You are all dead. Every last one of you. When I get down from here I will make you beg for the old days. I will make you wish you had never been born."
They kept talking like he had not spoken.
The first one with the rope was uncoiling it slowly.
"We start with the shirt. Cut it off or pull it up. I want to see his nipples when we start. He always liked to twist ours until we screamed. We can do that first. Just fingers. No tools yet."
The second one pushed off the table.
"Then the trousers. Leave them around his thighs. I want his cock out but his legs still bound. Same as he used to do to us when he wanted to edge us for hours. He would stroke us until we were close and then stop. Over and over. Until we were crying. Not from pain. From needing it."
The third one smiled for the first time.
"He never let us come. Said it was discipline. Said we had to learn to take it without making a mess. So we are going to make him come. Over and over. Until he is the one making the mess. Until his cock is sore and still hard and he cannot stop it."
The fourth one nodded once.
"And while he is hanging there leaking we are going to fuck him. One at a time. Slow. The way he never did for us. We are going to take our time and we are going to talk to each other the whole time. About what he used to do. About how it felt wrong. About how this feels different."
The hanging brother was thrashing now. The ropes creaked. His beard was dripping.
"You are not listening. I am talking to you. I will have your tongues cut out for this. I will have your cocks fed to the dogs."
The first worker looked at the rope in his hands. Then at the others.
"Ready."
They all nodded.
The hanging brother went very still for one second. Then he started screaming again.
I stayed by the door. The bowl was steady in my hands. Nothing had started yet. They were still just talking. But the brother already knew what was coming. His cock was starting to push against the front of his trousers. He did not know it yet. Or he did and he was pretending not to.
The first worker stepped in with a short blade. He cut the shirt straight up the middle. The fabric fell open. The brother's hairy chest was exposed. Nipples already tight from the cold stone air. The worker reached up and took one between his fingers. Twisted. Slow. The brother jerked in the ropes. Pain shot through his chest, his body tensing hard against the bindings.
"Fuck. Stop that. I told you I am not."
The worker twisted the other one. The brother's hips twitched. His cock pushed harder against the trousers. The resistance in his shoulders began to soften, his muscles easing as the sharp edge dulled into a steady ache.
The second worker moved to the waistband. He pulled the trousers down just far enough. The brother's cock came free. Thick. Heavy. Already half-hard from the stretch and the hands on him. It hung there for a moment. Then it lifted. The head darkened. A bead of clear fluid gathered at the tip and fell.
The third worker laughed once. Short.
"Look at that. Same as he used to make us do. Body does not care what the mouth says."
They took turns.
One stroked him. Slow. Base to head. The brother's breathing changed. He tried to pull back but the ropes held him open. Another one pinched his nipples again. The cock jumped in their hands. The bead became a string.
The fourth one waited until the third had him close. Then he stepped in and wrapped his hand around the base. Squeezed. The brother made a sound that was not a word. His thighs shook. The fourth one held him there until the edge passed. Then let go.
They did it again.
And again.
The brother's head dropped forward. His beard covered his mouth. His cock was dark now. Veins standing out. Every time they stopped he made a small sound in his throat. Not begging anymore. Just sound. His resistance bled into a slack surrender, the fight draining from his shoulders as his body accepted the rhythm. A low pleasure hummed through his stretched frame, his hips beginning to roll into each touch.
The first worker wiped his hand on the brother's belly.
"Enough. He is ready."
The second one moved behind him. He had greased his cock while the others worked. He pressed against the brother's hole. It went in like a finger in soft butter. No resistance. The worker stopped halfway.
"Look at that," he said. "A closeted bottom slut. I've never heard of anyone fucking him."
The third one leaned in to see. He pushed two fingers in beside the cock. They slid in without effort.
"It can only be toys. Let me have a look. Big like this. The three of us could go in there and it would almost not even feel it."
They laughed. The sound was low and mean.
The brother's head came up. His face was red.
"Fuck no. I've never done that. How dare you. I'm a real man."
They laughed harder.
The third worker moved to the brother's face. He took his cock out. He held it in front of the brother's mouth. The head brushed the beard.
The fourth worker looked at him.
"Are you sure you want to do this. You scared he's going to bite."
The third worker looked at the brother's face. His eyes were wide. His mouth was open. Breathing hard.
"Open up."
The brother did. No words. He took the cock in. His lips closed around it. His tongue moved. The third worker's hand went to the back of the brother's head. Not pushing. Just resting there.
"Yeah," the third worker said. "He's definitely done that before."
The second worker started fucking him again. The brother's cock was still hard. It swung with each thrust. The fourth worker reached under and took it in his hand. Stroked in time.
The brother came without being touched. His cock pulsed and shot across the stone. His throat worked around the third worker's cock. He did not stop sucking. Pleasure rolled through him in waves, his body no longer fighting but chasing each new sensation.
The fourth worker took the second one's place. He pushed in. The brother's hole was even looser now. The worker's cock disappeared without resistance. He looked down.
"Three of us could stand here and take turns and he would still be asking for more."
The brother did not answer. His mouth was full. His eyes were half-closed. His cock was still hard. It had not gone down.
The third worker came in the brother's mouth. The brother swallowed. No hesitation. The third worker pulled out. The brother's tongue followed for a second. Then stopped.
The fourth worker was last. He was bigger than the others. He pressed against the brother's hole. It took him without effort. The brother's body swung forward in the ropes. His mouth opened. No sound came out.
The fourth worker fucked him slow. The brother's cock was leaking steadily. Clear fluid running down the shaft. The fourth worker reached around and took it in his hand. Stroked once. The brother came again. Smaller. His body jerked. His head dropped.
The fourth worker stayed inside him. He looked at the others.
"That is enough."
They all stepped back. The brother hung there. His hole was open. Red. Cum was leaking out in a slow stream. It ran down his thigh and dripped onto the stone.
The first worker walked back and looked at it.
"Look at that. Wide open."
The brother did not speak. His mouth stayed closed.
The second worker turned toward me.
"Do you want us to come into your bowl."
I shook my head.
"No. I've done this already with the other brother. I can get it from the three of you who came in his ass."
The worker nodded toward the third one.
"But he swallowed everything right."
The third worker looked down at his cock. It was still wet.
"Well. Not really. I probably still have some on my dick."
I nodded.
"Yes. That will suffice."
I walked to the brother. His hole was slack. Still pulsing. Cum was leaking out in a slow stream. I dipped two fingers in. The mix was warm. I scooped it into the bowl. Then I turned to the third worker. He held his cock out. I wiped the head clean with two fingers and added it to the bowl.
The brother did not look at me. His eyes were open. His cock was still hard. It twitched once and another drop fell.
They left. The ropes creaked once as the brother's weight shifted. Then the dungeon was quiet except for the sound of his breathing.
We all left together. The brother kept his eyes on the stone floor between his spread feet.
I turned at the door.
"Tell me again how I can get to the training yard."
I walked into the training yard. The bowl was still warm. Four workers were at the central post. The eldest brother was already bent over it. Two of them had his wrists pinned down on the lower beam. The other two were lowering the top half of the pillory. It slammed shut with a heavy sound. The brother roared and tried to lift it. His shoulders bunched. The wood creaked but did not move.
They stripped him. He fought the whole time. Kicking. Bucking. Trying to twist his body off the post. His voice was raw.
"You fucking worms. Let me go. I will break every bone in your bodies."
One of the workers picked up a short whip from the table. He swung it once. Hard. Across the brother's bare arse. The crack was loud. The brother screamed. A single raw sound.
Another worker raised his hand.
"Stop. This is too soon. We will be done in ten minutes. Let's plan this."
The brother was breathing hard. His face was already red.
"You bastards. You are all dead. Every last one of you."
The first worker looked at the brother's arse. The mark from the whip was already darkening.
"Look at this. He has not been a good boy. He needs to be punished."
The second one smiled.
"The big mean beast is about to learn a lesson."
They started slow.
One of them ran the back of his hand lightly down the inside of the brother's thigh. Then the other thigh. Light. Almost tickling. The brother jerked.
"Fuck off. Do not touch me like that."
They ignored him. The same worker did it again. Slower. The brother's leg twitched. He tried to close his thighs but the post kept him open.
Another worker reached under and took one of the brother's nipples between two fingers. He pinched. Not hard. Just enough to make the skin pull. The brother's breathing changed. He stopped swearing for a moment. His body began to soften into the post.
The first worker moved lower. He cupped the brother's balls. Squeezed gently. Then a little harder. The brother made a low sound in his throat.
"He can take more than I thought," the worker said. "Look at that. Still quiet."
He squeezed again. The brother's hips shifted. His cock was starting to lift.
They kept going. Light touches turning into pinches. Pinches turning into harder squeezes. One of them slid two fingers into the brother's arse. Not fucking him. Just holding them there. Feeling how he clenched.
The brother was talking less now. His head was down. His beard touched the wood of the post. His shoulders dropped. He was no longer fighting.
They stopped.
One of the workers wiped his hand on his own thigh.
"Should we just leave him like this. I could have a beer."
The yard went quiet. The brother's breathing was the only sound. Then his voice came. Very low.
"Please."
The worker who had spoken leaned down a little.
"What did you say?"
The brother did not answer at first.
"What did you say?"
Still nothing.
The worker waited.
"What did you say?"
The brother's voice was hoarse.
"Continue. Please."
The four workers looked at each other. Then they laughed. Not loud. Low and mean.
"Look at him," one said. "The monster who used to make us count every strike. Who never let us come. Who treated us like we were nothing but holes to break."
Another one nodded.
"He never gave us pleasure. Just pain. And now here he is. Asking for it."
The third one looked at the brother's face.
"Maybe that is why he did it. So his brothers would never know. The big strong one. The one who ran the yard. Actually the biggest masochist of them all."
The brother did not speak. A single tear ran down his cheek and into his beard.
They picked up the cane.
It started light. The first few strokes were almost gentle. The brother's cock began to harden again. He shifted his hips. Not away. Toward the next strike.
They built it slowly. The cane struck harder. His breathing changed. His cock was fully hard now. Swinging with every impact.
"More," he said.
One of the workers paused.
"Where?"
"On my arse."
They gave him what he asked for. Harder. The cane left thin red lines. His cock stayed hard. Fluid was dripping steadily.
They brought out the spiked paddle. The small metal points caught the light.
"Do you want the spikes," one of them asked. "Are you sure?"
The brother's voice was steady.
"Yes. Break me."
They used it. The points bit into the skin. Thin cuts opened. Blood welled in small beads. The brother's cock twitched with every strike. He was breathing through his mouth now. His body had surrendered completely.
They checked again.
"Do you want more?"
"Yes. Punish me."
The next strike landed across the fresh cuts. The brother came.
It was sudden and violent. His cock jerked hard. Thick ropes shot across the dirt. His body locked against the post. A raw broken sound came out of him. Not a scream. Something lower. His thighs shook. His head dropped. Cum kept pulsing out of him even after the strike had landed.
The workers stepped back. Their work was done here. I still needed some of that cum. I asked them to jerk on his face.
They looked at each other. Then they moved in front of the brother. He did not lift his head. One of them took his cock out and started stroking. The others followed.
The brother opened his mouth. He put his tongue out. Flat. Waiting.
One of the workers looked down at him.
"Keep it open. Do not swallow. You are going to be collecting it."
They came one after the other. Thick loads landed on his tongue and across his face. He did not move. He kept his tongue out until all four had finished. Cum ran down his chin and dripped onto the dirt.
I stepped forward with the bowl. I scraped what was on his tongue and face into it. Four loads from four men who had been hurt in this yard. Brought back from the body of the man who had hurt them.
The workers left. Their footsteps faded across the yard.
I looked at the brother still bent over the post. His face was wet. His arse was marked and bleeding in thin lines. His cock hung soft now.
I started walking fast toward the building beside me where the private cells were.
The hawkish brother was already on his knees when I reached the door. Four workers stood around him. They were fitting the leather pouch. Thick strips of hide wrapped around his cock and balls. Rope threaded through the edges and pulled tight. The leather pressed everything flat against his body. No metal. Just hide and cord. His beard was already damp with sweat.
First the pouch. They laced it closed and tied the cords at the base. His cock was forced down and back. The leather creaked when he breathed.
Then the posture collar. Wide leather. Stiff. They buckled it behind his neck and forced his chin up. His beard jutted forward. He could not look down.
Then the plug. Large. Smooth wood. One of them spat on it and worked it in slow. The brother's thighs shook but he made no sound. When it was seated they tied a thin cord from the base of the plug to the back of the collar. Every time his head moved the plug shifted inside him.
Finally the wrists. They tied them behind his back with the same rope that held the pouch. His shoulders were pulled tight. His chest was forced forward.
When they finished they stepped back and looked at him. Then they walked to the bench along the far wall and sat down. They left him kneeling in the centre of the room.
One of them spoke first. "Strange. Being on this side."
Another nodded. "He used to make us stand like this for hours. Said it built character. Said we needed to learn to suffer without moving."
They talked quietly. About the cells. About the rules he had made. About how he would inspect them every morning and twist the cages until they hissed. They lost track of time. The brother stayed exactly where they had left him. Knees apart. Back straight. Head high. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of his chest.
After a long while one of them looked over. "Look. He is still hard I think."
They stood and walked back to him. One of them untied the cords at the base of the pouch. The leather fell open. The brother's cock surged up at once. Fully hard. Dark at the head. A string of clear fluid already hanging from the tip.
They looked at it. "What should we do with that?" one asked.
"Well, he never satisfied us," another said. "Yeah. So we are not him. Let us not do that."
They lowered the rope that held his wrists. His upper body came forward until his face was level with their cocks. One of them took his own cock out and held it in front of the brother's mouth. "Open."
The brother opened. No hesitation. "Suck. If you do anything wrong you will stay in here until morning."
They took turns. One after the other. The brother worked without sound. His eyes stayed half-closed. When the first one came he filled the brother's mouth. Then he spoke. "Spit it in the bowl."
The brother turned his head. I held the bowl under his mouth. The brother let the cum fall into it. Thick. White. Still warm.
The next one did the same. Then the third. Then the fourth. Each time the brother took the load and turned to spit it into the bowl without being told twice.
When they were finished they wiped themselves on his beard and brought him upright again. His shoulders eased. They did not retie the pouch.
One of them knelt in front of him and took his cock in his mouth. Another moved behind and turned the plug slowly inside him. The third took his nipples between his fingers and twisted. The fourth stood in front of the brother's face and looked at him. "I am going to do what you never did to us," he said. "I am going to shame you with kindness."
He leaned in and kissed him. Slow. Deep. The brother's mouth opened under his. The other three kept working. Mouth on his cock. Hand turning the plug. Fingers on his nipples. The brother's breathing changed. His thighs started to shake. Then he came. Hard. His cock pulsed in the worker's mouth and he made a long low sound.
They eased the ropes a little. Not enough to free him. Just enough that he could breathe without strain. Then they stepped back.
I looked at them. "Come with me to the great hall."
It was empty.
The long tables had been dragged aside. One lay on its side. There was a dark smear across the stone floor that smelled of piss. The workers looked at it and understood. They had made him walk. Or crawl.
A sound came from the privy stairs. Low voices. Someone laughing. We followed it down.
The privy was full.
The balding brother was in the hole. Shoulder-deep in shit. His head was just above the floor level. Face turned up. He had no beard. His skin was streaked brown. A worker was squatting over him. The man grunted once and shit fell. It spread across the brother's mouth and nose. The brother did not turn away. He lifted one hand from the filth and caught what he could. Then he brought his fingers to his own mouth.
Some of the men turned their heads and walked back up the stairs. One of them put his hand over his mouth. Others stayed where they were. They watched without moving. A few of the workers smiled a little. Not mocking. Just watching what was happening.
The brother reached up again when the next man squatted. He put his hand flat against the man's arse. The shit came through his fingers. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed it across his mouth. His other arm was moving under the surface. Steady. Rhythmic. He was jerking himself.
More men kept coming down. Some pissed on him from the edge. One stood at the rim and stroked until he came. He tried to hit the brother's open mouth. The brother tilted his head to catch it.
I looked at the four workers who had been with him from the start.
"Does anyone have a good idea for me to collect the cum of you four?"
The brother answered first. His voice was quiet.
"Bring your bowl."
I held it out. He reached up and touched the side of his head above his left ear. His fingers came away streaked. He wiped them on the rim of the bowl. Then he wiped under his chin and did the same. Then the right side of his neck. Finally he spat into his palm and wiped that across the edge as well.
No one spoke. The only sound was water dripping somewhere in the hole.
One of the four workers cleared his throat.
"Yes. We all came on him. I aimed at his tongue. He kept it. Played with it instead of swallowing."
The brother stayed where he was. His arm was still moving under the filth.
Lirael, Vesper, Joren and Garrick appeared at the top of the stairs. They looked down for a moment. Then Joren turned and walked back up. The others followed.
The workers in the privy looked at each other.
"That is enough."
They climbed the stairs. I followed with the bowl. The great hall was quiet again. The tables were still pushed aside. The smear on the floor had dried darker.
I set the bowl down on the nearest upright table. The surface of the liquid inside was thick and streaked.
The afternoon had gone. Workers went out to the places where the brothers had been left. They brought them back one by one. None of them fought. None of them cursed. The one from the privy they took to the pond first. They threw him in. He came up wet and quiet. They walked him into the hall dripping. The others were already there. Blankets had been thrown over their shoulders. The hall was warm. Lantern light now instead of the high window. Their faces were empty. The anger had gone out of them. They sat with their hands in their laps.
They bound each brother to a chair again. Five chairs. Five men. The circle closed.
Garrick and I stayed at full size. We stood behind Lirael. Joren stood on his left. Vesper stood on his right. All four of us put our hands on his shoulders. Lirael stood very still. His face was solemn. He looked at the five brothers one by one.
"You have taken ten years from these men," he said. His voice was quiet. It carried anyway. "You took their bodies. You took their time. You took their names. You made them kneel and you made them bleed and you made them believe that was all they were worth."
He paused. The hall listened.
"What you did not know is that each of you would find the other side of it. The thick-armed one learned he could be opened. The youngest learned he could be hung and still want more. The eldest learned he could ask for the cane. The balding one learned he could drink what he had forced others to drink. The hawkish one learned he could be taken while he explained the law to himself. You all learned the same thing. You are what you did to them. You are also what they did to you."
He looked at the bowl on the trestle table. The fluid had thickened in the hours. The surface caught the light from the lanterns and held it.
"Ten years of cruelty and slavery cannot be forgiven," he said. "For this you will be punished."
He lifted his hands. The old tongue came.
The light around the five brothers gathered. Not by much. A small drawing-in. The lanterns at the far end of the hall went thin at the same moment. The shadows on the side walls deepened. The brothers were lit and the rest of the room was not. The workers near the back stopped breathing. I felt it through the floor.
"You will keep your bodies."
We repeated it behind him. The workers repeated it after us. The sound moved through the hall three times. The light over the brothers pulsed three times with the voices. Each pulse a small brightening. Each pulse a small dim after.
Lirael spoke the next.
"You will keep your urges. Your mind will remain as it was. You will still want what you wanted."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
"You will not raise a hand to harm another. Not yours. Not anyone's. Not in this house or any house. If you try, your hand will fail to close."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
"You will find no man or creature outside these five. No guest. Only brother to and with brother."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
"You will not raise voice or hand or plan against any living thing. Your body will refuse the act before the thought forms."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
"This house will become a place for those who need what you needed. The masochists will choose who comes. They will decide who is worthy. You will serve under their rule."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
"If someone comes to love one of you. Truly. A love that asks nothing of the body. And if that love is returned in kind. The curse will know. The restriction may lift."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
"When you understand the shape of what you have. You will not be able to undo it. You will live the years you have been given. You will live them with this."
We repeated it. The workers repeated it. The light pulsed three times.
Lirael's hands closed.
The light over the brothers faded back. The lanterns at the far end came up. The hall was even again. The fluid in the bowl was gone.
The sound was small. Not a clap. A click. Like a door catch sliding home. The lamp flames on the side table bowed once. The pressure in my ears moved one fraction. The wood of the beam over Garrick creaked once and settled. I checked the bond. Nothing. Just the click. Just the room. Joren's hand was still on Lirael's shoulder.
The youngest brother bucked once against the ropes. The hawkish one closed his eyes. The eldest did not move.
Garrick's eye was reading the brothers' bodies after the click. A faint shadow at the base of each cock. He could see it. None of the rest of us could. He nodded once. Held the nod.
Vesper folded the page. Folded it again. Slid it into the inside pocket of his coat.
"Done."
Lirael turned his head a little. He looked at Tommy.
"It's done. They will live here under your care or you will throw them out. That is your choice now."
Tommy answered without looking away from the brothers.
"They are free to stay," he said. "None of us will seek revenge on them anymore. They'll work the stables. They'll watch the new arrangement and know they cannot have it."
Tommy looked at them. Then he turned to the workers.
"We are free. And now I'm hungry. And I want beer."
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