body in front of him, but Bloodraven’s other hand still gripped the chain, holding him fast. The hand in his hair shifted to grip his shoulder, forcing him to turn, so that his back was unwillingly to his captor. Bloodraven pulled the chain so that the collar slipped around and let it drape down Yhalen’s back. The weight of it rested against his back, against his buttocks, forgotten momentarily by Bloodraven as the ogre lifted the mass of Yhalen’s hair with both hands, letting it spill between his fingers.
Then Bloodraven said a sharp word and accompanied it by a knee to the back of Yhalen’s leg,
17
making the limb give way and spilling him to the furs of the pallet. He tried to twist around, instinctively wanting a more advantageous position, but the ogre had wrapped his hand in Yhalen’s hair and used it now instead of the chain to keep him in place, pressing his shoulders down to the furs as he crouched down behind the trembling human.
Yhalen shut his eyes, digging his fingers into the furs, trying to find a place in his mind to escape to—his favorite glade in the ancestral forest, the place he’d always escaped to as a child in physicality—beautiful and ethereal and rife with the gentle essence of the Goddess. If he could find that place in his mind now—if he could drift there amidst the soft grass and the small tinkling spring and the peaceful gnarled trees, he could endure this.
But it was hard to concentrate on such peace with the ogre’s thigh shifting between his legs and the sound of rustling cloth as the ogre unlaced his trousers, exposing himself. Yhalen couldn’t see, but he felt the weight of the erection as it was released and allowed to rest on the small of his back, felt the soft hair on Bloodraven’s balls as they pressed against the top of his thighs. Heard Bloodraven unstop the jar with the scented grease and felt the ogre coat his length before leaning back and unceremoniously prodding between Yhalen’s clenched buttocks with it. There was no gentle coaxing this time. No exploratory finger liberally greased to ease the way. The thick head simply pressed insistently against Yhalen’s opening and forced its way past resisting muscle with inevitable success.
The overheated girth of it sliding inside his unwelcoming body was agonizing. He was filled to capacity in the span of a few breaths, his body stretched so wide it felt as if he’d split in two—but he didn’t. He bled well enough—felt it trickling warm and wet down the inside of his thighs, but his body adjusted and accepted the huge organ that had burrowed within it.
Bloodraven grunted in satisfaction, shifting so that his knees on the floor pressed against the edge of the pallet, so that Yhalen’s feet, hanging over the edge were spread on either side of Bloodraven’s thighs, giving him no room to squirm away. As if the hand pressing his shoulders and face into the furs allowed any chance at escape. As if the chain and collar around his neck did.
The only consolation he had was that he uttered not one plea, nor did he scream or cry out. No sound at all escaped him save for involuntary grunts as the ogre began to pound into him in earnest, and the fur he turned his face into, muffled those.
This time Bloodraven finished quickly, taking his pleasure and spilling his hot seed within Yhalen’s bowels before pulling out and rising, tucking himself back within his trousers and relacing them shut.
Released, Yhalen collapsed onto his belly, legs spread wide, various wetness oozing.
“ Gersha ne kurat ,” Bloodraven said, repeating it when Yhalen didn’t move. The chain was caught again and pulled and Yhalen reluctantly dragged to the edge of the pallet before he could make his watery limbs work and get his feet under him. Walking was intolerable. It hurt bad enough to make his eyes tear and with that excuse to justify it, he let the wetness trail freely down his cheeks. He stumbled in Bloodraven’s wake, pulled along
Then Bloodraven said a sharp word and accompanied it by a knee to the back of Yhalen’s leg,
17
making the limb give way and spilling him to the furs of the pallet. He tried to twist around, instinctively wanting a more advantageous position, but the ogre had wrapped his hand in Yhalen’s hair and used it now instead of the chain to keep him in place, pressing his shoulders down to the furs as he crouched down behind the trembling human.
Yhalen shut his eyes, digging his fingers into the furs, trying to find a place in his mind to escape to—his favorite glade in the ancestral forest, the place he’d always escaped to as a child in physicality—beautiful and ethereal and rife with the gentle essence of the Goddess. If he could find that place in his mind now—if he could drift there amidst the soft grass and the small tinkling spring and the peaceful gnarled trees, he could endure this.
But it was hard to concentrate on such peace with the ogre’s thigh shifting between his legs and the sound of rustling cloth as the ogre unlaced his trousers, exposing himself. Yhalen couldn’t see, but he felt the weight of the erection as it was released and allowed to rest on the small of his back, felt the soft hair on Bloodraven’s balls as they pressed against the top of his thighs. Heard Bloodraven unstop the jar with the scented grease and felt the ogre coat his length before leaning back and unceremoniously prodding between Yhalen’s clenched buttocks with it. There was no gentle coaxing this time. No exploratory finger liberally greased to ease the way. The thick head simply pressed insistently against Yhalen’s opening and forced its way past resisting muscle with inevitable success.
The overheated girth of it sliding inside his unwelcoming body was agonizing. He was filled to capacity in the span of a few breaths, his body stretched so wide it felt as if he’d split in two—but he didn’t. He bled well enough—felt it trickling warm and wet down the inside of his thighs, but his body adjusted and accepted the huge organ that had burrowed within it.
Bloodraven grunted in satisfaction, shifting so that his knees on the floor pressed against the edge of the pallet, so that Yhalen’s feet, hanging over the edge were spread on either side of Bloodraven’s thighs, giving him no room to squirm away. As if the hand pressing his shoulders and face into the furs allowed any chance at escape. As if the chain and collar around his neck did.
The only consolation he had was that he uttered not one plea, nor did he scream or cry out. No sound at all escaped him save for involuntary grunts as the ogre began to pound into him in earnest, and the fur he turned his face into, muffled those.
This time Bloodraven finished quickly, taking his pleasure and spilling his hot seed within Yhalen’s bowels before pulling out and rising, tucking himself back within his trousers and relacing them shut.
Released, Yhalen collapsed onto his belly, legs spread wide, various wetness oozing.
“ Gersha ne kurat ,” Bloodraven said, repeating it when Yhalen didn’t move. The chain was caught again and pulled and Yhalen reluctantly dragged to the edge of the pallet before he could make his watery limbs work and get his feet under him. Walking was intolerable. It hurt bad enough to make his eyes tear and with that excuse to justify it, he let the wetness trail freely down his cheeks. He stumbled in Bloodraven’s wake, pulled along
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