Tasim's Tale

Tasim's Tale by Stephanie Vaughan

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2010 by Stephanie Vaughan First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2010 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Tasim's Tale by Stephanie Vaughan

Tasim's Tale By Stephanie Vaughan **** The smell of meat cooking, smoky and mouth-watering, drifted in from a nearby room. It was impossible to tell the exact direction, because the shackles that held Tasim in place allowed for very little movement. He could sit, if he didn't mind his arms being strung up over his head, or he could stand. But that was about it. Two metal bracelets, tethered roughly shoulder-width apart, held him fixed to a wooden pole about twenty centimeters thick. Not his shoulders, though. Maybe those of the guards who'd brought him here, shackled him by his wrists and left him. Not before leering and licking their lips lewdly, sneaking a rough, furtive squeeze of his cock and ass first, though. Tasim kept his head down, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other men who were likewise shackled alongside him. They'd been warned. They'd all known the risks and elected to take the gamble. Gambled and lost. Everyone knew what happened to anyone straying too near Kundaran territory. The Kundari were swift and merciless with their prisoners. Utter savages. Most were killed straight away, slaughtered where they stood, their heads deftly separated from their bodies and mounted on spikes as a warning to others. 3

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Most, but not all. Some were taken captive. Those unhappy few not immediately dispatched were taken away in irons and that was where the story ended. No one knew what happened to those force-marched away. The handful of Isthibans brave enough to attempt to track them invariably disappeared, too. Vanished, like the bird's call after its echo died away, leaving only the quiet of the forest to mock them. Tasim was about to find out what happened—he, and the three lancers who hadn't been slaughtered on the spot. Sighing, Tasim tried to think of the brave men who'd died protecting him as being in a better place now. Isthiban lore taught that all those who died honorably—and giving one's life to save another's most certainly fell into that category, surely—ascended immediately to Paradise. Just what Paradise would actually look like, Tasim wasn't sure. Oh, he knew what scripture taught, but what he'd been told about streets of gold and eternal peace and good will made no sense to him. He rather thought one ought to get to decide for oneself what constituted one's own personal paradise. According to the high priest, though, that wasn't the way things worked. Tasim couldn't believe to this day he'd ever screwed up the courage to quiz the old bijahd on the subject, but the priest had been unmoved. Gold. Peace. Tranquility. Where was the fun in that? Tasim's idea of paradise ran more to— "Hey! You! Asshole! On your feet!" 4

Tasim's Tale by Stephanie Vaughan

At least, that's what it sounded like to Tasim. He'd suffered through years of lessons in Kundari, but he'd never had a talent for languages. Judara had laughed at Tasim's awkward attempts to get his tongue around the rapid clicks, his throat relaxed enough for the guttural chuffs of the neighboring kingdom's parlance, but he had never been any good at it, and now it looked like he would be paying for his ignorance yet again. Two guards stood in the doorway, clutching spears taller than they were. The Kundari were a tall people, outstripping the Isthibans by an average of more than two full hands; those chosen to be part of the royal guard were taller still, bulky as well, and the two who were going about the business of shifting the prisoners made Tasim and his countrymen look like children in comparison. The guard unlocked the metal shackles, replacing them with leather ones while those on Tasim's feet were left as they were. The thought of shuffling along to wherever it was they would be taken next appealed to him not, but he had no choice. When the guards had them all unhooked from what Tasim now took to be a holding area, the guards marched them down a long corridor, paved with locally quarried stone. Servants passed them, headed in the direction from which Tasim and the others had just come. Preparing for a feast, or just the normal evening's meal? Tasim didn't care which, but he'd have given much for even just one of the fragrant bread rolls the serving girl had 5

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carried, filling a basket so wide she'd had to turn sideways to make room for the prisoners to pass. Back when they'd still been in school and expected to study what their tutors tried to get through the boys' thick skulls, Tasim's older brother would cuff him upside the head and tell him he spoke Kundari like a girl. Good thing he wasn't first born. Or even second or third. As merely the fourth-born son, he'd been left to his own devices mostly, thank the gods. Tasim and the lancers were taken to a bathing room, where their clothes were removed—sliced off with wickedlooking blades—and they were shoved unceremoniously into the waist-high water of a communal bathing pool. Thankfully, the water was barely warm. When the guards finished laughing at them, they threw bricks of soap in the water; Tasim fished one of the floating cubes out of the water and set to work. Trying to pretend this sort of thing happened to him all the time, Tasim soaped himself down and tried not stare at the three naked lancers who were bathing next to him. He didn't know their names, but he didn't need to know them to appreciate their lean haunches and nicely muscled shoulders and backs. He was sneaking peeks at all three, fascinated by the line of demarcation between their smooth white buttocks and the skin of their backs, tanned to a golden glow that Tasim wanted to examine more closely. With his tongue, perhaps. And fingers. Yes, most definitely with his fingers. Heat was rolling through him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water, when a bark of laughter yanked 6

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Tasim's attention back to the guards who stood watch over them. One had moved from his station at the door to stand next to his comrade, where the two of them watched with big grins on their faces. As soon as Tasim looked up, the nearest one brought his hand to his groin, mimicking a stroking motion. Tasim's face flamed as he realized he'd been aroused by all the naked flesh so close to his and he'd begun to get hard.. Oh, for the sake of all that was holy. No! Ducking down into the water, Tasim squatted lower until the water reached his chin, glancing quickly around to see if the others had noticed. The three lancers had their backs turned. They were too far apart to be talking, but looked busy washing themselves and casting worried looks in the guards' direction. Just then, a woman entered. Middle-aged and matronlylooking, she was of a stout build and slapped each of the guards as she passed. To Tasim's surprise, not only did the guards not knock the woman sideways, they actually looked chastened. The woman walked the length of the bathing pool, pointing at each of the lancers and then finally at Tasim. "You. Go there. You, over there. You and you... there and there." She gestured at a series of stations, each with a low wooden stool in front of it. After glancing quickly around at each other, the lancers climbed out of the water and Tasim followed suit. It took a few moments for Tasim's brain to register that the woman was speaking Isthiban. 7

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"Sit." Tasim sat, his wet buttocks sliding on the smooth wood of the three-legged stool. He looked at the others, to see how they were handling the experience. They sat warily, if outwardly compliant, and Tasim tried to mimic their composure. They didn't appear to have insides made of pudding, wobbly as newborn calves. "Put your hands there." Madame, as Tasim had dubbed her in his head, gestured at yet another pole—this one running the length of the room. Tasim did as he was told. "Good boy. You'll do well." Had the others heard that? What could the old harridan mean? Whatever their meaning, those three seemingly encouraging words sent a frisson of fear snaking down his spine. The old woman guided Tasim's face away from gazing at his fellow prisoners, directing it toward the wall. "Now hold still." Reaching for a pair of shears she produced seemingly out of nowhere, the woman held his head with one hand and began clipping Tasim's hair. With just a few deft strokes, she'd left him as bald as a spring lamb and moved on to the hair at his underarms. After directing him to stand, she even, hideously, took care of the hair at his groin with a few more workmanlike strokes. Next, she put down the shears and picked up a mitten made of sheepskin. Slipping it onto her hand, she applied a measured amount of oil to its surface and began smoothing the cool liquid over Tasim's skin. Under other circumstances, it might have been a pleasant experience, but the warmth of 8

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the pool had long since left him and Tasim's skin prickled with goose flesh. The woman spent extra time on Tasim's legs and buttocks, and Tasim thought improbably of the child's game he'd played with his brothers and other youngsters of his acquaintance, of sliding down a grassy hill on a summer day. He would have won every race if his serviceable leather breeches had been greased then as he was now. "Hands here." She tapped the wooden pole again and, once again, Tasim did as he was told. He leaned over a bit and grasped the pole with both hands. He didn't think much about the taps of her booted feet against his ankles, just widened his stance a bit, until something cold and hard pressed against his anus. He tensed uncontrollably, but the woman was undeterred. "Hold yourself still. We're almost done." Tasim looked away from the woman and at the three lancers to his left. They watched avidly what was being done to him, eyes wide—not so composed, now. The pressure built as whatever was being inserted into him pressed irrevocably onward. Just when the pain was at its peak and Tasim feared his flesh might split, the widest part was in, settling inside him and he was left with an aching ass and an unfamiliar feeling of fullness. "Stand up." He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to obey. He only knew that he was helpless to change his circumstances and instinct told him to offer his captors no resistance—give them no reason to kill him. Tasim stood. 9

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When something brushed against his ankles, momentarily distracting him from the pain in his asshole, Tasim looked down. Following the trail of hair upward with his gaze, he realized he now wore a tail. The woman had inserted a plug into his ass with a long fall of hair like a horse's tail attached to it. After wiping her hands with a towel, the woman once again approached him. She carried a length of leather in her hands and tapped his chin with it. "Up." Tasim lifted his chin and the woman buckled the collar around his neck. Clipping a lead onto the metal ring at the center of the collar, she tied the end in a clover hitch around the wooden bar. "Wait here." And then she moved down the line to the first lancer. **** Tasim had never been so naked in his life. Walking was an awkward affair with a butt plug lodged deep inside him, but the guard at the other end of his leash looked ill disposed to slow the progression of their little caravan. Each of the three lancers had been subjected to the same treatment Tasim had received and was now likewise shorn, oiled and penetrated; each walked with the same careful, shuffling step as he struggled to adjust to his new circumstances. At least no one had groped him since the Madame had groomed him. She'd made one more last minute addition to their costumes: a lightweight chain, sparkling with inexpensive colored stones, was placed around each captive's waist. The chains were deliberately made too long and were 10

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arranged such that the extra length hung down to the level of mid-thigh, bouncing and caressing each man's cock. Not enough to arouse, but more of a constant reminder. Their hands had been tied together at the backs of their necks, attached to another ring in the backs of the collars they each wore. The hallways the guards led them along were chilly, and Tasim longed for the return of his clothes, but most especially his shoes. Music and voices, the clatter of knives on wooden trenchers, and laughter all grew louder the farther they walked. Tasim's stomach growled as the aroma of roasted meat carried to his nose again. He bit his lip and sniffed the air appreciatively. Maybe this was an elaborate greeting ritual. Perhaps they were being brought to meet their hosts and all of the preparation had been their hosts' idea of lavish hospitality. And maybe he was the king of all Isthibia, on his way to his belated coronation ceremony. The sounds and smells all added up to a feast. More likely they were to serve as the second course. The hall took a right-left dogleg, and then suddenly they were face to face with an oversized doorway, standing in its shadow. The old woman appeared out of nowhere, pinching their cheeks and nipples, giving their cocks a swift one-two pull in an attempt to coax them to life. And then at some unseen signal, the woman stepped away, and the prisoners were led into the great hall. The ceiling was enormous, a height equal to more than four warriors, all standing on each other's shoulders and 11

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darkened with smoke, far larger than anything Tasim had seen back home. Large wood and metal contraptions like cart wheels hung from overhead, each holding several candles and giving the room most of its light. Torches burned in sconces all along the stone walls and here at last, thank the gods, the room was warm. It was the noise, though, that overwhelmed Tasim, hitting him like a wall. The hall was filled with long tables—too many to count, but possibly a score or more—and each one seating a dozen or more men. Across the front of the room on one side was obviously the power table. Richly dressed women and even more lavishly dressed men sat in elaborately appointed chairs. The three chairs in the central positions were the most elaborate of all and placed on risers. These were clearly the leaders here. It was toward the area between the head table and the rest of the room was where the guards led their charges, toward a structure much like a theatrical stage, but with posts sticking up out of it and metal rings attached to those. Tasim and the others were led up to the stage and each was tied to what Tasim now realized were hitching posts. After the four of them were secured to the posts, the guards removed themselves to the sidelines and the man at the center of the table—the king, mayhap?—stood. As the raucous laughter and conversations quickly died away, the man lifted his glass in a toast. The rest of the room quickly quieted and followed suit. The king began a speech, his gestures at several individuals around the room obvious enough, even if his 12

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words were spoken much too quickly for Tasim to follow. Tasim picked out a few words here and there—"victory" and "prosperous." "Warriors," "reward," and "select." Putting the words together, the conclusion was inescapable and Tasim suddenly knew exactly what the young horses must feel like on market day each spring when the yearlings were auctioned off. The king made an expansive gesture toward a table at the front of the room and sat down again, smiling broadly the whole time. The conversations and laughter resumed immediately, but with an increased energy to them, if that was possible. Men and women alike went back to their eating and drinking, only now craning their necks to get better looks at the floor show that Tasim and the others were plainly meant to function as. Tasim's nose itched. He tried ignoring the feeling, but it was no use. His nose itched and his hands weren't available to scratch it, so he leaned over and used the top of the post. An immediate roar went up from the crowd and Tasim realized it was a reaction to him. When he'd bent over, he realized his ass stuck out—its lush tail swishing—and those assembled were apparently signaling their approval. The music, which had been pushed to the background by the immediacy of the crowd around him, picked up. Or, at least, the drums did. What had previously been light chamber music changed, dominated now by an insistent drum beat, hammered out by musicians pounding with mallets on animal skins stretched tight over wooden bases. 13

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A burly, dark-haired warrior rose from the table in front of the dais, pushed himself to his feet and stepped away from the table. Eyes narrowed, he approached the stage, his gaze running over each of the four men tied there. A leather harness of some sort curved around the man's shoulders, attached in the back probably, and his chest was heavy with muscle. Below he wore a short leather breechclout, covering both his front and rear, but leaving the sides open, all held together with a leather cord that spanned the man's muscular waist. As he approached Tasim, tied to the first post, the man's gaze ran up and down Tasim's body, his eyes filled with speculation. Individuals in the crowd were shouting encouragement and advice in words Tasim didn't understand, although the tone made their intent clear. The warrior climbed the two steps up to the stage where Tasim and the others stood tied. Pausing before Tasim, the man raised a hand to Tasim's shoulder, squeezing to feel the muscle beneath the skin. He thumbed one of Tasim's nipples, reaching around briefly to fill his hand with the meat of Tasim's buttocks. Tasim tried to read the look in the man's eyes, but the big soldier was busy with his own agenda, and he soon moved on to the first of the Isthibian lancers. The dark warrior repeated the same process on the next two lancers, finally stopping when he reached the third. The Kundaran spent several minutes playing with the other man's cock, stroking it, watching the lancer's eyes as he twisted a nipple or reached to pry the man's ass cheeks apart. He must have liked what he saw, because he turned to the king's table 14

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and said, "This one." Then he unhitched the lead tying the lancer in place and headed back to his table, the other Kundarans at the table shifting over to make room for the warrior and his prize. The next warrior to climb the steps was lighter in coloring, although equally broad through the chest. His hair was a reddish-brown, streaked with lighter tones, from deep red to light blond. From the way it was tied behind the man's head, bound into a thick bundle, Tasim realized that it probably stretched most of the way down the man's back when untied. A blue-eyed look captured Tasim's as the second warrior approached. So bright a hue, this man's gaze burned, piercing Tasim's last faint grip on his composure and he began to tremble. The Kundaran stood motionless before Tasim, taking a slow, thorough inventory, it appeared. So much taller than Tasim was the warrior that, as the man drew closer, Tasim was unable to crane his neck back far enough to look the man in the eye. With Tasim's wrists secured to the back of the collar he wore, he was struck with an overpowering urge to flee and no way to do anything about it. Unlike the first, this man shook Tasim to his core. His stomach clenching hard, aching to run away but knowing flight was impossible, Tasim locked his knees to keep himself upright. Gaze dropping to Tasim's chest, the man tilted his head a bit, squinting and pursing his lips as though deep in thought. But what could he be thinking? Did the man find him pleasing? And was that something to be hoped for, or not? 15

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Stepping back, the man shifted his head a bit, straightening it and somehow pitching his voice toward the king without breaking his hold on Tasim's gaze. "This one will do." Or, so it seemed to Tasim. Languages weren't his strength and tenses in particular were his downfall. "Shall we go" was indistinguishable from "Should we have gone?" Tasim hoped he'd understood the man correctly, and that what Tasim had heard was a good thing. Regardless, the man untied the knot binding Tasim to the post and turned, moving off the stage with Tasim's leash gripped casually in one hand—all without touching him. Tasim's reactions weren't nearly fast enough to keep up with the big soldier and he was pulled nearly off his feet as the man moved away. He scurried after, or tried—only to be reminded sharply that there was a large butt plug up his ass. Tasim did his best to hustle along after the man, his luxuriant horse's tail brushing the backs of his legs as he walked. **** Tasim followed the man back to his table, hideously aware of how many pairs of eyes gazed on him, on his nakedness and his humiliating lack of control over the smallest aspect of his life. Although he knew little about life in the Kundaran empire, the one aspect he'd heard of was that the Kundarans were a warrior society and unsentimental in the extreme. Once back at the table, like the first warrior and the lancer, this man's tablemates made room for their comrade and his acquisition. A few still sat facing the table and eating, 16

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but most had turned sideways on the bench that ran the length of the table—all the better to watch the entertainment, Tasim assumed. He sat carefully, constantly aware of the butt plug, his mouth watering from the nearness of food. Tasim was still settling himself, trying not to eye the food too obviously, when the big soldier dipped his head a bit. "Ishia Dorian." My name is Dorian. "Ochota uvee?" How are you called? "Ishia Tasim." Still focused and intense, Dorian's blue eyes pinned Tasim. "Tak." Good Picking up a piece of roast fowl, Dorian lifted it to Tasim's lips. Tasim prayed fervently that this wasn't a trick or a test of some kind because he was famished. He opened his mouth and Dorian slipped the morsel inside. So hungry he could have eaten the whole of what he'd seen piled on the serving plate at the center of the table, Tasim closed his eyes and sucked Dorian's finger, unable to suppress the little moan that accompanied his first taste of food in nearly a day. Dorian shifted closer, moving behind Tasim as they both straddled the bench.. Tasim was vaguely aware of another soldier standing on the platform, looking over the remaining two lancers, but he was so hungry and his own soldier was pressing more of the savory meat to his lips, one maddeningly tiny morsel at a time. "C-cuthu." More. Tasim dared to ask for another bite. The prospect of filling his belly pushed the fear aside, and this man didn't treat him with the casual disdain the guards 17

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had, nor the sort of impersonal attention that the old woman had shown him. The warmth along his back—heat from Dorian's body—was driving out the chill, and the fact that no one seemed to be paying much attention to his nudity eased his self-consciousness a bit. Dorian's murmured sounds of assent rumbled pleasantly through Tasim as they traversed the short space between Tasim's back and Dorian's chest. Tasim opened his mouth, issuing a mute request for another bite and Dorian took his time supplying it, offering the food with his left hand as his right came to rest lightly atop Tasim's thigh. Momentarily frozen, Tasim didn't even swallow, waiting for whatever move Dorian might make next. It was only a seemingly absent-minded caress, the very lightest of touches as he rubbed his thumb back and forth while watching the entertainment. That it traced the crease of skin where Tasim's thigh met his torso was by purest chance, or so it seemed. Tasim relaxed and swallowed the morsel of meat quickly, licking his lips to capture any stray bit of juiciness that might remain there. "Klimtada?" Tasim had no idea what Dorian was asking, for it was surely a question. When Tasim didn't respond, Dorian leaned closer, peering down in an attempt to catch Tasim's gaze. Hunching his shoulders, Tasim looked back and instantly stilled, captured by the intensity of Dorian's blue eyes. "Niechandes?" What could he say? Tasim had no idea what Dorian might be asking. What if he replied in a way that displeased the big 18

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soldier? He opened his mouth, but could find no words to fill the void. Dorian's hand slid forward, taking hold of Tasim's thigh, as Dorian's thumb remained strangely close to Tasim's cock. Just then Dorian brought his head to rest gently near Tasim's, their faces close enough that the scent of Dorian's meal, mixed with the spiciness of autumn wine, filled Tasim's head. Tasim shifted, seeking more of the exotic aromas, inadvertently shoving his dick into direct contact with Dorian's hand. Tasim gasped at his mistake. Dorian's body surged, his groin pressing into the small of Tasim's bare back, pushing Tasim forward. The butt plug, momentarily forgotten, now pressed deeper into Tasim's body, putting exquisite pressure somewhere Tasim had never before known and forcing a low moan from his lips. All playfulness now gone, Dorian's hand took a firm grip on Tasim's cock, as the other slid below the edge of the table to cradle Tasim's balls. Tasim found himself surrounded by all the heat and hard muscle of Dorian's body. Gradually becoming aware of laughter all around them, Tasim forced his eyes open and tried to draw away from Dorian, but he could find no leverage. His hands still hooked to the collar around his neck and besieged on all sides by Dorian's more powerful warrior's body, when Tasim began to struggle the laughter turned to outright snickering. Dorian's hands stilled as he muttered something Tasim took to mean that Tasim should quiet himself. Without conscious thought Tasim obeyed, forcing himself to hold still 19

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and Dorian gradually straightened, slowly drawing his hands away to once again rest against Tasim's thighs. The crush of people all around them—mostly soldiers like Dorian, but with a few tough-looking women mixed in—were directing a stream of comments in Tasim and Dorian's direction. Advice and suggestions, it sounded like from the tone, although it was all spoken much too quickly for Tasim to follow. He glanced at the large metal pitchers on all of the tables and wondered how much they had to do with the slurring of words and overall drunken tone. What did surprise Tasim, though, was that he felt only mild fear. Somehow, even amidst all the noise and chaos, surrounded by Dorian's strong arms he felt sheltered, not threatened. "Kiltim." Stay. Slowly disentangling himself from Tasim, Dorian pushed himself to a standing position, still straddling the bench, hands resting on Tasim's shoulders. He addressed a few words to the group, from which the only words Tasim understood clearly were that they were leaving and that Dorian seemed to combine the words for beasts of burden, swine, and fornication in ways Tasim was unfamiliar. Dorian couldn't be leaving him... could he?! Panic beat in Tasim's chest and his insides revolted at the thought. He cast an anxious glance up at Dorian, beseeching Dorian with his eyes not to abandon him to these people. Tasim glanced around. People were laughing even louder now and Dorian's back had gone rigid, his jaw clenched in anger. 20

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Dorian's head snapped up when the king interjected, joining in the laughter and gesturing down at Tasim. From what Tasim could glean from the king's words, the king seemed to be joining in on the side of Dorian's laughing comrades. His tone, though... Although the king's words sounded teasing, his tone suggested that Dorian's choices were limited. Or, so it seemed to Tasim. Dorian appeared to be weighing his choices, his head bent deferentially to the king, but his gaze straying back to Tasim, still seated, still naked. Dorian's gaze dropped to his feet and his already impressive chest expanded as he drew a deep breath. And then his decision was made. Dorian inclined his head to the king in a brief bow of assent. An acknowledgement of who held the power? Turning slowly back to Tasim, the big soldier now appeared to be the one with words stuck in his throat. Dorian's jaw worked slowly from back and forth, a muscle twitching high on one side. Staring hard into Tasim's eyes, when Dorian's words finally came, they were all the more chilling for their garbled meaning to Tasim's uncomprehending brain. "A' pok't tinar. Il trankash no hintibe." I'm sorry for... For what? Tasim had no idea what the first bit had meant, but that last part was an apology. Then Dorian was grasping the leash that Tasim had somehow forgotten about, but was still clasped to the collar fastened so securely about Tasim's neck and helped him up from the bench. Dorian led him up the crowded aisle, with the other warriors moving their feet to clear a path. For the first 21

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time Tasim got a good look at the leather harness that encased the warrior's torso so snugly; at the way the supple leather of his vented skirt clung so lovingly to the big man's muscular ass; at the powerful thighs, thick with hair and big as tree trunks; at the soft leather boots encasing his feet, each as long as one of Tasim's forearms and twice as broad. Dorian led Tasim not out of the hall but back up the two steps that took them to the top of the platform. Was Dorian giving him back? Surely not. But he'd... he'd... Dorian had said Tasim would do. He'd said so—Tasim had heard him. Had he changed his mind somehow? Two servants were climbing the stairs on the far side of the stage, carrying something between them that looked for all the world like a devotional—a prayer station. Except this one was a bit taller, with a wider base and was more generally sturdier-built. When the two servants had finished placing the contraption at the front of the stage, they retreated, but not before glancing from Dorian to Tasim and grinning slyly. Dorian unsnapped the hooks that held Tasim's hands behind his neck, releasing Tasim's arms to fall uselessly to his side. Not meeting Tasim's questioning gaze, he rubbed Tasim's shoulders and arms, helping to chase the fierce tingling sensation as the blood flowed back in. "Dorian?" The crowd's cacophonous hoots and calls had coalesced into a rhythmic chant of something that sounded like, "Yapmak." They repeated it endlessly, some beginning to clap in time with the chanting. "Yap-mak. Yap-mak! Yap-mak!" 22

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Tasim's apprehension returned with a vengeance. "Dorian?" Finally Dorian met Tasim's gaze. Gripping him firmly by the neck, Dorian pulled Tasim close and crushed his mouth with a searing kiss. Dorian's tongue swept Tasim's aside, plunging fiercely in, as Tasim groped for something to hold him steady. Tasim's eyes slammed closed, as though his mind was unable to take in the sight of Dorian so close. But closed eyes only let Tasim's other senses work harder, savoring the feel of Dorian's hard flesh beneath his fingers, the taste of the man on his tongue, the musky scent of Dorian's skin and sweat up close. Dorian's lips drew on Tasim's, as though he would taste all there was of Tasim in but a handful of moments. The hand that wasn't clamped hard on the back of Tasim's neck was clutching as much of Tasim's ass as it could grasp, grinding their lower bodies together as if to meld the two into one. And suddenly it was all over. Just as Tasim had been feeling his feet beneath him again, Dorian was releasing him, resting his forehead against Tasim's for a moment as they both gasped for air. Tasim was still gulping air into his starved lungs when Dorian stepped back, then turned Tasim toward the prayer stand. Except very quickly Tasim realized it wasn't prayer that was about to take place. Dorian placed Tasim's hands at the corners of the stand and indicated where Tasim's knees should go, leaving him upright, but several inches taller than he otherwise would have been. There were a limited number 23

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of activities that could be undertaken on a device like the one on which he now kneeled. Tasim looked for reassurance in Dorian's eyes, but found only steely resolve. Tasim was still gazing up at Dorian when the big man reached for the bottom of the leather covering he wore, rolled it up and tucked it into the cord at his waist that held it all up and Tasim got his first look at Dorian's cock. Fat as a baby's arm, it was already erect—so hard it nearly bounced off Dorian's lean stomach. Flushed and red, the tip of it protruded from a helmet of flesh, the mere sight of which stole Tasim's breath. A gasp escaped Tasim as he gazed at Dorian's thick cock, so much larger than his own. Tasim's heart was pounding, in reaction to both the unbelievable situation he now found himself in and at the massive cock now rampant, less than an arm's length away. Tearing his gaze away from Dorian, Tasim cast a quick glance back at the crowded room behind him. Many in the room had left their seats and crowded forward for a better view, while a few around the sides had climbed atop either the benches or the tables themselves. The table of nobles were mostly pushed back in their seats and Tasim noted several pairs of hands surreptitiously busy beneath the table. "Tasim." Dorian's urgent tone dragged Tasim's attention back to the business at hand. He thought he knew what came next, but Isthiban court had no such custom, Tasim was fairly certain. Now it was Dorian's turn to place his hands behind his neck, the look he cast down at Tasim full of command. The words he uttered next, however were nothing Tasim 24

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recognized from language lessons, however much a ringing tone Dorian used. Squinting up at Dorian, Tasim tried to convey his uncertainty, understanding instinctively not only that this was a test, but that both of them stood to lose should he fail it. "Dilkuron, heimskur!" Suck it, foolish person! Tasim gasped at the phrase, for the one word was surely known to him. Outside of formal class, the older boys had been delighted to teach the younger ones all the foul words they knew in each of the languages of their neighboring kingdoms. This one, he'd been assured, was considered particularly filthy. He had committed it to memory that instant. In his most innocent tone he'd next asked the meaning. Tasim had been the poorest of pupils that day, for the older boys had had to explain it to him over and over and over again. His gaze flying to meet Dorian's, Tasim was unable to push the image of the leering crowds out of his head. Surely, Dorian couldn't mean for him to...? Not just in public, but in the most public of places. In front of his king and commander? "Skilk, hedorsk vasim." Tasim had no idea what that meant, but Dorian's expression had grown dark. Never the brightest pupil—far from it—but neither was Tasim the village fool. He opened his mouth and leaned forward, gaze on Dorian's face the whole time. 25

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Dorian likewise leaned forward and the two met, with Dorian's fat prick slipping past Tasim's lips. Dorian edged forward and Tasim did his best to take it into his mouth. Dorian's flavor was salty and a little sweet and Tasim was instantly smitten. He had once seen one of the kitchen girls performing the same act on his oldest brother. Watching in fascination from behind a haystack, Tasim had noted how the girl bobbed her head and gripped with her lips. His first thought had been the certain knowledge that such an act must be the most fantastic feeling in the world to the one receiving. His next had been that there was no reason a boy couldn't perform the very same act. When he had asked his brother—for Tasim had scarce been able to contain himself until they were alone and he could pose his questions—his brother had referred to it as "the favor." Tasim now knew why. Dorian's flesh slid smoothly over Tasim's lips and tongue, filling his mouth with the most wonderful flavor. Opening his throat as best he could, Tasim struggled to take all of Dorian, for he not only wanted to pass this test, to make Dorian proud of him, but he very much wanted to know what it felt like to have Dorian's flesh in his mouth and his nose buried in the neatly trimmed hair surrounding it. Tasim didn't know if the use of hands was permissible, but he needed to anchor himself; he needed to touch with more than just his mouth, he wanted his hands on this most fascinating bit of flesh. He gripped the base of Dorian's prick, pulling away a bit to let the delicious flavor slide down his 26

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throat. It seemed poor manners somehow to let anything dribble out of his mouth, and in just these few moments he'd already accumulated quite a bit of saliva. He drew back a bit, swallowing the juices and an extended "Ooh!" of delight went up from the crowd. In a perverse way, Tasim didn't mind the crowd's reaction. Everything that had happened to him was so far out of his realm of experience, Tasim couldn't begin to understand or order it. What he did know was that nothing even close to this had ever happened to him in his own village. He had been an ordinary boy with an ordinary life. But the gods had seen fit to bring him here and he was going to make the most of it. Tasim slowly raised his hands, circling Dorian's erection with the fingers of one hand, while the other hand reached below to cradle the fascinating sac that hung beneath. Warm and firm, it nestled in his palm as though it belonged there and Tasim was momentarily distracted. The cock in his mouth was a jealous lover, though, and reclaimed his attention with an aggressive push, deep into Tasim's throat. Choking, Tasim struggled for air. He released his grip on Dorian's testicles and backed off, gasping. The crowd roared its approval and a husky voice near the front shouted encouragement—although Tasim wasn't sure which of them the man meant it for. When Tasim went back to work, Dorian moderated his thrusts, allowing Tasim to resume the sucking and bobbing motion he'd been using before. The chanting, which had tapered off for a while, sprang up again and this time it became more of a partner to the act, spurring the two of them onward with its relentless energy. 27

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Tasim found himself moving in time with the chanting, as Dorian also thrust and withdrew in rough synchronization with the eager two-beat rhythm. Giving himself up to the feverish energy that swirled around them, Tasim closed his eyes and concentrated on what he thought might please Dorian, recalling everything he could of the serving girl's actions and even embellishing a bit. He curled his tongue along the bottom of Dorian's shaft, licking at the protruding vein there; he clamped his lips down against the bulbous head, each time it sought to retreat; he played with the foreskin, slipping his tongue beneath it in quick little forays, delighting each time he drew a response from big warrior. A firm hand clamping the back of his head was the only warning Tasim got. Tension was building in Dorian—that much Tasim could tell. But when one of Dorian's hands grabbed Tasim's head as though it were a melon and held on, it was not but a moment's passing when spurts of hot, salty semen filled Tasim's mouth, sliding as fast as he could swallow down his throat. Tasim's eyes shot open, his gaze going immediately to Dorian's face. Those hot, blue eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids, full lips had flattened into a line while Dorian's nostrils flared intermittently as he drew long, recovering breaths. All the while, Tasim watched closely for the smallest indication from the man whose cock he'd just sucked to completion. What happened next? 28

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The crowd cheered and pounded the tables. Tasim sucked the last of the juices that flowed from Dorian's spent cock and when he pulled back and licked at a few stray drops that had dribbled down his chin, calls of "More!" and "Again!" joined the cacophony. Without a word to Tasim, Dorian turned his head away from the raucous group and addressed the king. Once again Tasim couldn't follow Dorian's words, but the tone seemed to indicate he was asking permission. As unobtrusively as possible, Tasim slid his gaze sideways in order to intercept the king's response. The king smiled and nodded, hitching up one eyebrow as he directed a comment to Dorian while waving vaguely in Tasim's direction. At that, Dorian dropped to one knee and bowed his head for a moment, before rising and collecting the leash still clipped to Tasim's collar. The warrior took the two steps off the stage in one stride as Tasim scrambled to his feet to hurry along after. **** Tasim followed Dorian out of the hall, thankful when he made it past a dozen or so tables having only been pinched or groped four or five times. Maybe they'd lost interest or perhaps it was due to another warrior now leading his leashed captive up to the stage, drawing the crowd's attention. The trip out took much less time than the one in had. Dorian must have known shortcuts. Either that or the guards had deliberately taken the long way in order to heighten the 29

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sense of dread. Regardless, Dorian had the two of them out of the feasting hall and then the castle itself in short order. This was Tasim's first look at the castle's keep area—he'd worn a blindfold during the ride from the border where he and the lancers had been captured until such time as they'd been inside and the guards had removed it. All was tidy and surprisingly clean. Tasim had expected something rather less hygienic, the Kundari being first and foremost a warrior society. The cobblestones underfoot were a luxury not often found in Isthiba, and Tasim could only imagine what life must be like in the winter, not having to slog through mud and manure, just to move from one building to the next. Despite Dorian moving at a moderate pace, Tasim struggled to keep up. Not only was Dorian taller, with great long legs, but Tasim still had the plug and tail to contend with, as well. Tasim wracked his brain for enough Kundaran speech to get his point across and the courage to attempt it. Coughing softly, Tasim tried for a conciliatory tone. "Sir. Please, sir?" "Yes?" Dorian stopped and turned. "Please, sir, may we walk a little more slowly? I cannot keep up." "What? Slower? Yes, of course. I hadn't considered. Better now?" The big soldier set off again, but this time at perhaps twothirds his earlier speed. He'd only taken two steps when the collar yanked at Tasim's neck, jerking him forward as he stood gaping. Dorian had spoken perfect, accentless Isthiban. 30

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Dorian paused again as Tasim raised a hand to rub his sore neck. "You speak my language?" "Of course." Dorian nodded. "Promotion is impossible without at least two languages; three is better." Eying Tasim up and down, Dorian brushed Tasim's hand away and rubbed Tasim's neck himself. "Then... why?" Tasim swallowed, gazing up into Dorian's solemn face, with its wide jaw and high cheekbones; the two features met and blended, like a mountain meeting the sea. Strong fingers massaged the muscles and tendons of Tasim's neck and shoulder, working their way up and down, until Dorian glanced briefly around the keep. "'Why' what?" "Why didn't you before now?" Dorian's hand on his skin addled Tasim's brain—it was the only explanation for the imprudence of his tongue. "Why pretend that you didn't?" "Wrong place to be speaking a foreign language." Dorian glanced around, obviously thinking better of explaining further. "Let's finish this somewhere not so public." One hand still firmly grasping the leash and collar around Tasim's neck, Dorian resumed his walk—slowly, thankfully—in the direction they'd been heading. Tasim had the devil's own time keeping his questions to himself. If there had been duplicity around something so simple as language, what else was he wrong about? What else was being kept from him? Was the deception deliberate? And given the powerlessness of his situation, how could he possibly hope to find out, except through trial and error? "Tasim, be quiet." 31

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Gaze flying to Dorian's face, Tasim was stunned. He hadn't spoken aloud! "But..." Dorian cast him a sidelong glance, mouth quirking slightly. "Your thoughts are quite loud enough. You're no doubt waking dogs and babies from here to the border." "But..." "Shush. We'll be somewhere better suited for this discussion shortly." Tasim did his best to quiet his mind, but it was difficult. There was so much to take in: his surroundings, reflections on the ceremony, speculation about his future, ogling the delicious legs and ass of the man who apparently now controlled his destiny. "Here we are." Dorian had led them through the keep and around the back so that they now stood before a heavy wooden door, set into the side of the castle. A military-looking design of crossed halberds was burned into the door, if Tasim needed more clues to Dorian's profession. Pushing the door open, Dorian stood aside for Tasim to precede him, then lit several wall sconces before closing it behind them. Tasim blinked and looked around. There wasn't much, so it didn't take long: a large-ish bed with a trunk at the foot of it, a couple of open shelves with nothing on them, a table with an unlit candle. And in one corner a messy pile of clothes— lots of heavy, woolen cloth and leather from the looks of it— so probably battle gear. Tasim offered a hopeful smile. "It's... nice." 32

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"It's a shit hole, but it's mine." Dorian shrugged. "Better than the barracks, anyway." "Of course. Of course it is." "Don't flatter me." "I'm not, I swear! I—" "That's all right. It's all right, Tasim." Raising one arm, Dorian waved off Tasim's words. He sat wearily on the bed, rubbing at his brow with one hand and Tasim noticed for the first time the scarred small finger of Dorian's left hand, missing to the first joint. "This is all foolishness. I should never have agreed." Tasim couldn't tell if Dorian was looking for an answer or not, so he stayed where he was and said nothing. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, of course." Now that they'd stopped moving, the cool of the stone walls and floor once again began to seep through Tasim's skin, down into his bones. He was rubbing the top of one foot along the back of his other leg to warm it when Dorian glanced up, freezing Tasim where he stood. Still naked but for the ornamentation that had been added in the bathing chamber, the coolness that was no doubt welcome in the heat of summer was too much and a shiver shook Tasim's body. "You're cold. Come sit—I'll get a blanket." "Thank you. Sir," he added belatedly. Dorian rose quickly and began rummaging through the trunk, pulling a rough woolen blanket from its depths. Finding one to his liking, Dorian shook it out before wrapping it around Tasim's shoulders and guiding him to the bed. "Lie down." 33

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Easing himself down carefully, Tasim lay on his side, keeping an eye on Dorian's movements. The big man waited until Tasim settled, then stretched out beside him, pulling Tasim close. Not knowing what was expected, Tasim schooled himself to all the stillness he could muster. They lay that way for a while, the rich scent of Dorian's leather chest harness filling Tasim's head, the warmth of Dorian's big body slowly warming Tasim's skin, seeping into his bones. Question after question filled Tasim's head, but he forced them back. Something told him Dorian would eventually explain, but it must be at Dorian's pace. He allowed his hands to rest against the bare skin at Dorian's waist and chest, as he savored the rich blend of scents swirling around him. Shifting closer just a bit, he allowed himself the smallest taste of Dorian's skin, tongue licking briefly before retreating to safety. Tasim waited for a reaction from Dorian, but when nothing came, he ventured another small lick, the salty deliciousness spreading over his tongue as his mouth watered in reaction. The second taste led to another and before he realized it, Tasim was licking away at Dorian's chest, eyes closed, working on one spot until he'd exhausted the flavor and moving on. He was just about to switch to the other side of Dorian's chest when a large hand wrapped around the back of his skull and forced his mouth to one small brown nipple. A questioning little squeak escaped Tasim as his eyes flew open. "Like this?" He applied himself cautiously to Dorian's flesh, licking ever more daintily at it as it peaked delightfully under his tongue. 34

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"Mmm. Yes." Dorian pressed Tasim's head closer until his nose was mashed up against Dorian's chest. "More." Tasim surrendered immediately, opening his mouth to Dorian's nipple like he'd opened it to Dorian's cock earlier. One hand gripping the harness, Tasim sucked and tongued the nipple, even venturing to nibble at it with his teeth, pinching carefully and releasing, then lashing it again with his tongue. Being given free rein over such a magnificent man's body was breathtaking. He would never have dreamed of such liberty. Dorian's burgeoning erection pressed against Tasim's stomach as he undulated against Tasim, his body automatically seeking more contact, more sensation. "You are divine." Dorian stuttered his words as though speech was nearly lost to him, his last words forced up from deep within. "I want to be inside you." Tasim paused. "Inside me how?" "My cock in your hole, little one." "Oh." Blinking at Dorian's fluency with his language, the power of the images it stirred in Tasim's mind was undeniable. "You've not known this before? It is the most beautiful thing. You will delight in it, I promise." Dorian was breathing deeply, his chest expanding with each slow intake of breath, contracting with each exhalation. "Here. Let me show you." Dorian sat up, hastily removing the cord that held his little skirt and tossing the garment carelessly aside. "Um..." Sensing this was no time to exchange reminiscences, Tasim recalled the handful of times he'd 35

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allowed Darkon, the smith's apprentice, to persuade him. Tasim had found very little about it to delight in. "Let's remove this. Not that you aren't lovely wearing it." Dorian was gazing at the tail still attached to Tasim's ass. "We'll save it for another time." After an experimental tug, Dorian pulled harder, twisting as he did so and the plug popped out. He tossed it aside, onto the pile of his own clothing, giving Tasim a little shove. "Shoulders down, ass up. Always remember that principle and we'll get along fine." Tasim did as he was told, pressing his lips together and burying his head in his arms. He would just have to bite his arm and stifle his moans if it got too painful. Darkon hadn't believed in much preparation, and Tasim had begun to wonder if causing Tasim pain had been part of the draw for the man. He hadn't ever wanted to— Ooh, but that was delicious. Dorian had introduced oil, cool and soothing, into Tasim's hole and was massaging it in with a finger. After working it in well, Dorian withdrew the finger, drizzled more oil then inserted two fingers, stroking Tasim's inner walls until he was groaning and pushing back. This was different. This was... Tasim's eyes rolled back in his head, a long, shuddering groan escaping him. "Didn't I promise you?" Dorian whispered in Tasim's ear, even as he curled his fingers again, sending Tasim to the edge of ecstasy. Tasim nodded, panting. Words weren't possible. "Good. Are you ready?" 36

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Tasim nodded again. He had no recollection of what was being discussed, but at this point anything Dorian wanted, he was agreeable to. When Dorian's cock began to breach Tasim's ass, he tensed uncontrollably. Hard memories of Darkon arose and he held his breath, waiting for the pain. Dorian, paused and stroked Tasim's back, reassuring touches that relaxed Tasim until he could breathe again. Dorian slowly pushed in the rest of the way, his entrance eased by the oil. He might even had added more because he moved smoothly inside Tasim, stuffing him full until Tasim's ass rested against the flesh and bone of Dorian's hips. "Easy, little one. I want you to love this, crave it the way I crave giving it to you." He withdrew slowly, sensuously, and Tasim sighed at the sweet sensation of Dorian's cock sliding slowly out of him. The press inward didn't have the same delicious drag against Tasim's flesh, but the pleasurable fullness he felt when Dorian seated himself fully was almost as sweet. As Dorian began another slow withdrawal, Tasim relaxed a little more, finally able to loosen up and move toward the pleasure. He pushed back as Dorian moved forward, changing the angle just enough that Dorian's cock was now stroking that same spot inside Tasim that his fingers had stimulated previously and Tasim moaned. Dorian leaned in low over Tasim's back, taking hold of Tasim's cock with a firm grip. "How is that, little one? Tell me. Tell me what you feel." 37

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Tasim could only shake his head, unable to put words to the sensations washing over him. "Tell me. I want to hear you say it." The hand surrounding Tasim's cock squeezed, a thumb pressing painfully into the slit. "Ah! It hurts!" The hand relaxed a little. Still firm, it slid down to cup Tasim's balls menacingly. "Better. And now?" Dorian went back to stroking Tasim's cock, only roughly in time with his thrusting in Tasim's ass. Tasim hurried to reply, not wanting a repeat of the painful lesson. "Good. It's good." It really did feel good, wonderful, in fact. It wasn't Tasim's fault if he couldn't carry on conversation while his ass was being plundered. The pace of Dorian's thrusts picked up and the firm grip of his fist grew wickedly tight, Tasim's cock sliding through it with just enough room to move to make him thrust even harder into it, chasing heaven. Dorian changed positions, moved a leg, and his cock began hitting the spot inside Tasim hadn't known he had. Every time Dorian's cock brushed over it, a little jolt went up Tasim's spine, lighting sparks behind his eyes. When that firm thumb began brushing over the sensitive head of Tasim's cock at the same time, Tasim exploded, spurting all over the coverlet of Dorian's bed. A few moments more and Dorian was pumping his hot seed into Tasim's ass, his triumphant groan louder than everything but the pounding of Tasim's heart. **** 38

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"We'll have to get you some clothes, I suppose." The wall sconces had been doused and the light of a single candle illuminated Dorian's room, casting long shadows, but too weak to reach the corners. Harnesses and ornaments now removed, they lay beneath the blanket, Tasim's head resting on one of Dorian's muscular shoulders, his free hand stroking the trail of fine hair leading from Dorian's navel to his groin. "Is there no hope of salvaging what I wore when I...?" Not knowing what the etiquette of his situation called for, Tasim let his voice trail off. "No. I'm afraid not." Dorian's fingers drifted over the stubble of Tasim's shorn hair, sending shivers racing down Tasim's spine. Tasim looked up. "Why not?" "It would be seen as an insult to the king, as well as reflect poorly on me." "I don't understand." "The king gave you to me, as a reward for the year's work and success in battle. For you to appear publicly wearing anything other than Kundaran cloth or garments would be viewed as a sign of disrespect." Turning on his side, Dorian palmed Tasim's skull with one hand, while he stroked Tasim's jaw and throat with the other. "You are so lovely. How could I possibly have hoped to resist you?" Tasim hadn't the faintest idea how to respond to that. Dorian was rubbing his thumb along Tasim's jaw, positioning Tasim's head just so. Dorian's eyes grew heavy-lidded, closing completely as his lips captured Tasim's. 39

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The kiss was slow and sensuous, Dorian sucking lightly at Tasim's lower lip, covering Tasim's mouth entirely as he tasted of Tasim all that he wanted. Eventually he lifted his head, touching a finger to Tasim's lips as he gazed down at Tasim. "This changes everything. I'm going to have to take care of you." "I suppose taking care of myself is out of the question?" Dorian nodded, a muscle twitching high up on his firm jaw. "Then I won't be going home any time soon, either, I don't expect." Unsure of what he saw in Dorian's solemn gaze, Tasim bit his lip and tried to maintain his composure. "That's right. You won't." "Oh." "I'll see to it that you're comfortable here. You'll have food and clothing... a roof over your head." Dorian glanced around the room, a rueful expression on his face. "Such as it is." When his gaze returned to Tasim's face, his mouth had flattened into a serious line. "Now that you've been inside the city—the castle, even—and could describe it to outsiders, they won't ever agree to release you." "But you could tell them how forgetful I am. I can scarce remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. I have no head for plans and drawings and such. I—" "I'm sorry, Tasim. No. The king is relentless when it comes to protecting his people. Our entire way of life is based on what is best for the kingdom and the preservation of our borders. He will sanction no act that could possibly be seen as risking them, in any way." 40

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"It's hard to see how I could be a threat to the people of Kundara. Look at me. Small of stature, possessor of no skills that could be of the slightest use to anyone—unless you consider some small amount of likeability to be a skill. I'm a younger son of a minor noble. A person of absolutely no consequence." Tasim glanced up at Dorian from beneath his lashes, unsure of how his plea would be received. "You don't allow for difference of opinion, little one. To many, you would have immense value." Tasim snorted. "Hardly. You saw the ceremony tonight. I merited barely a glance from the first warrior. He walked right past me to choose one of the lancers. If you hadn't selected me, I would no doubt be standing there, still." "Is that what you thought?" Dorian's voice, alight with humor, rolled around inside Tasim, warming him. "Do you know why he did not linger over your own charming self?" "Of course. Because he had no interest in me." "Because I had earlier threatened him with loss of limb, or worse, if he did anything more than pretend to consider you." "You did not." Scoffing openly, Tasim gazed back at Dorian, as his hand rested on Dorian's sleekly muscled haunch. "His name is Haakon and you may ask him yourself later. You'll no doubt see him again, since we are similarly tasked and similarly inclined." Dorian's skin was as smooth as the finest cloth imported from Toralba and Tasim was enthralled by the feel of it beneath his palm. He slid his hand over the curve of Dorian's hip, fingers spread wide to absorb as much of its texture as 41

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he could. Recalling himself to the conversation under way, he withdrew his hand. "You did not. I don't believe you." "You'll have the opportunity to ask him yourself, so there's no need to belabor the point now." Lowering his head, Dorian planted a kiss on Tasim's shoulder, opening his mouth to take a bite of skin and then backing off to admire the mark he'd made. "I like your hand on my ass. You have my permission to stroke it as much as you like. Tongues and mouths are welcome there, too." A gasp escaped Tasim's mouth at Dorian's bold words. "Why..." "Did you not do such things in your old life? I'm not certain I'd believe you if you said you did not. You seem much too adept to be credible as a novice at these things." "I... I have some small amount of experience. But..." Tasim bit his lip in consternation. How to explain? Dorian's laugh surprised Tasim. "Shall I guess? Your mother pesters you for grandchildren and you're too in awe of her to tell her that females hold no interest for you? 'Tis not such a burden to Kundaran sons. Here our first duty is to the kingdom. If I contribute with my body and my sword, my family will be well looked after, should I fall." Fall? Tasim hadn't even considered. Hadn't had time to. "Do not worry yourself. The men in my unit watch my back, and I theirs. We lose very few—in battle or otherwise." Dorian smiled and trailed his finger behind Tasim's ear. "Besides, it is our turn for home-fires duty. We will spend the next rotation guarding the castle and the king's person. I'll be home for supper every night. About bloody time." 42

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"Stop reading my thoughts," Tasim grumbled. "With a face as open as yours, it doesn't require sorcery." "Dorian?" "Yes?" "The ceremony earlier... tell me about it? What happened before we were brought in and how often do they take place? What is their importance?" "Here. Move over... yes, here. Like that. If I'm going to be talking a while, I want to be comfortable." Tasim now lay entirely within Dorian's hold. Cradling Tasim against his chest, Dorian trailed a hand lazily up and down Tasim's arm as he stared up at the ceiling. "There are all the usual feast days, as well as evening meals most nights and a roast ox every se'nnight. Well, fortnight, certainly. Usually more often. Communal meals are encouraged. The king puts great store by the bonds created through the sharing of food between comrades. You'll find no implements for the preparation of meals in these rooms." "Good." Tasim captured Dorian's roving hand and laced his fingers through Dorian's. "Suits you, does that?" Tasim nodded. "I have no talent for cooking." "You won't need any. Anything required that you don't already know will be taught you." "Do I want to ask what you mean by that?" Tasim craned his neck in a futile attempt to see Dorian's face. "Probably not. Go back to telling your story. What about the feast days?" 43

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"There is always food—more food than can possibly be eaten. Music and singing. And wine. Plenty of wine. Games of chance, demonstrations of skill, feats of strength. Fortune telling. Betrothals are often announced there." "I missed all of that? Probably while I was being groomed." "Auld Gerlinda outdid herself tonight." Dorian's voice dropped to a husky whisper and he guided their joined hands down to Tasim's groin. Together they cradled Tasim's cock in the basket made by their linked fingers. "The tails were a stroke of genius." "Easy for you to say," Tasim sniffed. "You should have seen the blade she used to shave my... my..." Dorian nipped at Tasim's ear. "You were in no danger. Gerlinda's been preparing young men since before either you or I drew first breath. She is the consummate professional. I will very much enjoy seeing you wear it again. At the next feast day, I think." "But you promised I'd be clothed. Kundaran cloth, you said." "When the weather requires, certainly. When it does not, though, you will wear very little." "Even in public? Surely not." "How else will I show you off? Those who chose land as their reward have houses and fields for all to see. Would you expect them to hide their prizes behind great walls? Of course not." Dorian rolled Tasim onto his back. "You are spectacular just as you are. I don't know that perfection can be improved upon, but I can't help but wonder how you would look with tiny bells hanging from your nipples. Pierced, of course." 44

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Tasim caught his breath at the image. The pain was a given, but the thought of tiny bells adorning his body so intimately, their tinkling sounds accompanying his every step, his every move as he swallowed Dorian's cock deep, while others watched. He hid his face against Dorian's shoulder— not that Dorian could detect his blush of shame in the dark. Tasim didn't roll away in time to hide the most shaming evidence of all, though. "My little shorn darling." Dorian's soft chuckle filled Tasim's head, spread to his chest, and eventually his entire body. "I think you will mind my trifling whim, after all. Just enough to make it truly delicious." Tasim's cock was hard again, as he fought futilely to banish the pictures of himself as a warrior's plaything, an evening's amusement to be paraded before a roomful of rough soldiers. When Dorian took it in one of his big hands and pumped him with swift, punishing strokes, there was nothing Tasim could do to fight it. And when Dorian commanded him, "Show me how much you'll hate it, little one," Tasim groaned and shot his seed all over Dorian's hand, Dorian's belly, Dorian's bed. When he eventually slept, Dorian's wicked commentary accompanied his dreams. "You are divine, my little darling. The king's next feast day cannot come quickly enough." END ****

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