Gift of the Ys

This work is a product of the author's imagination, places, events and people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you like it! If you have something to say about it that isn't flaming me then email me at: jae.monroe@yahoo.com

Acknowledgment: Thanks so much to Richard for all his editing.

The Gift of Ys

By

Jae Monroe

Chapter 6

It was like this that Kerim found him, sitting in the corner of the balcony, his eyes closed and his creamy skin lit up by the golden brother-suns as they approached their place of sleep. For some time the Svarya just watched him, marveling at the depth of his beauty. But then he took in the boy's position on the balcony and he could see that Isidore was sitting as close as he could get to his former home, a realization which angered him. This was his home now, Sherim-Ra was where he would live the rest of his days; it infuriated him no end that the boy continued to think of Sheq-Kis-Ra as his true home.

Isidore stirred from his almost-slumber when he felt large hands encircle his waist and then he was being lifted up and placed over an exceptionally wide shoulder. It was his master; no one stood as tall or wide as he, Isidore thought absently as his vision came into focus. Tired as he was, he did nothing but place his arms around the man's thick neck to secure his position as he was carried inside. He was placed on the bed and the man knelt before him, which brought them roughly to eye-level.

"I was told you saw something that upset you today," Kerim said, looking into his eyes with an expression of concern.

"How...?" Isidore began, and then he sighed. "Oh, of course. Will your friends make daily reports to you then?"

"They will tell me what I need to know about you, little one," Kerim said sternly. "Now tell me what it is that upset you."

"I don't want to talk about it," Isidore said, trying to rise from his seat on the bed but he was held still by large hands that rose to grip his arms.

"Do you speak of it anyway," Kerim said calmly.

"No." Isidore tried to rise once more but was again prevented.

Kerim rose to his feet, standing all of his seven-and-a-half feet before him and Isidore had to shut his eyes against the hugeness of the man. Worse, he felt that strange uncomfortable feeling grow in him again; his heart began to beat rapidly in his chest; his skin tingled all over and he felt the most bizarre urge to press his every inch against the man's huge and powerful body. His eyes snapped open with the realization. He wanted him! Ah Lodur help him; why did he have to want the one man who wanted no part of him? Was this the cruel punishment of the Dara-ya then? Was it Ys who gave him this ironic fate of lust unrequited, when it had been his concern that it would be love that was absent in their relations?

"Stand you before me, Dara," Kerim said softly.

Isidore complied, getting to his feet before the man who promptly lifted him and placed him on his feet atop the bed. It was strange, to look this man almost at eye level, the bed rendering their heights inches rather than feet apart. Isidore gasped as the man reached for the ties on his camic and, instinctively, he grabbed at the large hands. But, his own were completely ineffectual to stop their path as one-by-one his ties were pulled apart and then his camic was parted down the front. High colour rose on his cheeks as the large hands slid across his chest, up over its delicate planes, to his shoulders over which he pushed the opened camic so that it fell behind him, landing discarded on the bed. He closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly as the large roughened hands slid back down from his shoulders, grazing past the sensitive flesh of his nipples, sending a shiver right down to his groin; stirring there and causing a small sigh to escape his parted lips. The hands slid down his belly and came to the waist-band of his trousers. Now the stirring in his groin was a distinct straining and he moaned as he felt the man's wrist graze against his erect phallus as he untied the front of his trousers. Isidore did not even have the presence of mind to object as these were pulled down, and his erect rod sprang out to stand before him. His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment even as he stepped out of his trousers which were flung aside.

"Now, you keep your secret, but have lost your clothes." Isidore's eyes snapped open at this smug announcement and they flew to those of the Daja before him.

"This was a lesson?" he asked, his eyes flared.

"Of sorts. I think the main lesson is yet to come as I bring you naked before the meal hall so that you may think upon the folly of trying to hide the truth from me," Kerim told him casually, pulling him off the bed and walking toward the door, dragging Isidore by the wrist behind him.

"No, no!" Isidore shrieked, trying desperately to remove the viselike grip about his wrist as he was forcibly dragged, completely naked, towards the door. "In the name of Lodur stop!"

Kerim stopped, whirling on him in a fury. "You would arouse Lodur's wrath by calling his name in vain?"

"There is foul heresy afoot in your own city; you tell me who arouses Lodur's wrath!" Isidore yelled, yanking on his wrist again but it was still held fast and he groaned as he felt that grip tighten further, grinding the small bones in his wrist.

"Do you tell me why I should not beat you right now," Kerim said, his voice like ice as he yanked Isidore up against him, one hand thrust into his hair and twisting there tightly so that he felt not a few strands break free.

"I can tell you only what I saw; the temple of the Dara-ya has been reduced to little more than a brothel." His eyes squeezed tight and he let out a sound of pain as the hand in his hair tightened further. "Adherents make assignations as supplication and they and the priests perform these acts before his image. This is what upset me today and this I would hide from you because you are prone to react much as you are doing now."

He was given his release and tumbled to the floor, heedless of his nakedness for a moment as he looked up at the man towering above him.

"Put on some clothes," Kerim instructed him, his expression dark.

Isidore jumped to his feet and ran over to the chests where his clothes were kept, hastily donning a pair of trousers and a fresh camic. Kerim watched him, his expression still black. He had been told about this Dara; that he was a scholar and especially reverent. Kylar had told him the boy had given an exceptionally costly hair-binder as a gift to the temple of Ys in order to make supplication, which supported that he valued the opinion of the gods. He had thought it was some pettiness that had motivated the boy not to tell him why he was upset this day, since Kylar was unable to supply the reason. But how could he punish someone who felt slighted on behalf of the gods? That in itself was heresy, was it not? Kerim sighed; in this he felt hopelessly outmatched. He had trouble even recalling the names of the gods and to what they were attached.

"We will speak of this later," Kerim told him as the boy shrugged on a camic. "And if you see aught that troubles you, do not hesitate to tell it to me, Isidore."

Isidore whirled about as he was tying the front of his camic at that softly spoken order. "You will not beat me for it?" he asked.

Kerim looked chagrined. "I will not beat you at all; this I have already told you," he said. "But neither will you go unpunished if you sit on secrets with me."

Isidore nodded. "As it pleases my lord."

Kerim nodded in reply, and then he frowned; only now noticing what the boy had chosen to wear this evening. "You would wear travel attire to serve at dinner?" He walked up to where Isidore stood, lifting his wrist and pinching the thick fabric of the boy's camic between his thumb and forefinger.

"It is not travel attire," Isidore told him, his heart beating wildly to be so close to the man. "It is what I always wear."

"Hmm, they are modest in Sheq-Kis-Ra I am told," Kerim commented, pulling him out of the chambers now that he was fully clothed, and holding Isidore's wrist in his grasp as they walked down the halls in the direction of the meal-room. "And what if I would dress you as a Sherim-Ran Dara?"

Isidore faltered, his arm pulling tight between them. "Please," he breathed.

"Please me and I may not see fit to," Kerim told him casually. "Displease me and you'll wish for the scanty coverings of the Darani here, this you know."

Isidore halted again and was yanked along once more as Kerim continued his pace unabated. So that was to be his punishment for displeasing his master, to be paraded naked before the entire household? Lodur help him, he would do anything the man asked to avoid that.

He could hear the sound of the meal-hall before he entered it, and that sound rose as the doors were flung open and those in the hall looked upon their host. He tried to hide himself behind Kerim, as he was dragged through the meal-hall, and kept his eyes straight ahead; still feeling their eyes boring into the back of him as he passed. It couldn't be his imagination that the hall actually got quieter with their passage. He was dragged to the head table, standing by which he saw among others, Laien, who looked at him somewhat guardedly as he walked past the chairs upon which would be seated those who dined at the Svarya's table.

These joined them presently, for they stood on no ceremony in the Sherim-Ran Svarya's meal-hall, and Isidore smiled to see Kylar. Then his smile froze at seeing Jalen, who looked upon him with no less contempt than he had previously. This warrior would give sound challenge to the envoy Gomar il Barin in sourness of demeanour.

Wine was delivered to them by other servers and, when Isidore saw them, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head; they were dressed so inappropriately as to almost be obscene. Filmy shirts or overly short vests seemed to be the norm and if their trousers went to their knees it was a surprise. He took the jug from the Daran servant with his eyes averted, patently aware that this would make him appear snobbish, but he just couldn't look at the boy's inappropriate attire without his face flooding with colour.

For the first course, he poured a copious amount of wine into his master's cup, wondering how a man could down so much and still retain all his sober aplomb. But then he had to remember how huge the Svarya was and he realized it would take a barrel of wine to down him. Fortunately for the most part he was ignored, which suited him to no end, for he could see the way some of the Dajani made sport with the Darani, grabbing them as they went past, groping them if they happened to pull one onto their laps. What surprised him more, however, was how the Darani not only endured it but appeared to openly enjoy it; squirming around in the laps of their Dajan counterparts and giggling like crazy to be so openly molested.

"Come here boy," Kerim snapped his fingers and Isidore stepped forward to pour him more wine as the second course got underway. He gasped as the huge Daja lifted him up, with his hands around his waist and sat him on his lap, and he stiffened when he realized that he might be in line for some of the same inappropriate sport that had had been happening all around the meal hall. The ale jug was removed from his grasp and plunked atop the table so he did not even have that to cling to. "Now, it comes to my attention that you ate no breakfast and only sparingly at luncheon, is this so?"

Isidore thought back. "My appetite has been small this day, my lord," he responded respectfully.

"Well, I wish that you not become any more wispy than you already are," Kerim replied, and Isidore realized that all that wine must be affecting him for he was behaving rather jovially.

"Especially if he is to withstand you," Kylar interjected with a grin, and Isidore's cheeks flamed to have them speaking about him in such a licentious manner. Both Dajani laughed over the blush. "He blushes most prettily," Kylar commented.

"Aye he does indeed," Kerim replied with a grin. "What think you, Jalen?"

Jalen cast a quick eye to Isidore and sniffed. "Looks like any other Dara," he said.

Kylar burst out laughing at this statement that was so typical of their friend. "'Tis because he is in love with Dajani," he told Isidore with a grin, "that he finds fault with all Darani; of this we are sure."

"He is most welcome to Dajani," Isidore replied without thinking and then his eyes flew to those of his master to see how he responded to that which would be considered a slur in Sherim-Ra, though he had not intended it to be. Dajani did not have relations with each-other in Sherim-Ra; here it was considered shameful for a Daja to be penetrated. Not so in Sheq-Kis-Ra where liaisons between Dajani were considered to arise from little more than youth or eccentricity.

To his relief, Kerim grinned, thinking the statement to be as innocuous as Isidore had intended it to be. "Are you saying Jalen's attentions are not welcome among the Darani?" he asked.

"It would rather seem 'tis their attentions toward him to which he takes exception, my lord," Isidore replied.

"Ah, so you would not insult my friend," Kerim said, looking toward Jalen who paid no attention to them, merely biting off a hunk of bread rather nonchalantly.

"I think your friend pays so little heed to the words of Darani that 'tis impossible for him to be insulted by them," Isidore replied.

Jalen sat back, regarding him thoughtfully. "The Dara speaks true," he said. "Perhaps he is a little more astute than most."

"Which is a little more astute than not at all, huh?" Kerim asked his friend who nodded, taking a gulp of his ale.

Isidore made no reply, simply waiting for the opportunity to be let off the man's lap. It seemed it was not to come just yet, however. "But now I have to see to feeding you, before you grow any more gaunt than you claim to be."

Isidore stiffened. "As it pleases you, my lord," he replied uncomfortably, wondering what this would entail, and flushing under the man's unnerving gaze.

"It does please me, Darima; a lot about you pleases me," Kerim replied, lifting a piece of honeyed chicken. This he raised to the boy's mouth. Isidore raised his hands to take it, but Kerim shook his head, holding the slice of meat before the boy's lips. Isidore blushed even brighter to be fed in such a demeaning manner; so it was under sufferance that his lips parted and he took the piece of meat, tasting the fingers in his mouth also. He glared at their possessor who gave him an unrepentant look in return, and lifted another piece of chicken to feed him. Again, Isidore tried to take it with his own hands, and again he was denied; the food being held to his lips so that he had to be fed from the man's hand. The fingers pressed even further into his mouth this time so he rewarded them by chomping his teeth down on them. Kerim sucked in his breath and withdrew his fingers.

"Ah, so you would play like that, Darima?" he asked, and then before Isidore knew it he felt the man's lips against his neck, kissing there playfully then biting the skin so as to leave a red mark. Isidore held himself rigid when the man had finished giving him the lover's mark, his eyes wide and mistrustful.

"Relax, Darima, I shall not bite you again," Kerim laughed, his arms, tightening around the boy who was stiff as a board. "Unless you want me to."

"No, my lord." Isidore's voice was high and breathless as he fought the waves of embarrassment in response to being so ignominiously treated.

"No, you won't relax, or no, you don't want to be bitten?" Kerim asked.

"No to both, my lord," Isidore replied, trying to put some distance between himself and the man's hard chest as he was drawn relentlessly against it by the huge arms that were gradually tightening their embrace.

"So you would like to get off me, would you?" This Kerim asked with a pointed look at the boy's arms which were pressed against his chest and trying to maintain the distance that he was gradually closing.

"If it pleases you, my lord," Isidore replied, squeezing his eyes tight shut in mortification when he realized that every single person in the room had their eyes trained on the goings on at the Svarya's table.

"If it pleases me, Darima," the Svarya repeated with a grin. "If you please me, I might let you off my knee."

The midnight-blue eyes flew open, wide with shock.

"No, not like that, Darima, so dirty is your mind." Kerim stroked the hair away from the boy's temple as he said this. "No, perhaps just a kiss...unless you would like to please me more?" The man's grin turned wicked as he said this.

"No," Isidore breathed. "One kiss and I may resume serving you appropriately?"

Kerim had to laugh; he had a feeling that the boy's definition of what was appropriate serving was quite different from that in Sherim-Ra. "One kiss, Darima, and then I will only expect appropriate service."

Isidore leaned up to plant a kiss on the roughened chin and as he did so, Kerim shifted his head slightly so that he met the kiss with his lips. Isidore's first response was to pull back but the thick arms around his back prevented him from doing so; such that he was held in place for the kiss, his lips being forced apart by those of his captor, and his eyes flew open when he felt the man's tongue press between his lips. He had never been kissed with tongues before; he knew such happened, but it was a joining kiss and they were not in an appropriate place for joining. Unless...Lodur help him, he began to fight in earnest, but the man only pulled him tighter, plunging his tongue deep into Isidore's mouth, pressing and exploring it all around, and for some bizarre reason, Isidore found the taste quite pleasant. But this was entirely inappropriate and, since his attempts to remove himself from the man's arms were entirely futile, he tried to push the invading tongue out of his mouth with his own tongue. This had quite the reverse effect, for in response to his own tongue; the man drove one large hand into Isidore's thick black hair, and held his head still for an even deeper ravaging, his firm lips pressing hard against Isidore's soft full ones, bruising them with his ardour.

Isidore was quite out of breath by the time the Daja saw fit to let him have his lips back and he quickly scrambled to get off but was held fast.

"You said you would let me up," he accused, forgetting his deference in his upset.

"I said one kiss and then I would expect appropriate service; and this is how I would expect you to serve me appropriately," Kerim replied, shifting Isidore to one of his large thighs so he could reach the food from the platter before him.

"You also said you would let me off your knee if I pleased you, and have I not pleased you?" Isidore pressed.

Kerim sat back in his chair, one arm still around Isidore the hand stroking his thigh; the other hand gripping a leg of poultry, regarding him thoughtfully.

"You are argumentative; this does not please me," he told him, taking a bite of the meat and chewing it as his eyes appraised the Dara on his lap.

Isidore shut his eyes for a second, gathering the courage to point out the obvious. "And yet you are pleased, my lord."

This elicited considerable mirth from his neighbour, and Isidore belatedly remembered with even more embarrassment that both Kylar and Jalen would have been privy to their entire interaction.

"Come now, Kerim, have you not fooled with the Dara enough? Let him down to serve you," Kylar admonished, reaching for his tankard.

"Like yon boy was serving you a few nights ago?" Kerim gestured in the general direction of Laien who was attending Kylar.

Kylar grinned completely unrepentantly. "I thought I concealed it well enough."

"From mine eyes, aye, but not from the rest of the room," Kerim replied with a snort.

Kylar reached out and pulled Laien on to his lap. "I cannot help it if every Dara is so in love with me that they cannot wait for privacy."

Laien blushed slightly, but his eyes showed blatant desire as they appraised Kylar's form from atop his lap. Kerim gave his incorrigible friend a disgusted look but said nothing more on the matter, turning to Isidore instead.

"If it pleases my lord, may I retrieve more ale for him?" Isidore saw the man's attention return to him so made the excuse to get off the Daja's lap since the ale jug was empty.

"No it does not please your lord," Kerim responded, retaining one proprietary hand on Isidore's hip, the other he gestured in the direction of one of the serving boys who was bringing ale to another of the tables. Isidore did not get a chance to see who heeded the order but his eyes were drawn to the main hall now and in particular the serving boys within it, and he was reminded of their indecent attire.

Then the ale was brought, and Isidore's eyes widened and then snapped shut when he saw what its bearer was wearing. This one's trousers went barely past his hip and were skin-tight; his vest was one that ended at his rib-cage so that there was the whole of his taut belly showing, right past his navel. The ale was delivered and poured, all with Isidore's eyes shut and his head averted, and then the boy was sent away.

"What is the problem, Darima?" Kerim asked him in amusement as he sipped his newly poured ale.

"He was wearing nothing," Isidore answered through gritted teeth.

"Now that would have been interesting," Kylar interjected.

"This one will have that in agreement with Jalen then," Kerim mused. "And you can open your eyes, Darima, the boy is long gone."

"Do you dress all your Darani like Purdiyani?" Isidore asked, his eyes snapping open and his expression affronted.

"They dress themselves like Purdiyani." This was interjected by Jalen in his typically surly tone.

"I thought nothing the Dara said warranted your opinion," Kylar called across them in response to Jalen's comment.

"I did say this one was slightly more astute than the rest," Jalen replied to Kylar gruffly then went back to his dinner.

"Well," Kylar said to Isidore, "since you and Jalen are in agreement with one-another on the matter of how much arse a Dara ought to show in public, you two might want to get together some time and discuss your views."

"Shut your mouth if you want to keep your teeth," Jalen warned him with one of his frequent scowls.

"Aye, I have missed you, Jalen," Kylar feigned a sigh, "four days without your temperate nature."

"I'll be happy to reintroduce you to it tomorrow on the field," Jalen laid out the challenge.

"He owes me first," Kerim interrupted them.

"Aye, and three days without your temperate nature also, Kerim; in all it has been most trying," Kylar told him with a woebegone look and Isidore had to stifle a laugh.

"So you think this fool is funny?" Kerim asked him with a scowl.

"Are not fools intended to be amusing?" Isidore answered to placate the man whose expression had very quickly turned angry. "If it pleases my lord, I am laughing at him not with him."

"Hah, it pleases me indeed." Kerim's expression lightened. "You are laughing at him; aye; he needs to be laughed at."

"You are lucky you are pretty," Kylar said, ripping off a hunk of meat and chewing it with a frown directed at Isidore. "Pretty, even if a little overdressed," he said pointedly.

"Aye, and here it was you who convinced me to let him remain so," Kerim told his friend but his eyes were on Isidore as he said it.

Isidore stiffened when he realized that was a veiled threat towards him.

"I will laugh with your every jest," he promised Kylar.

"I should hope so," Kylar replied, his grin returning.

"He tells me he would dress every day in travel attire," Kerim informed Kylar.

"It is not travel attire to them, 'tis the way all Darani dress in Sheq-Kis-Ra, all the time," Kylar told him.

"I know; so none may see the prize," Kerim replied. "Is that not so, Darima?"

"Only personal servants and...those whom the Dara might choose may see him in undress," Isidore replied, blushing furiously to be discussing such a subject.

"Those whom the Dara chooses?" Kerim was incredulous.

"Aye, they've a choice in Sheq-Kis-Ra," Kylar told him.

At this they heard Jalen snort. "I bet that did not please you upon your last visit," he interjected.

"To tell the truth, I didn't even notice; 'twas only after leaving the city that I was told they could have refused me," Kylar replied, quirking his brows at Jalen.

"You think you have every Dara wrapped around your little finger," Kerim told him, scoffing. "And what do you think, Darima; if you saw him would you refuse him?" The colour on Isidore's cheeks got even brighter at such an intimate topic.

"I wish not to answer that," he gritted out.

"Aha! That means he wouldn't have!" Kylar slapped his knee.

Kerim's grip tightened on Isidore. "Is that so, Isidore?"

Isidore blushed deeper. "No, 'tis not so, my lord."

"He says that because he is atop your lap. Was he alone with me, he wouldn't remember the word `no'," Kylar boasted.

"This is not so," Isidore argued, mortified to be discussing his own body this way.

"All Darani protest but none refuse," Kerim said matter-of-factly.

"If it would please my lord, Lord Kylar knows I find him reminiscent of my brother and so cannot find him in the slightest enticing."

"Aye, they do not do that either," Kylar told Kerim, rolling his eyes. "You really should have joined your father and brother on their diplomatic visits more, Kerim, you know precious little about your brother-Svarya or his realm."

"Aye, for some reason, he and all the Sheq-Kis-Ranians have raised a bunch of uppity Darani and know not the means to discipline them." Jalen interjected this in a disgusted voice.

"This from you who would treat all your Darani as Purdiyani, then complain that they act the same," Isidore burst out and then shut his mouth in embarrassment. Jalen flashed him a murderous look but he did not see it for it was his master's expression he was more concerned with.

"Perhaps the Dara is tired." This Kylar whispered to Kerim in a warning tone, seeing his friend's expression darken in response to Isidore's thoughtless comment. "Perhaps you should send him to your chambers, Kerim."

"It does not appear so to me," Kerim replied, frowning at his friend and wondering at the reason for his concern.

"All the same, now is not the place to be discussing things of such import," Kylar said pointedly. "This day has been upsetting for him thus far, and his nerves may been shortened by it."

"Dara, get you to my chambers. Laien, see that he gets there." Kerim pushed the Dara off his lap and Laien jumped off his perch on Kylar's to obey the order.

"Do tell me; what is the meaning of that, Kylar?" Kerim ordered, his voice low.

"He is not like ordinary Darani, Kerim; he is learned and he questions society," Kylar told him, recalling the debate the boy had had with the envoy. "He will anger you with his questions."

"This I have seen already, but I am beginning to think 'twill be best if he learns the error of raising them," Kerim replied, "and best he learns now rather than later."

"Such is not the way to deal with him," Kylar said urgently.

"You have known him three days longer than I; do not presume to tell me how to deal with him as though you are expert." Kerim's patience was slipping.

"Aye," Kylar conceded, sitting back in his seat. "But just...just have a care, Kerim; remember that he was much upset today and have a care."

"I have, haven't I?" Kerim asked. "All this night I took your advice and was civil to him, even you were surprised at how civil I was."

"Aye, I was," Kylar conceded, for his friend had been unusually jovial this night; making jokes and taking Kylar's good humoured teasing. He had been very surprised, in fact, by his friend's civility. He only hoped it was not too soon that Kerim decided to bring the tyrant back.

"All Darani are the same," Jalen sniffed, as he interjected one of his rare but predictable statements. "I don't know why you insist on letting this one elevate himself with airs; 'twill only make it harder when it comes time to bring him back down from them."

Laien led Isidore back to his chambers in silence, which worried Isidore somewhat; he did not want them to think he was a snob because of his modesty and involuntary reaction to their attire.

"Have I done something to upset you, Laien?" he felt compelled to ask.

Laien stiffened, pausing imperceptibly as they walked, but then bowed his head. "No...highness," he murmured.

"Why do you accord me a title in this land where no Dara may hold one?" Isidore asked.

"I...I will stop if you wish, highness." Laien, who previously had been not a little obsequious, was now overcome by it.

"Tell me what has changed since before." Isidore asked.

Laien turned to him, his eyes wide. "I have never seen him like that; not with any Dara, even at the height of their favour. And you managed to get him to send Liwah away, for which you will have our eternal gratitude; especially mine: I will be receiving far fewer punishments from now on, I would wager. It...it would seem you are to hold position after all."

"I think you should not accord me a title that is unnatural for a Dara to hold in your land," he told the boy after thinking about it for a moment. "To wait until the nature of my position within the household is better known would be advisable."

"Aye...Isidore," Laien replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Is it true that you've no choice?" Isidore asked him suddenly, recalling his discussion with Kylar and what had been said at the table that night, especially Kerim's surprise at the fact that Darani in the brother-city had a choice.

"No choice in what, Isidore?" Laien turned to him curiously as they walked along the passage to the Svarya's chambers.

"In...relations," Isidore replied.

"Is it true that in Sheq-Kis-Ra you may refuse a Daja?" Laien asked in reply as he led Isidore through the parlour, down a corridor and to the bathing chamber, which had a bath-tub already filled in there, though the water was cold and they had to wait while hot water was carted in by strong servants.

"Indeed, if the Dara is not a Diya, and since many households have Diyani, why bother forcing one who is not so bonded?" Isidore told him.

"Perhaps if they are desirable?" Laien replied.

Isidore frowned. "The protections against such are adequate."

"Indeed. Well, here there are no protections but those that you forge yourself," Laien replied.

"You mean you might attach yourself to a Daja who will protect you from the advances of others?" Isidore asked.

"Aye," Laien answered, testing the water and indicating to the carrier of the steaming water that it was still too cold.

"So, if you have no protector, then you are just fair game?" Isidore asked in amazement.

"Aye," Laien answered nonchalantly.

"And how does that make you feel, to be just used by any Daja?" Isidore asked.

Laien frowned, thinking back. "I suppose most times you want them, for most Dajani are very pleasing to look at even if their demeanour is not so pleasant; but there are the occasional ones that you do not like and then you just lie there and wait until they are finished."

Isidore was shocked. "But how does that make you feel?" he asked.

"When you have no choice, 'tis best to feel nothing about it," Laien replied.

Isidore shivered. "And the Svarya, have you ever...been used by him?" He blushed furiously as he asked the question, though Laien wouldn't know he was asking because he wasn't so experienced.

"No," Laien answered. "No need to be jealous." This was said with a grin.

"If I tell you something, will you not repeat it?" Isidore asked, knowing that, in a castle, gossip was as gold so the boy's word would be no guarantee; but he wanted Laien to know it was not something he was happy to have spread to all.

"Aye," Laien said, his eyes widening with interest.

"I have not experienced the Svarya's bed as yet," he told the boy, blushing furiously and hoping it would not be visible in the low light of the bathing chamber.

"Oh, of course." To Isidore's surprise Laien was not in the least bit doubtful of his revelation, then the boy gave a small giggle. "You had your punishment last night."

Low as the light was in the chamber; his flaming cheeks must be clearly visible to the boy now, Isidore thought, mortified, as he wondered about how many people were aware of his punishment.

"Ah do not worry yourself over it; the punishment I mean. We all of us get punished in that manner by our Dajan masters. You will hear of it as part of the morning gossip," Laien told him, rubbing his arm reassuringly. "As for the Svarya, well, he has had few favourites and does not take Darani often; only when his body requires it. Remember he has not been Svarya for even a year, and before that he was always in training or marching the borders. 'Tis said...well." Here Laien hesitated.

"'Tis said what?" Isidore asked.

"That he is not a...gentle man." Laien was sympathetic. "But you are sixteen? Seventeen? So 'tis not as though he's your first."

"I am seventeen," Isidore whispered, staring at the bath from which the steam was rising, nearly filled.

Lodur help him, he was seventeen; so to most it would be that he should be experienced, but he was not! And that man was a giant, over seven feet tall and huge besides; larger than his father and his brother; larger than most men Isidore had come across. Of course he would not be gentle; someone so enormous could not be so. And now he was to go to that man's bed to be used by him and he with no experience of the act. Lodur curse his stupid pretensions about maintaining a celibate life; now it was to be his doom!

"The bath is ready." Laien's voice brought him back to reality but something in his expression must have signaled his thoughts for the boy gave him another reassuring pat on the arm. "Come now, 'twill not be that bad, no need to look like you're going to the slaughter."

Isidore felt as though that was exactly where he was going and was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn't notice as he was undressed, Laien slipping off each item of clothing carefully while he barely noticed to step out of his trousers or lift his arms to have his undershirt removed.

"Such beauty you hide under all these clothes," Laien mused as he looked over Isidore's smooth creamy-skinned body, perfectly toned and proportioned. "I would have thought you would be skinny since you are so small, but no, 'twould seem you are filled out nicely."

Isidore jumped as he felt Laien run a hand up the tautness of his abdomen, running over the slight curve of his chest-muscles. Laien's hand continued over one small shoulder, the collar bone defined but not so much as to be bony, down over his back which was nicely formed, the planes delicately proportioned with not a bone visible from his ribs, where Laien had thought there might be before he got out of his clothing. And as for the firm, pleasantly curved buttocks, his new master would find no fault there, none whatsoever.

"You will please the Svarya nicely, I think," he told Isidore, all business now his musings were over.

Isidore said nothing as he stepped into the bath, sinking down into the steaming water and letting Laien wash him. Isidore closed his eyes as the washcloth traveled over his every inch, cleaning him calmly and thoroughly. Shifting slightly, he felt the cloth move to wash him intimately and he sighed slightly when the washing clearly became caressing.

"Do you like that?" Laien's voice interrupted his pleasure and his eyes snapped open.

"Do you always do that when you are attending a bath?" Isidore asked, his cheeks having a rosy glow.

"I do usually attend Dajani at their baths," Laien told him. "But it is good if I prepare you; it will make you less nervous and want the night's activities more."

Just the mention of the night's activities made Isidore's heart beat faster and his staff soften. Laien stroked it a bit to bring it back to hardness.

"I think 'tis best if you do not." Isidore pushed his hand aside.

Laien shrugged. "Your choice," he said casually. "It just helps sometimes, if you are nervous."

"I'm afraid I will be nervous no matter what," Isidore whispered.

Laien threw him a disapproving look. "Come now, stop acting like a quaking virgin, 'twill not be so bad; all Dajani are the same, only this one is bigger than most."

Isidore looked away, his brow creased. Laien continued to regard him, and then suddenly the washcloth dropped into the bath with a splash.

"Do not say it!" he breathed. "You cannot be virgin still."

Isidore said nothing, his midnight-blue eyes glistening in the muted light of the candles mounted around the narrow walls of the bathing room.

"How?" was all Laien could ask.

"I am the Sheq-Kis-Ran Svarya's son, 'twas not too hard to remain celibate," Isidore answered softly.

Laien's next question was all too obvious. "Why?"

Isidore wondered which explanation he should give. "I did think there was merit in remaining pure and...and I was afraid."

"Of what?" Laien asked.

"Of it hurting." Isidore replied with a little embarrassment. "I had overheard when I was very young that it hurt like the seven torments and I guess from that age I gradually got myself more and more afraid of it. Everything led me to believe it would hurt like Mol-Hotep's tortures and so 'twas not too hard to avoid it since my brother scared off any Daja who looked at me sideways."

"Oh." Laien didn't know what to say to that. It did hurt, at first, and likely would hurt far more with one so huge as Svarya Kerim; so he couldn't tell Isidore not to expect it to be overly painful. "Perhaps I can have some wine brought up for you?" It was the best he could offer.

Isidore leaned forward to have his back scrubbed. "No," he said as he was vigorously washed. "I am of the House of Jornn; I can be brave in the face of a little pain or a lot, and I will be brave."

"That is good to hear," Laien replied, then after a moment he placed the washcloth aside. "Stand up, I am finished."

Isidore stood and held out his arms to be dried with the drying cloth.

"So tiny you are," Laien noted as he patted dry the small limbs. "Are you sure you will have no wine?"

"No, I will want my wits about me," Isidore replied, his voice firm.

Laien said nothing as he finished drying him off and then gathered up the drying cloths and kicked them into a pile in the corner. He led Isidore, still naked, to a door at the other end of the bathing chamber from the one they came in through, and opened it. Isidore saw it was the master-chamber and he immediately shrank back away from the door.

"What are you doing?" Laien laughed nervously. "Go on in there."

"Wearing nothing?" Isidore asked incredulously.

"Aye; you will not need clothes for what you'll be doing," Laien told him matter-of-factly. When Isidore still looked reluctant he sighed. "He is not in there yet; you will have some time to adjust to what you will be doing while you await him."

"Why can I not have any clothes to do so?" Isidore asked.

"Because they prefer you to have no covering when they come to you; now get in there." Laien heaved at him to push him into the room then slammed the door to the bathing chamber shut.

Isidore stood in the huge room, feeling even more diminutive given he had no coverings whatsoever. Then he remembered the chests of his own clothes and almost burst out laughing in relief. He bounded across to these and threw open the lids, rifling around for something suitable to wear. A pair of black trousers and a camic; he didn't bother with underclothes; just enough clothing to cover him up and he felt so much better. Waiting naked for the ravishment? Not likely.

Since he was alone in the room, which was lit by widely-spaced candelabra so as to give it a dim light, he found himself looking all around at the various chests and cabinets for storing clothing and suchlike in the room, then up at the walls along which were hung the various trophies in between the candelabra: tusks, horns and other items come from animals likely got from the hunt. In fact, this was the first time he realized that all that hung on the walls were trophies and candelabra. Various prizes taken from the hunt were the only form of decoration at all in the room and they not only lined the walls but, also, the low couches and the end of the bed were covered in furs and pelts, the bed having both. Well at least he wouldn't be cold when the winter months came, he thought absently, as he ran his hand along one of the pelts, this having stiff fur of a yellowy-white colour, he noted, and he wondered which was the animal and from whence it had come.

"So again you would deny me the sight of your body." Isidore almost jumped out of his skin at that voice. He turned in its direction and saw the huge Daja standing just inside the door which was shut behind him. How long had he stood by while he was unaware of it, Isidore wondered.

"We value modesty in Sheq-Kis-Ra, my lord; this you know," Isidore said quietly.

"But you are not in Sheq-Kis-Ra any more, little one," Kerim said, walking towards him at a casual pace.

Isidore held himself perfectly still, not wanting to appear to shrink from this man, though his every urge was to go racing away from him.

"Yet am I still Sheq-Kis-Ran," Isidore answered, sucking in his breath and trying to calm his heart which was pounding in his chest as the warrior-Svarya came to within a pace of him. Why did Lodur create such a man, Isidore wondered, desperately, as he saw that his chin would just about come to the man's belly-button, not that he could see it through his clothes.

"Will you accept your new home, Isidore?" The sound of his own name brought him back to the situation at hand and he looked up to the man's face, so far up.

"I will make every effort to do so, my lord," he said truthfully, for he owed it to his father and, indeed, to the whole of Sheq-Kis-Ra, to whose heritage he had just laid claim, to be a pleasing gift to this man.

"This pleases me, Darima," Kerim told him. "Now it would please me further did you get on the bed."

Isidore felt as though his heart would leap right out of his throat, and he swallowed several times before he complied, sitting on the edge of the bed. Kerim reached down and lifted him, his hands under Isidore's arms, and placed him closer to the centre of the bed so that his legs were outstretched before him, his ankles at the end. Then the huge man climbed on beside him, pushing him down so that he now lay across the bed.

"So, Darima, let me see again this body you would deny to every man," Kerim whispered, his fingers reaching to the ties on the camic. "Except me," he murmured as he opened the ties on the thick camic the boy insisted on wearing. The last of the ties was opened and Isidore stiffened when his camic was parted so that his bare chest and abdomen was exposed. "They are indeed fools in Sheq-Kis-Ra, to deny us the sight of this," Kerim commented to himself, pulling Isidore up slightly so that he could remove the camic completely and throw it aside. Isidore stared up at the ceiling which was painted with some design he couldn't make out in the low light.

No choice, he thought, as his heart hammered in his chest; he had no choice but to accept this man's touch. It was part of the price Sheq-Kis-Ra paid for alliance; only it was Isidore who paid it. It was Isidore who would endure this man's touch and serve his bed. All his life he had never been forced to anything; all his life he had been able to choose, and he had been protected from the lusts of the Dajani. His father and his brother had guarded him closely. Now he had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide; he was given to this man and no one could stop what was going to happen to him.

Suddenly he was wrenched from his thoughts by the feeling of hot lips kissing along his collarbone and downwards until they enclosed one of his nipples. He stiffened at first, being touched so intimately by a man he found so unnerving, but then the feelings of what that man was doing to him began to seep in, dulling the edges of his fear, and he began to relax into the touch. A sigh escaped his throat and he arched his back while the lips sucked and kissed at the pink flesh making it tighten into a puckered nub. The lips wandered across his chest to the other nipple, capturing that, and sucking at the hardened flesh, nipping it and then licking over it as though it was a delicious sweet, playing all around and tasting every inch of it. By this time Isidore was moaning and writhing around under the ministrations; but he whimpered, pulling back when the man brought his teeth into play.

Kerim leaned back and regarded him. "Do you not like it when I bite you?" he asked, his expression light.

Isidore shook his head, no.

Kerim shifted over until his lips were inches away from those of the boy. "But you are so tasty," he told him, capturing the full lower lip between his own and sucking on it. "So sweet and tasty, and I just want to eat you up."

Isidore leaned back, escaping the lips that wandered over his. "I cannot let you eat me, my lord," he said earnestly.

Kerim laughed. "Shall we see about that?" he asked, and then, before Isidore knew it, he was shifting down to strip him of his trousers. "Ahh, these hide far too much," he whispered and Isidore stiffened when he felt the man's breath on his most private area. He tensed when he felt the lips kissing all around the area, he could see nothing but the man's huge shoulders and back and so he was left to wait and wonder what would happen next.

"Relax," came the voice, still sounding amused though Isidore had no idea why. He looked up at the ceiling again, trying to make out the shapes so that he could endeavour to do as he had been bid.

Suddenly he let out a moan as he felt the warm mouth smother his rod which stiffened despite his nervousness to become fully turgid as it was so enclosed. He bucked his hips slightly, shifting around as the mouth pleasured him, the tongue working all around to lick every inch of his staff, some parts feeling nice, others feeling absolutely amazing as the tongue lapped over them. He began to feel his skin heat up from the pleasurable feelings that coursed through him; making him forget where he was and what was happening. He couldn't even remember what it felt like to be nervous.

He whimpered when the mouth left his staff, but then moaned loudly, parting his legs and thrusting his hips upward as the lips kissed down to his balls, taking these one at a time into the warmth of the mouth, then both at once, licking and sucking on them so that Isidore was writhing around on the bed, completely abandoned to the pleasure. He loudly gave voice to it, his fingers splayed out on the covering, gripping into the fur on his right, the silk of the coverlet on his left, his legs thrust apart as he was pleasured.

The hot mouth returned to his staff, licking and sucking there, moving up and down over the hot flesh, tasting the length over and over until the feelings got to be too much, and Isidore arched his back, thrusting his hips up off the bed, bursting out with his seed. His head rolled to the side as he lay outstretched, his eyes half-shut and his lips parted, recovering his breath after the climax.

He barely noticed the man climbing back up to lie beside him, the long body stretching far past where his feet ended on the bed.

"Now that you have had your pleasure, will you let me have mine?" Kerim asked gently. Isidore looked up at him; midnight-blue eyes meeting black ones.

"I will try, my lord," he replied, the pleasurable sensations evaporating quickly as he realized what was next to come.

He lay back, staring up at the ceiling again; it seemed to be his rock at this point. He would make out the lines and shapes while he heard, but was too afraid to watch, what was going on. He heard the man remove his vest, throwing it aside to join the other clothes that were scattered about the bed. Dare he look? Just a peak, he settled on, and his eyes flicked downwards then back up at the ceiling again. Lodur help him; all the gods help him; the man was enormous! All that bare skin served only to remind him of how much of it there was; all over a mountain of rippling muscle, so huge and powerful, and he just a five-and-a-half foot slip of a Dara; such was the warrior's own summation of him.

He heard the brushed-leather trousers being removed, and he closed his eyes to imagine what was being uncovered with it. He had felt it at the table, large and hard it had pressed against him most unnervingly; telling him that at least the man was pleased with his form if not what he had had to say. But now he was to experience just how huge it was. Dare he look at it? Should he? It might be sensible given the situation; he was so utterly unnerved that there wasn't a scrap of the desire he had felt just five minutes ago. His eyes flicked down and then he wished he'd kept them squeezed shut tight. No, it was too large, too long, and too thick, there was no way he could take that and not be crippled afterwards.

He really should say something, but he knew if he did the man would discount it immediately and go ahead as planned. So it was while he was reaching into the bedside cabinet for the oils that accompanied such love-acts that Isidore took the opportunity opened to him.

Scrambling off the bed, he raced for the door, caring not that he was stark naked and that outside the door was a castle full of Dajani who might appreciate the sight of a young naked Dara in precisely the way he wanted to avoid at this moment; he just needed to get away from this one Daja and his mighty weapon.

He made it exactly halfway across the room when he was jerked to a halt by his braid. The man's fist wrapped around the thick column of hair and yanked backwards, dragging him towards the large naked body, the phallus pressing against his back, giving him a potent message that, although his escape attempt was not appreciated by the man, it did naught to take down his ardour.

"Where do you think you will go, foolish boy?" The voice was devoid of all the playfulness that had marked it during their previous encounter.

"I...I can't. I'm sorry; you will have to send me back and start a war." Isidore's mind was completely dominated by his fear response and desire for short-term survival outweighed all rational thought.

He was hefted up with one great arm wrapped around his middle, his back pressed against the hard chest, that phallus now slipping in between his legs as he was carried to the bed. He was thrown down on it, face first, and prevented from rising by a large hand that spanned the small of his back. He stiffened when he felt the oils being dripped between his buttocks and then the man's free hand followed that path, spreading the lubricant in the cleft. He jerked when the fingers slipped in, the pain of his virgin hole being penetrated a slight sting. Would that the rest of it would be like that but he knew worse, far worse, was yet to come.

Then the man put a hand either side of his face-down form and leaned over him, his phallus resting on the boy's thighs. Leaning on one elbow, he grabbed a fistful of Isidore's hair and yanked his head up so he could address him.

"You never run from me, do you understand, boy?" The voice was low and menacing.

Isidore nodded, his heart seizing up in fear.

"Now you may choose how you want it, on your front or face-to-face." The fingers in his hair tightened when Isidore was slow to answer.

"Like...like this," Isidore managed to grit out. Better that he does not see the tears, he thought to himself as he felt his hair released. He had wondered when the playful man would disappear and the barbarian return, and now it had. At one false move, Kerim had completely changed and now was every inch the barbarous Daja Isidore knew him to be.

Folding his arms before him, he buried his head in them, gritting his teeth against the expected pain. The man's hands were now at his hips, the thumbs over his buttocks, parting their firm globes to expose what lay between them. Then he felt the phallus drop against the cleft, heavy and thick and...hot! Who would have thought it would be this hot? He had felt his own when it was erect and it didn't feel so...

He screamed suddenly, a loud howl which he was just short of muffling in his arms as he felt the great spear begin to penetrate him. The blunt head felt impossibly large as it pressed against his tight opening, pushing through. There was some give in it but it was his own flesh that was expected to do all the giving as it pushed and pushed and then pressed through the opening. Isidore had managed to stifle his pained moans in his arms but his breathing remained rapid and though the last thing he wanted to do was hasten his impalement, he managed to summon the presence of mind to shift around to ease the entry.

Was this the worst of it? The tip was in; was that it then? He did not know he was being given the chance to grow used to being stretched open, but it was not long before he realized this when his brief reprieve came to an end. He tried to stop the next scream but it was impossible when the large object drove into him, pressing further and further into his flesh, surely there was nowhere for it to go! Why couldn't he realize that? Isidore thought desperately as he felt the great spear plunge deeper and deeper into him, what damage was he doing? He was going to murder him, he was going to die; his father had sent him here to die! Oh, there would be a war now and he hadn't even managed to escape this great beast's bed...

"You do not withstand pain well, Darima." Isidore's eyes flickered open at the sound of the voice and he felt a roughened thumb stroke down the smooth skin of his cheek. When his eyes came back into focus he saw Kerim lying next to him, watching him closely, his head resting on his outstretched arm as he regarded Isidore with a look of amusement mixed with not a little vexation.

"You took out your hair." For some strange reason that was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he thought to open it, but it was likely because the man looked ever so slightly less severe with his dark locks falling about his shoulders.

"Is that your first thought, Darima; do you not wonder whether I have killed you?" Kerim asked him.

"I believe you have not," Isidore responded, "but now we have joined, it--"

"We did not join," Kerim informed him.

"But, we did, I mean, and the pain--" Isidore tried to gather his thoughts together.

"I did not take my pleasure while you were unconscious," Kerim replied sharply, his eyes narrowing.

"Well...you could have...I mean..." Isidore had never been reduced to stammering before but he saw that angry look come over the man and felt compelled to do anything to prevent it. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered, his hand reaching out to touch the man's large shoulder. "I wanted to be brave."

He felt like a little baby at that point, fainting under the pain of a first joining; how stupid of him, how pathetic; this was twice he had shamed the House of Jornn.

Kerim regarded him for a moment. "It is late. Go to sleep; tomorrow we shall join again, and by then you will have hopefully fortified yourself for it."

Tomorrow we shall join again? Just like that the man decides when he is to surrender his body to that torment again. But he was born of a regal house and not given to bouts of spite or temper, so he smoothed over his frown, lying on his back beneath the coverings.

"As you wish, my lord," was all he said.

Some of his discomfort at the prospect showed, however when he jerked to feel the large hand on his shoulder, then before he knew it he was pulled into the man's arms, his face pressed into the hard chest. "One kiss, before you sleep, Darima, and so that I might know what to look forward to on the morrow."

Isidore leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Is that what I look forward to tomorrow, little one?" Kerim asked, frowning down at him and Isidore flushed. Kerim interpreted his discomfort, and looked somewhat surprised. "How are you virgin in this respect also?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer, as it occurred to him to explore the virgin territory which he had not known about when he had kissed the boy at the table.

Rolling the boy on to his back, he leaned over him, stroking a thumb down his cheek and tugging slightly at the corner of his mouth. The lush lips parted and Kerim leaned down, pressing his lips against the full ones of the boy, kissing him softly, at first, but he was so sweet and tasty that a soft kiss could only last so long then he was plunging his tongue deep into the small warm mouth, tasting all around it, licking and exploring its every delicious inch.

Pulling back when he realized the kiss was rather one-sided. He regarded the boy, the Dara-Svaraya. Just Dara here though, and one who should be all his for the taking, Kerim thought to himself as his black eyes searched the midnight-blue ones curiously.

"Do you not like my kisses, little one?" he asked softly.

Isidore's heart sped up in his chest. "I...like them well enough," he replied.

"Well enough?" Kerim grinned at that answer. "Then why don't you kiss me back?"

Isidore wanted to die; how humiliating was this line of questioning? "I don't know how," he gritted out in embarrassment.

"Ahh." Kerim leaned down, his lips just touching those of the boy, but not enough to form a kiss. "Shall I teach you?" he asked.

"If it pleases you." Isidore's routine answer was high and breathy as he felt his every fibre intoxicated by this man's closeness.

"Use your tongue, little one," Kerim whispered against the soft lips.

Isidore shut his eyes and tried to relax into the kiss. When the lips pressed against his again, he tried tasting them with his tongue, licking up and across the tongue that pressed into his mouth, it pushed against his, sliding across it and Isidore responded, tasting it, playing with it. Without thinking, his hands rose and then he wrapped his arms around the large neck of the man who lay half across him, pressing his body up against the hard one of the warrior, wanting to feel its every inch as their kiss deepened. It seemed as though their bodies communicated without the need for words; the man climbed atop him and Isidore opened his legs so that the large body might be accommodated better by his.

After a time, Isidore found his legs wrapped around the man's waist as they continued to discover each other with their mouths and hands. Lodur be praised; this man had one spectacular body, Isidore thought as his hands ran up and down the muscular landscape of his back. His fingers dug into the sinew as he writhed around under him; all those pleasurable feelings assailing him in response to discovering this man. When he felt the man shift up and bring his phallus to press against the exposed hole that was still greased from their previous attempt at joining, however, he tensed up.

"Relax, Darima, you will like it, I know you will," Kerim told him.

How much he wanted to relax but he couldn't help that his every instinct had him squeezing his eyes tight shut, balling up his hands into fists and holding himself absolutely rigidly in preparation for an enormous amount of pain.

"You have to relax Isidore," Kerim urged him as he again lined the head of his phallus up against the tight hole.

Isidore's survival instinct kicked in once more and he tried to lower his legs and get himself out of the way of the man's menacing tool. One large hand placed in the centre of his chest prevented any such last-minute escape and as he was held still. Kerim leaned down until his lips were inches apart from Isidore's.

"You have to do this, Isidore," Kerim whispered, softly but firmly. "You have to have the first time."

"You said tomorrow." Isidore tried one last line of argument but it was swept aside by a completely unrepentant grin.

"I changed my mind," the looming giant told him, and he could, Isidore thought miserably as he watched his one last line of escape be snatched from his grasp. What this man said was how it would be and Isidore had no choice whatsoever; he had to give up his body to this enormous beast and surrender it to his tortures. It was part of the price his nation had paid for alliance. But he had one more thing to say about it before he was subjected to Lodur knew how much pain.

"If you kill me, my father will be angry," he warned.

To his surprise, Kerim grinned. "If I kill you I shall be angry too," he agreed.

With that marginal comfort, he lifted each slender thigh and placed them over his shoulders. Leaning down, he grasped the small hands and lifted them up, drawing them forward until Isidore was hugging his own thighs. Too late he realized what the man had done as one large hand effortlessly encircled both his wrists, so that his own arms held his thighs to his chest, leaving his hole completely exposed and for the life of him he could not break that hold on his wrists.

The moist blunt phallus-head pressed against his exposed hole once more and he was absolutely powerless to do anything about it.

"Relax." His soon-to-be torturer repeated his impossible-to-follow instruction. "It will hurt, but more so if you do not relax."

Not that he had much option when he felt the head press against his tight opening; not that he had any choice over how much it hurt as it began to press relentlessly against his tight flesh, as it had done before, pushing and pushing until it popped through. And then he began to get a taste of the rest of the length, growing gradually thicker after the first flaring of the head. Once he was some inches in, the man let go of Isidore's wrists so that he could lower his thighs slightly. But only until they met the steely bands of the man's arms, which had come down either side of him like the iron bars of a cage, imprisoning him so that he could not escape the iron rod that was slowly penetrating him.

His breathing began to calm when the man drew it out slightly, thinking that that was all he was to get, but he was soon back to moaning and writhing around when it was plunged back into him, going deeper and feeling even thicker than it had before. Several more times was he allowed to experience some of the thick cudgel then it was withdrawn, only to have more of it fed in on the next thrust until with a grunt, the last of it was fed into him and he could feel the hairy balls resting against his cleft.

"See, that wasn't so bad." Kerim leaned down to kiss away the tears that had been squeezed from the corners of his eyes at the feeling of his first penetration.

Isidore said nothing as he shifted around, growing used to the huge flesh, trying not to imagine where inside his body it had gone; for it was so long surely it was hitting his ribs about now. Wriggling around more, he tried to ease some of that stinging sensation as he was stretched so wide. Kerim groaned at that sensation on his cock and Isidore looked up at him in wide-eyed surprise. At that innocent expression, Kerim could spend no longer letting the boy get used to his full length, and he leaned down to resume the kiss as he drew his length some distance out then thrust back in, driving back home into that warm slick tightness which elicited a moan from the boy below him.

It hurt and it stung as it had before, Isidore noted, even through the kiss, as he felt that tool slide into him again and again, completely outside his control. But there was also something else, this strange mixture of pleasure with the pain that made him hope it would never end at the same time as he wished it to stop. He moaned as one large hand discovered one of his nipples, pinching and teasing, flicking the hard kernel until he began to buck his hips in time with the thrusts, meeting them unintentionally. And then his eyes snapped open as he began to feel something else curling within him, seeming to start from where the huge tool was rubbing inside him and swirling around to his balls. He looked up at the man who was giving him this pleasure-pain that was rapidly becoming more pleasurable than painful; his expression between confusion and wonder.

Kerim looked down at the innocent expression and felt a surge of possessiveness; that this virgin boy was all his, belonged to him and no one else, to be touched by him and no one else. Fuelled by his primitive thoughts of claiming his previously untouched possession, he began to ram harder into the boy, slamming him into the bed and watching as his innocent expression of wonder turned to one of shameless enjoyment; his eyes squeezing tight and his lips parting as he cried out with each ramming thrust.

Isidore received the rod in abject pleasure. It was so huge, plunging again and again into him, heavy and deep, the balls slapping against the top of his buttocks while he held on to the man's arms that were now both braced on either side of him, trapping his legs above his head. The control was never his anyway; now completely beyond his reach, and it gave him a thrill to be that way, to feel the rod plunging deep within him, to know that he could not stop it, could not dictate how heavy or deep were the thrusts; that there was this huge and unpredictable beast of a man to whom all of that had been surrendered. The thrill was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Then the thrill grew to be more terrifying and more intense as the man began to approach his climax. His thrusts becoming heavier, deeper and more abandoned. Meanwhile the huge phallus head continued to stroke relentlessly past that bundle of nerves deep inside him that had Isidore moaning and throwing his head from side-to-side before he went rigid in climax. The fiery line of seed was being jerked from his balls and, seared along his rod to shoot in several loads between them. Kerim leaned down and kissed him hard, his lips bruising those of the boy beneath him so that Isidore moaned into the hot wet mouth even as his eyes widened to feel the thrusts get harder and deeper and, with one final stab, his insides were flooded with hot juices.

Careful now that he was not in the midst of so much pleasure, Kerim rolled off the boy, flopping heavily back on the bed, one arm above his head, the other still underneath the shoulders of the boy and his legs outstretched before him. Isidore rolled toward him, snuggling into the crook of his arm.

"I cannot believe you made me wait for that," he accused Kerim lazily.

"I made you wait?" Kerim murmured, pulling Isidore closer against him.

"You let me believe it would be horrible," Isidore replied, his lips pressed against the firm muscles of the man's chest, "and then I fainted because of it."

"So that was my fault?" Kerim asked, his voice languorous.

"Mmm." Isidore replied and then snuggled in closer, wrapping his arms around the man's neck.

Kerim grinned, leaning down to kiss the boy atop his soft midnight hair. "Silly slip of a Dara." He couldn't quite summon an accusatory note into his voice.

"But worth your goodwill towards Sheq-Kis-Ra?" Isidore asked even as he fell into slumber.

Kerim waited until he was assured that the boy was fast asleep before he whispered his answer.