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Message-ID: <38545asstr$1033348203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Maureen Lycaon <maureen_lcn@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Captivity [1/3] (MM, Mdom/M, nc, tort, oral, anal, ScFi)
Date: Sun, 29 Sep 2002 21:10:03 -0400
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SWORN

PART ONE: CAPTIVITY



@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, September 2002. Permission
granted to duplicate this story via normal propagation
through Usenet and whatever mailing lists it's posted
on (but please do not repost; I can do that myself,
thank you); to archive it in the official web archives
of alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.moderated and
alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated, as well as whatever
mailing lists I post it on; and to keep one hard copy
and two electronic copies for your personal use. All
other rights are reserved under the Berne Convention.

MANDATORY WARNING: This is hard-core erotica. If you
shouldn't or don't want to be reading this, don't.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
What this series of stories describes wouldn't be
healthy in real life. The main character comes to
accept and enjoy being enslaved and raped -- and I
portray this as a Good Thing. The only reassurance I
can offer my readers is: this is a dream you are in,
an erotic dream about dominance and submission. It is
not a guide to BDSM or the real world -- only a portal
into the author's own twisted imagination.

All hail Dusk Darkling, who provided most of the beta
reading (and advised on Servant Byron's writing
equipment); Windrunner and Tyellas, who also beta'd;
and Michael Craig, who provided constructive
criticism.

You can read my other erotic works at:
http://members.vclart.net/Maureen/index2.html



Captivity (Part One of the "Sworn" series)

By Maureen Lycaon 



He would never, ever know how long that state lasted,
with him gasping, moaning, squirming, and thrusting
into Lord Michael's hands. The dark spell of pleasure
broke only when those hands stopped, ceasing to caress
him.

He felt the mattress give and sink as the Lord shifted
his weight. Rain lifted his head to look at him.
Michael had straightened up on the bed and was smiling
down at him.

This arrogant Lord had brought him to shameless,
animal arousal, then denied him -- and now was
gloating over him. Only the memory of the oath he had
sworn restrained Rain as his fists gripped the bars to
white-knuckle tightness, arms shaking with the strain,
and he silently cursed Michael with every foul word he
knew.

As the Lord gazed down upon him, that smile faded.
Michael nodded, as if acknowledging his emotions
without responding to them. He didn't seem worried.

"You are angry," he stated calmly.

Rain glared back at him, not certain whether an answer
was required or not -- and not trusting himself to
speak.

"Give me an answer, Rain." Some of the iron was back
in that voice. "You are angry, are you not?"

After a moment, Rain admitted, "Yes, I am . . . Lord."

"You believe me to be laughing at you for becoming
aroused. You imagine that I despise you."

"I -- yes, my Lord."

Michael nodded again. "Understandable," he remarked.
"You still think of me as your enemy."

Rain muttered "Yes, my Lord," before wondering if
Michael had really expected an answer to that too.

A silence grew between them, stretching into long
moments. Rain felt a throb of hunger in his manhood;
it was still swollen. He closed his eyes, turning his
head away.

Feeling another touch upon that stiffened flesh, he
opened his eyes. The Lord had bent over him and
caressed his organ again.

"Would you like more of that?" Michael asked.

Rain stared up at him, torn by conflicting emotions.
What to answer -- a defiant "no", and risk being
mocked and perhaps punished? "Yes", and admit how
completely the Lord's hand had subdued him with
pleasure?

Chill, heavy helplessness spread through his soul. He
would be allowed no pride at all, it seemed.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice weak even in his own
ears.

Lord Michael simply nodded again.

"Good. I *will* satisfy you, but before that I wish to
give you your first lesson in pleasing me. Hopefully
you'll now find it less distasteful. Afterward,
provided you do well, I will reward you. I will go
slowly, and keep your inexperience in mind."

Lord Michael moved off of him and climbed down from
the bed, slowly, unhurriedly, swinging his feet to the
floor.

"You may let go of the bars now," he told Rain. "Get
up off the bed, and stand on the floor with me."

Rain obeyed, feeling his still-stiffened manhood
swaying as he moved to stand before the Lord.

Michael sat down on the edge of the bed again, facing
Rain, and spread his knees apart. Taking a pillow from
the bed, the Lord dropped it to the floor between his
feet.

"I think that will be easier for you," Michael
remarked. "Kneel on the pillow."

Rain felt his face heat again. He was acutely
self-conscious as he knelt down upon the pillow before
the Lord, all too aware of how abject he looked. At
least this time he wasn't in front of Lord Michael's
entire assembled body of servants.

"No, you need not raise yourself upon your knees," the
Lord corrected. "Sit down on your calves. Yes, that's
right."

As Rain sat kneeling between Michael's opened thighs,
the Lord's groin bare inches from his face, he
suspected what he would be called upon to do now. It
was not unknown to his own people -- when done by a
woman, for a man. But for a man to suckle another man,
let alone a Lord . . .

*I must do this,* Rain told himself. *I must.* He felt
his arousal mercifully dwindling.

Lord Michael wasted no time, but spread his own thighs
wider apart. The shape of his organ was obvious
underneath the tight cloth of his trousers.

"Open my trousers, Rain," the Lord commanded.

Rain reached forward with both hands. Slowly,
cautiously, he fumbled with the lacings -- they were
different from those of Clansfolk, shorter and
tighter, which made the knot at the top harder to
loose. Finally he managed to untie it. He opened the
flaps, so that the wiry pubic hair emerged. The Lord
was wearing nothing underneath those thin trousers,
not even a loincloth.

So short were the laces, he'd have to pull them out of
their eyelets to reach Michael's sex. He hesitated.

"Go ahead, remove the laces," Michael's voice sounded.


With some difficulty, Rain drew the laces out of
several successive eyelets, until the Lord's organ was
half-exposed.

"Continue," Lord Michael said. "Draw out my member,
and take it in your hands."

Rain hesitated a moment, then reached forward again
and carefully pulled out Michael's organ.

Its warmth was like a shock to his fingers. He hated
the feel of it, wanted to drop it and wipe his hands
off. He did not want to do this, and he knew he must,
that there was no escape from the necessity of it.

Michael had not commanded him any further. Rain knelt
there with the Lord's manhood in his hands, and looked
up at Michael's face, uncertain.

"Hold it in your hands for a moment," Michael told
him. "Just look at it and feel it. Get to know how it
feels."

Rain lowered his eyes to the flesh he held, feeling
its warm weight in his hands. It was about as long as
his own, perhaps a little thinner, but uncircumcised
-- something unheard of among Clansmen. He'd never
seen a foreskin on an adult man before.

The pubic hair was paler than his own, only a few
shades darker than the Lord's blond mane. It was also
stiffer and wirier, and less dense -- Michael was
little exposed to cold, even in winter.

The Clansman found himself caught in mingled distaste
and fascination, feeling the manhood so like and yet
unlike his own. It was rousing, just from his touch --
the tip was reddening.

*It is not so bad, after all. It's just different. I
can grow used to it.* The queasiness of his stomach
mocked his efforts. *I must,* he reminded it.

"Very good, Rain," Michael said. "Now, put your mouth
on it. Kiss the tip."

Rain gathered his will. He lowered his head, and
kissed Michael's manhood on its very tip, a little
over the slit. The warm flesh against his lips filled
his awareness and drove out all other thought, as if
the organ were already forcing its way into his mouth.
His stomach hitched.

"Good. Again," Michael's voice commanded. Rain obeyed
once more. His stomach quivered, less strongly now.

"Again -- more softly and respectfully this time."

He felt as if he himself were being diminished as he
feigned humble reverence for the organ, kissing it
more slowly. The spasms of his belly subsided, giving
in to the inevitable.

He glanced up into Lord Michael's eyes, seeing the
glitter of lust there. The Lord looked back intently
at him and nodded once, almost imperceptibly,
acknowledging his reluctance without making any
concession to it.

"Listen to me well, now," Michael said. "You are going
to pleasure me with your mouth, and I do not wish to
have to urge you on. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord." Rain made himself breathe evenly and
listen, forced himself to look the Lord in the eye.

"You will take care not to touch me with your teeth,
and when I spend, you will swallow my semen without my
having to command you further. You will hold my member
in your mouth then, gently, until I say that you may
release it."

Rain swallowed. "Yes, my Lord."

"Now, take it into your mouth, just the head at first.
Take a deep breath first -- that will keep you from
gagging. Rest your hands on my knees or my thighs, if
you wish."

Lowering his head again, Rain braced himself . . .
opened his mouth . . . took Lord Michael's flesh into
his mouth, feeling it rest upon his tongue, press
gently against the roof of his mouth. He couldn't help
but taste it, its slight saltiness and the faint musk
of sex.

His stomach quivered again, beginning to rebel once
more. Again he forced it down, breathing hard through
his nose.

Holding the Lord's organ in his mouth, he put his
hands on Michael's thighs, awaiting the next order.

"Tongue it, Rain. Lick it. Please me."

Closing his eyes, Rain touched his tongue to the tip,
tasting the salt of Michael's skin. His stomach heaved
one more time, and then was still. The Lord gave him
no further order, no permission to stop, and so he
continued to lick the organ in his mouth.

The taste and the feel were not as bad as he would
have expected, even with the foreskin. They were not
bad at all, really. He sighed through his nose as he
worked, tonguing his master's sex, feeling himself
grow accustomed to the strange task. The flesh
stiffened and grew warmer as he worked. He wasn't sure
if that were worse or better. It was . . . different.

His own arousal had gone, his manhood hanging limp. A
mercy, he decided. He had no wish to find this act
arousing.

The Lord's hand was stroking his hair again. He wanted
to resist the soft pleasure of that touch, but he
didn't have the energy or the concentration just now.
It was all focused upon the act he had to perform. A
small ache made itself felt in his neck as he worked
with lowered head.

He had almost forgotten his shame, until Lord Michael
spoke again.

"You are doing well, Rain," that deep, gentle voice
said, with only a hint of huskiness, and Rain felt
himself cringe inwardly. "But you must become more
adventurous. Go ahead, explore my member with your
tongue now -- you can take more of it into your mouth
to do it."

The Clansman did as he was bidden, taking more of the
manhood into his mouth. He found that he could
overcome his urge to gag by that deep breathing, just
as Michael had said, and by not letting the tip brush
his throat. He moved his tongue along it in whatever
new ways he could think of: stroking, tapping,
caressing. He even tried slipping the tip of his
tongue into the slit; that actually drew a gasp from
Michael. The Lord's breathing was becoming uneven,
shaky, as Rain worked.

"Very good," Michael said, his voice low and husky.
"Work more quickly, now -- no, not too quickly," as
Rain tried to seize the opportunity to hurry, eager to
get the task over with. The Lord's hand came to rest
on the top of his head, firm, commanding, and he
stopped.

"It's no use trying to finish swiftly, Rain," Michael
admonished, the note of command in his voice once
more. "You are going to have to do this every day,
sometimes more than once. You will do better to accept
that fact, and grow accustomed to pleasing me with
your mouth. No, keep tonguing me even as I speak. I
did not give you permission to cease. And now, suck
upon it, as well."

Rain felt heat flare on his cheeks at the rebuke. He
began his work again, trying to ignore the worsening
ache of his neck, the beginning of weariness in his
jaw muscles. 

Michael once more stroked his hair as he worked.

He heard the Lord begin to breathe raggedly again, the
muscles of the thighs tightening under his hands. A
deep, soft moan came. Another. The hand clenched in
his hair, then abandoned him. 

He felt as if he knew every inch of the organ in his
mouth, how it tasted, how it felt -- a knowledge he
had never wanted but had had to gain anyway.
 
Then he tasted the first salt of arousal, the seeping
fluid that signaled true excitement.

The revulsion he thought he had conquered rose to
choke him. He jerked back, releasing the organ and
letting go of Michael's thighs as he gagged.

A moment later, his chin was seized in strong hands.
He almost lifted his arms to fend Lord Michael off, to
resist -- but at the last moment, he remembered
himself, and let the Lord force his head back up. He
was still gagging a little; he swallowed hard to quell
it as he met those stern blue eyes once again.

*He will surely punish me now . . .*

Michael did, dealing him a single, firm slap across
the cheek.

Rain shuddered, knowing that he must not lift a hand
in his own defense. His fists balled tightly at his
sides as he looked into the Lord's stern eyes, feeling
hot anger well up in his heart. The imprint of the
slap burned on his cheek.

He waited, but no second slap followed. Michael's gaze
never wavered from his.

"I did not give you permission to cease," Lord Michael
said, his tone of voice as even as it ever had been.
He released Rain's head. "Now, continue."

Rain took a deep breath, fighting to regain control of
himself. The Lord waited.

At last, the Clansman leaned forward, put his hands
back on Michael's thighs, lowered his head to resume
his task.

He had lost ground, but soon Michael was breathing
raggedly again, then gasping.

Rain tasted the Lord's salty fluid of arousal again,
but at least this time the element of surprise was
gone. He forced down the urge to gag with everything
that he had, and succeeded.

The Lord did not correct him again until the end.

By the shudders of Michael's sex and the tensing of
his legs, Rain had enough warning to brace himself. He
refused to let himself know the taste the Lord's
essence spurting into his mouth, swallowing as quickly
as he could. Even so, a faint warmth lingered at the
back of his throat. Michael's manhood quivered a last
time, then grew still.

*I have sworn to obey*, Rain reminded himself. It was
little comfort. His stomach heaved, wanting to reject
what he had just swallowed. His jaw ached; his neck
felt as if it were about to break. Even with the
cushioning pillow, his knees hurt fiercely.
Remembering the command to hold the Lord's manhood
until he was bidden otherwise, he waited.

Gradually, Lord Michael's breathing slowed. His
manhood softened, shrank.

"You may release my member, now," the Lord said. "And
you sucked very well, for a first time."

Rain had thought he could feel no worse shame, but the
words seemed to strike through his very soul. He tried
to turn away, letting his arms drop, feeling a burning
heat on his cheeks. Lord Michael reached out with both
hands, grasped Rain's collar with his left hand and
gripped his chin firmly with the right, refusing to
permit the evasion. There was no anger in the Lord's
expression, but neither was there any weakness.

"No, Rain. You have given yourself to me, body and
soul. You have no right to hide your feelings. None."

In a heartbeat, shame turned to anger in the Clansman.
He glared openly at the arrogant Lord. *You wish to
see my feelings? Here they are!*

He wanted to spit out the taste lingering in his
mouth, wanted to twist away again, to strike out. Only
his oath, and the knowledge that the safety of others
besides himself was at stake, held him back.

He became aware that his fists were clenched so
tightly that they hurt as much as his neck, the
muscles quivering with tension. He drew a shaky
breath, let it out again, fighting his own anger.

Long moments passed as his eyes remained locked with
the Lord's. Michael's gaze never wavered, nor did his
expression change as he looked back, still holding
Rain's head.

"You belong to me," Michael said, looking down at him
with those gentle, terrible eyes. "You must accept it.
*Accept* it, Rain."

His heart recognized the truth of those words, even if
his anger did not. They seemed to bore into Rain's
very soul, crushing the anger, turning it to mere
ashes.

*What can I do? Nothing . . . not without breaking my
oath.*

Slowly, slowly, he felt his muscles relax, the
heaviness of defeat filling them. Felt the aching of
his knees, his neck and jaw.

The Lord nodded, as if in acknowledgment. His hands
released Rain, moved to rest upon the Clansman's
shoulders, and began to massage them gently.

"That was terribly humiliating for you, wasn't it?" he
said.

"Yes, my Lord," Rain admitted, hoping Michael would
not mock him. "It was."

Michael nodded again, gravely. There was no trace of
mockery in his eyes.

"Nevertheless, you will suckle on my member every day,
and sometimes more than once a day, so you will get
used to it." His hands moved slowly on Rain's
shoulders for several more long moments, then stopped.
"Now I will reward you, as I have promised," he said.
"Get back onto the bed, and grasp the bars again."

Slowly, stiffly, Rain rose from his knees. He had long
since lost every trace of arousal; the promised reward
held no allure. *I must do this. I must obey.*

Michael moved aside to allow Rain to obey him,
standing up to lace his trousers closed. Once more,
Rain lay down upon the bed and held the bars of the
bedstead, the entire front of his body exposed to his
master, and waited for the Lord to do what he would.



LORD MICHAEL:

He had not truly submitted to me, I knew. Without his
oath, without the safety of his people depending upon
his obedience, he would never have been so docile.

Nevertheless, he had done well, and for now his anger
was broken. This lesson was almost over.

I enjoyed the grace with which he moved, as he lay
back down upon the bed, reaching up to clutch the bars
of the bed-head, all the most sensitive parts of his
body offered up to my gaze and my touch. His member
lay limp again, but that barely detracted from his
handsomeness -- and in any case, I meant now to attend
to that.

When he was settled, I brought up the chair so that I
could sit beside the bed. Then, without further words,
I began to caress him again, stroking his lean belly
with my fingertips for a time before I moved downward
once more.

As I took his member into the palm of my hand, I saw a
look of hesitancy upon his fine-boned face. I knew
that he wanted to rebel again, to resist becoming
aroused. I saw the moment of surrender in his eyes,
the relaxing of his jaw muscles. Yes, he was making
progress.

He erected more quickly now that the way had been
prepared, his member warming and stiffening in my
hands. And yet there was one last shred of resistance,
with which he closed his eyes and refused to look upon
me or anything else.

I let go of his member for a moment, reaching up to
brush his lips gently with two fingers. "Open your
eyes, my sweet slave," I bade him softly. "Look at me
for a moment."

His eyes opened immediately, and he looked up. I could
see the shame there, and the resignation.

"Listen to me well, Rain," I told him. "I own you,
just as I have said. Your life is in my hands. So is
your pleasure. Your body belongs now to me, and not in
any way to yourself. You are not to pleasure yourself,
ever, without my express permission, and you may not
ask for that permission. I will give it to you if and
when it suits my own wishes."

I saw him close his eyes, but then he opened them
again. A pink blush was suffusing his cheekbones now.

I went on. "No matter how great your need, you may not
satisfy yourself with your own hand. You may not
spend, ever, unless I give you permission, and for the
most part that will be a privilege that you must
earn."

I could see the words strike home. He swallowed, still
looking at me, and the blush deepened. Yet his member
remained erect. I permitted myself a moment of hope.

He did not speak, so I asked him, "Do you understand
me?"

"Yes, my Lord." His voice was weaker than I had ever
heard it, save after the lashing.

"Good," I said. "Now, I will dispense your reward,
with my hands. You may spread your thighs as you wish,
let your hips thrust, but don't take your hands off
the bars and do not try to pull away from me."

His eyes finally lowered from mine. I began to caress
him again, stroking and fondling his organ; a shiver
passed through the long, lean muscles beneath his fair
skin.

He did not want his passion -- I could see that -- but
he could not deny it. Those wondrous dark eyes began
to glaze, the eyelids drooping half-closed over them,
as he uttered his first moan, his face betraying his
growing pleasure. His member was fully stiffened now.
His thighs spread as I stroked, then closed a little
as he tried to restrain himself . . . then spread
still wider.

Soon he was gasping and moaning freely, his body
flexing and undulating in the throes of passion as it
had before. His lovely testicles were reddened and
drawn up tightly. As I continued to stroke his member
with one hand, I let my other hand roam the rest of
him, running up and down his tensed thighs, his hips,
his ribs, caressing and softly pinching his dusky-pink
nipples between my fingers until they were as
stiffened as that craving phallus.

At one moment, his whole body arched, shuddering under
my hands like a dying stag under the hunter's knife.

Almost, I took compassion upon him, to take him to
completion. Almost. But the lessons I had just given
him needed strengthening.

Thus, as his swollen member twitched in my hand in the
moments before spending, I withdrew. He whimpered, and
then jerked his head up sharply to look at me. I could
see the glaze of passion give way to anger, just as it
had before.

"Yes, I said you would be rewarded, that you would be
allowed to spend," I told him. "I did not say that you
would be satisfied immediately. I enjoy playing with
my slaves, watching them writhe in need. I am going to
do so with you."

The helpless anger in those eyes was so beautiful, it
threatened to take my breath away. But it was vital
now to show no weakness. Thus, I reached out to
administer the touch that had brought such a powerful
reaction before, flicking my finger along the
underside of the reddened head of his member. 

Despite himself, he gasped, just as he had the first
time. As he recovered himself, suddenly there was fear
in his eyes as well as anger. No doubt he was thinking
of the sukai lash, wondering if he had been foolish to
show so much rage.

It would not do to let his fear go too far. I toyed
briefly with his nipple, reminding him of his place,
as I spoke.

"So defiant still," I said softly. "No, never fear. I
have said you need never endure the sukai lash again,
and you will not. But you are my slave and my
possession, and you need to learn that to the marrow
of your bones. You have no right to resist me." I
lifted my hand to run one finger across his lips.

He sighed, the fire in those dark eyes dying as his
gaze lowered. I could see the barely-perceptible slump
of his shoulders.

He was conquered. For now.

The stiffness of his member had never slackened.
Again, I allowed myself to hope. Perhaps he did indeed
have those qualities I was looking for; perhaps there
was more to his submission than an oath . . . even if
he himself did not yet know it.

I resumed fondling him.

I played his flesh with all the skill I could summon,
bringing forth the passion locked within him, making
him moan and squirm, clutching the bars until his
knuckles paled to whiteness. Always, I kept my touch
just a little slower and gentler than he would have
liked.

His movements became ever more abandoned, his groans
louder, taking on a pleading note. His heated phallus
dripped its juice freely now upon my fingers and the
quilt.

What a study in masculine beauty he was! Magnificent,
gloriously aroused, writhing unashamedly in need.

At last, I once again held him poised upon the very
brink of spending. I had a moment to wish for some
skilled craftsman to capture the image he presented in
paint or stone: his long, pale, flowing hair in
disarray upon the quilt, his back arched more tautly
than ever before, face contorted, each muscle standing
out in corded relief beneath his sweat-gleaming skin.
His whole body shuddered, tight as a bow just before
the arrow's release.

"Spend now, my slave," I told him, not raising my
voice.

He cried aloud as his member spurted into my hands.

I continued stroking as he subsided, groaning, the
flow dwindling to a last dribbling of fluids, then
nothing. I did not cease until he had sagged back onto
the bed in limp abandon, his member softening now.

I dried my fingers on a clean cloth from my pocket as
he slowly recovered.

"Was that pleasurable, Rain?" I asked him.

"Yes, my Lord." His voice was humble enough, yet still
he would not turn his eyes to me.

"Look at me," I bade him. "Let me see your eyes
again," and I was rewarded once more with the
opportunity to gaze into those magnificent, wounded,
dark eyes.



RAIN:

Reluctantly, Rain opened his eyes to look at the Lord.

"You are ashamed again," Michael said softly, his
voice gentle as ever.

"Yes, my Lord," Rain admitted.

"At what, precisely?"

"At -- at your touch, my Lord."

"More at being pleasured by it, I think," Michael
replied. "Is that not so?"

Spirits curse this Lord, had he not been disgraced
enough? But again Rain dared not lie.

"Yes, my Lord," he said, and felt his face warm again.


Michael actually sighed, a small sigh but very real,
as if something about the reply were expected yet
disappointing. He reached out to Rain's face. Rain
held still, and the Lord ran his fingers through his
hair.

"Well, that isn't surprising," Michael said. "You
regard me as your enemy. I wish there were something I
could merely say that would change that, but too much
lies between your people and mine. You will refuse to
see that none of that has anything to do with what
lies between you and me."

*What in all the spirits' unknown names can he mean?*
The question did not cross Rain's lips, but he felt
his eyes widen.

Lord Michael nodded. "It must have been terribly
humiliating for you -- being naked before a Lord for
his pleasure, being stroked to the verge of orgasm and
then denied, having to use your mouth on him and
swallow his semen, having him see you spend as well."

Now Michael's expression actually seemed . . .
sympathetic. Sympathy, in a Lord? Rain could only nod
dumbly at the words.

Michael's voice softened still further. "I am not your
enemy, Rain. I hope that one day you will understand
that."

The Lord reached out and touched Rain's throat, the
collar that encircled his neck. Then he lifted his
hand to Rain's hair and ran his fingers through it
again.

"I am your master, but that does not make me your
enemy."



Direct comments and criticism to:
maureen_lcn@yahoo.com. See author's notes above for
the URL to my story archive.


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