Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part XXVIII

What am I?

Monday, a coin. A bargaining chip. A two-faced relic of chance, pouncing through the air.

Till I land...

Tuesday, a lioness. A fierce devotee to my alpha; the one who hollows me out before filling me in.

Training me...

Wednesday, a dog. Broken down, pushed into unnatural, domesticated, slavish idiocy, obedient to the core, stuck forever on my leash.

The tether between...

Thursday, a cundango. Vestiges of man and woman, warped of their evolutionary splendor.

Left to drift into...

Friday, a faggot slave.

Floating, along a river down a majestic mountain--a part of the world—a role player—a game player—but stripped of the fundamental power, voided, set adrift from the cycle of life.

The scenic route...

Saturday, a masterpiece.

A painting, capturing the mountainside, but more importantly, the blankness of the wind.

On Sunday, I rest, nothing more than a sliver of nothing. Content to look at my six faces. Roll the dice. Flip the coin. Explore. Mimic. Tread ground, old and new, because how the hell can you tell the difference?

"Calm down, faggot," Zane says, gripping me by the hair. "Let the feeling wash over you. Breathe slowly."

I pant; gasping for air; drowning in it.

"CALM THE FUCK DOWN." Zane says, slapping my face. I tremble, looking up into his piercing eyes, willing myself to breath slower. "Suck. My. Balls."

My tongue is on fire. I prod his balls slowly, lapping, before kissing one after the other.

We both refuse to break eye contact as I slurp on his balls. I leech the chocolate away first, before getting to the sweaty layer underneath.

Zane's lip glistens as his half-smile coils; the firelight plays in his eyes.

"You want to make me feel good?"

Zane grips me by the hair and pushes me away. His balls slide past my lips, plopping out of my mouth.

I jut my tongue out, whimpering, my head lolling to the side.

"Don't be scared, faggot," Zane says, stroking my hair.

Zane swings his cock at me, slapping my cheek with it. My eyes roll back slightly, dancing from side to side.

I can sense the intellectual towers in my mind collapsing to ashes, razed by superior forces. And at ground zero, there are silhouettes in the smoke.

"Don't sleep, faggot," Zane says, cock-slapping my face twice more. Then he holds it up—towering--in front of my eyes, tensing.

I lean in and give the head of Zane's cock a slow, smacking kiss.

Zane cradles my head in his hands, holding me back slightly. "You want to suck my cock?"

I moan, my eyes half-closing, as Zane keeps my head just out of reach.

"Do you, puppy?"

I flop my tongue against my upper lip. My whimper cracks like a yawn.

Zane traces the leash with one hand, finally dropping my head.

I impale my face on his cock in one swift motion, forcing it to hollow out my contracting throat.

Zane lashes the leash, making me deep-throat him; his body ensnares my face.

I flex against the cuffs; the collar clamps down on my neck.

"You are my fucking FAGGOT," Zane whispers. "Not anybody else's." He tugs the leash, whipping me off of him. "How do I make you understand?"

I ring my lips with my tongue, tracing the `o.'

He sticks two fingers in my mouth and I clamp down on them.

"Sucking cock is a reward for a cunt-face like you. I need to teach you a lesson."

Zane crouches low, swinging the leash, forcing me to tumble facedown—prostrate--into the carpet.

I linger briefly, then peek my face up. Zane shoves his jockstrap into my mouth. Then, for good measure, he makes me wear another one on my face, confining the first one in place, and inundating my nostrils with the stench of Zane's crotch. My mind magnifies ten-fold what I'm accustom to, and I fall flat on my stomach, writhing, flexing everywhere.

My gaze catches my warped reflection in the stainless steel pot. The pouch of Zane's jockstrap tapers out like a puppy snout from my face. Streaks of chocolate coat my cheeks with little puppy spots. There's no reason I know of to see ears--and yet--still I have a hazy vision of them, pointing up in fuzzy triangle puppy ears.

I don't see a boy at all.

I just see a dog.

"Rmf."

"That's a good puppy," Zane says, rubbing my head, nudging the coals with the fire iron. "Let go of being a person. Become something—else."

How does one explain how being a subhuman slave—sets one free?

How I tire of the absurd expectations of being made in God's image. Cursed above the animals. Can't we just close Pandora's Box? Can't I just crawl back inside?

I've tasted being an animal, and I WANT TO BE AN ANIMAL.

"RMMRF!"

Zane strokes my hair. "I'm glad you are starting to see. You are mine, you realize. And as it turns out—I'm not actually a Maverick. Not at all."

Zane pulls the fire iron out of the flames, the sharpened tip glinting white-hot, an evil look spreading across his face.

"I'm going to brand you, bitch." Light plays in his eyes. "Stay still."

"Urnnmh!" I groan, faltering. Then, slowly, I wriggle away from Zane on my stomach.

"You're pathetic," Zane hisses. "Do what I say, or I PROMISE it will be worse."

I stop.

"FAGGOT PUSSY POSITION."

Slowly, whimpering a little bitch noise, I push my ass into the air.

Zane presses the poker into the hill of my ass, rending skin.

My squeal is muffled by the jock.

FIRE—beyond the pale—past the edge of what I am meant to feel. INTENSIFIED.

The goblins cackle in my mind.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

I shy away from Zane in spite of myself. He steps forward, one foot on either side of me, looming above me, casting his shadow on me.

"I SAID STAY STILL, FAGGOT," Zane says, moving the poker down to my balls.

I howl into the jockstrap, tears streaming freely across my face.

I stay still, and Zane moves the poker back to my ass, pressing another line into my flesh.

"You were bad. Bad cundango."

I guffaw, willing my body not to move. "Mrri!" I say. "MRRI."

"What was that? You'll have to speak a language I can understand."

Another line seared into my ass.

"Aren't you sorry, faggot?"

He can do anything he pleases. Usually, I like having him ensnare me. Usually, I like having him stretch the limits of how much I can hurt. But this is past the stretching point.

I'm about to break...

I wheeze in and out, panic flooding me, fire coursing through my veins.

On the brink of...a brand of freedom? Or a brand of prison? And can I even tell the difference—anymore?

Prison.

Do you know how they apologize in prison?

I crane my head up, contorting my neck, forcing my puppy nose into Zane's ass.

Zane sears one last line before tossing the poker into the fire. "Oh--you want to apologize? Why didn't you say so?"

Zane rolls me onto my stomach before sitting on my face.

The musk of his jockstrap is strengthened by Zane's constricting ass. I breathe it in slowly. Gagged. Cuffed. Collared. And pinned down by Zane's ass grinding my face.

"This just won't do," Zane says, rising into a squat, leaning on his closed fist and twisting. He leers at me, stretching the puppy-nose jockstrap off of my face, before pulling the wadded up one out of my mouth. "You're sorry, puppy?"

I nod, panting.

"MAKE ME BELIEVE IT."

He sits on my face again, this time with no fabric separating my tongue from his ass. I lap at it, sucking the musk out and snorting.

"God, you are such a FUCKING FAGGOT. How do you even function?"

Zane tugs on the leash, pulling my face deeper between his ass cheeks, which stretch out across my face.

I swirl my tongue around the crack, cleaning up grime and prodding his hole.

I breathe deeply.

Zane squats up again, flashing me a cocky expression that looks almost impressed. He scoops up some melted chocolate and drizzles it on my face. It's warm—not burning anymore—and still soft. For a moment, I think he might lick it off, but then he dangles his ass over my face again, and I know what to do.

I rub my face around in his ass, coating it in chocolate, before licking it out of his crack.

Chocolatey ass flavor is scorched into my mind as surely as the scars scorched onto mine.

Amplified up by my fucked up brain.

I prod his hole, and it opens slightly. The opening just lingers there. I feel around with my tongue and I sense something grainy and soft peeking out. Slowly, his ass opens, and whatever it is slides out more.

I encircle his hole with my lips, scooping with my tongue, as it plops into my mouth. I swallow instantly, grit sticking to the corners of my mouth, and without missing a beat, I lick Zane's ass clean, my eyes rolling deep into my head. I blanket his ass with my tongue, giving it a wet, smacking kiss.

Zane tugs the collar, wrenching me from his ass. He swivels and stands upright, sneering down at me again, pushing his foot into my stomach, pinning me to the floor.

My breath runs free; I glimpse Zane's icy eyes; the cold chain leash slinks against my skin.

"Holy fuck, faggot," Zane says, grinning from ear to ear. "I didn't think you'd do that! And you didn't even—put up a fight. You just kept going."

I let out a strained laugh, nuzzling into Zane's foot. I realize with a pang—how deeply I crave his contact. I need to feel his body touching mine.

He pulls his leg away, tugging the leash, forcing me to twist onto my stomach and bow before him. I creep over to his foot again, licking slowly from toenail to ankle and back again. I shove my ass into the air, sucking on Zane's big toe, curling my tongue around it, moaning, looking him in the eye.

"Alright, alright; you apologized," Zane says. "Let's take this into the bedroom."

His anger evaporates; a hint of a true smile traces the edge of his lips.

I get the sense that Zane wouldn't mind milking his rage a bit longer, but there isn't anything to left be mad at. I am too pathetic.

Vitiated. Broken. Annihilated.

"Let's go," Zane says, tugging on the leash.

I slither behind Zane as he makes his way across the house, the carpet chafing me on the underside, while echoes of the white-hot burns still cut across my ass.

Zane cranes his neck to sneer at me. "With your hands cuffed, you can't even crawl like a real puppy. You are more like a faggot—worm."

I wriggle, licking my lips.

"You might just be the most disgusting creature ever to squirm the Earth."

He speaks with a kind of appreciative amusement. I nuzzle into his ankle.

"Hurry up," Zane says, tugging on the leash. He moves faster than I can, the leash dragging me by the neck. Rugburns roll freely along my stomach, dick, and balls.

I whimper, but most of the noise gets caught in my throat.

The door to the Master bedroom flies open as Zane pounds it; moments later, he drags me to the foot of the big bed. He plops himself down on it, sitting so that I'm between his legs. He swings his feet back and forth, pushing the soles against my face now and then.

Zane runs his hand over an ornate box on his dad's bedside. "You know how I knew when my dad was angry?"

I shake my head, crouching.

"He'd smoke a cigar." Zane pulls a cigar out of the box, lighting it and taking a big puff. He blows smoke in my face, and I stifle a cough. "Do you know any tricks, puppy?"

I gaze up at him.

"Roll over," he says, smirking.

I roll over in place, the chain leash bouncing against my head.

"Sit," Zane growls, puffing out another cloud of smoke.

I lean back on my hind legs, arching my back, peering up at Master.

"Good puppy," Zane says. "Now—suck my cock."

I wrap my lips around the bulbous, glinting mushroom; the spongy, half-hard head swells the moment my tongue touches it. Zane sighs deeply, puffing out a dense veil of smoke, as the thick shaft of his cock slides down my throat.

"I think puppy deserves a treat," Zane says, tugging on the leash, whipping my head to the side. Then, he grabs me at my haunches and throws me facedown onto the bed, where I bounce once before waiting, motionless.

Zane chews on the cigar. "Do you want me to fuck you, faggot?"

I squirm into the faggot pussy position.

"Good girl," Zane says. He pushes the cigar between my lips, and I suck on it, then cough and retch. "Ass up," Zane says. "Higher."

I push my ass higher.

"I'm sure you can get it higher," Zane says, rubbing one of my ass cheeks. He traces the brand he gave me, sending shudders through my body. I try to push my ass higher still.

I feel Zane's breath on my ear before he tongues it. "C'mon faggot. Show me how bad you want it. Show me what you'll do—if I'm inside you."

I start humping the air, clenching my hole on an invisible cock and sucking the cigar.

Zane kneads my ass, watching me flex my sphincter slowly.

"You want my cock inside you?"

I nod into the pillow.

Zane chews on my ear, then softly sucks on it. "I'm sorry too, faggot. Sorry that I had to hurt you. But you have to learn..."

He kisses my shoulder blade, then the small of my back, then the sharp brand on my ass.

I oscillate up and down.

"You have to become a truer version of yourself."

I am trying. God, am I trying.

I feel my slave pussy bloom open, ready to accept whatever Zane has to give.

Zane blankets it with warm, wet tongue—swirling—curling—dragging---before he plows through to the inside.

I worm around, moaning.

He rolls his tongue into a bludgeon as he pierces my hole with it again and again.

Another tower falls in my mind.

I've heard hell is experiencing your first moment devoid of God's love, after taking it for granted for a lifetime. And this stage of what Zane gave me is HELL. Each moment without Zane's arms around me is pure torture.

I start whimpering, bucking into his face, embracing that divine tongue in the only way I can. I'm his supplicant.

I'm his bitch. His cunt. His cundango. His faggot. His slave...

A tear rolls down my face, mingling with a bit of my own salty snot before getting absorbed by the cigar and falling into my mouth.

I'm dying to beg for it, but I can't form words, only desperate animal noises.

Zane kisses up my back, blowing in my ear again. "I know you need it, faggot. I made you need it."

His hardness plays against the cusp of my hole.

I push my ass up, my hole opening and closing, flapping against the head of his cock.

`You ready to be enslaved, faggot?"

I nod into the pillow, whimpering.

The touch of his hands on my ass ushers me into a fit of lust.

I lose my mind, bucking into the nothingness.

Zane chuckles, gripping my ass tightly with both hands, and cramming his cock inside.

The usual resistance is mostly absent. When he bottoms out, my hole tightens feebly around his cock, and Zane laughs: my ass is such a pathetic match to the dominance that courses through his body.

He makes it known, pounding me into oblivion.

Warmth and comfort radiate from his cock, settling my ass. Every motion, every sensation, multiplied.

His skin glosses over mine like hot water in the shower.

I would die without his flesh on mine.

What I would give to have him wrap his arms around me and just hold me. To catch me in those arms, so I don't fall off the face of the Earth and into the abyss.

I'm hanging off the edge of the world, as though by a single wispy thread, begging to be reeled in, comforted, and loved. The alternative is sickening to me. To imagine a life lived without being held—I'm grief-stricken.

The frequency with which people walk by one another, coldly, proudly, only to end up lonely...who wouldn't prefer the life of an animal, whose intellect cannot subjugate its nature...a warm-blooded, cuddly jigsaw of truth and innocence...

A tear rolls down my cheek.

Hold me, Zane. Please...Please...Hold me...

Zane tugs on the leash, cinching my collar, constricting my throat, craning my neck, arching my back. The dead cigar plops out of my mouth, ash scattering across the pillow.

Zane glares at me, tossing the cached cigar onto the floor.

Hold me. Please! Hold me...

Thrown off a space ship, and into the black...They call it suspended in space...but it's the wrong term. There is no tether...there is only endless, cold, detached motion...

Imagine being thrown off the edge of the Earth, and into the abysmal emptiness...

I shiver, milking Zane's cock.

HOLD ME. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Like a shrieking coward gripping a roller coaster safety bar, my ass takes on a life of its own, clamping down on his cock for dear life.

Zane nibbles my earring, then plugs my ear canal. "That feels so good, faggot. Keep it coming."

He tightens his grip on the leash, bending me to my limits.

Zane prods my eardrum. "You like my tongue, faggot? You like what it makes you feel?"

I nod, my mouth gaping open.

"Suck on it, then."

Zane turns my head to the side, bringing his nose to mine, and glaring right into my eyes. He curls his tongue out, coating my lips with his spit.

I catch his tongue in mine; then, I suck it into my mouth, moaning, bucking my ass up and clenching tight.

Victory dances in Zane's eyes as he fucks me.

My ass goes haywire; it scrunches and clamps at random; Zane palms my ass, trying to massage some rhythm into me.

He lets my face fall from his, and I gasp for air, breathing loud and fast, trying to keep from drowning.

"CALM DOWN."

But I can't. I head the other way, dragging out breath, as water swims at my lungs.

Zane slaps me across the face. "FUCKING SNAP OUT OF IT."

Helpless in the face of God, I can do nothing but laugh.

Zane slaps me again, twice more, but rather than enhance the pain, I feel myself drifting away...Surprise and fury etch his face, slicing through his eyes...

And then, I cannot see him at all.

It's all black.

I'm nothing.

I see the tiles of the locker room floor.

I stand, bipedal, as a human would.

Humble civility courses through me. No earring, no leash, no collar—no marks, no brands.

Clothes cover my body.

My friend stands across from me.

"Hiro?" I ask softly.

The word echoes, making my tongue tingle, feeling almost magical.

The tiles beneath me tessellate, folding in on themselves; gravity rolls on its head; I hang from the ceiling.

The tessellations change; I see a dancing surface, reflecting the trees; lily pads roll along, intersecting its path; beclouded fish live below. Three worlds, strung into a single ripple.

Hiro smiles like Mona Lisa.

Almost.

Almost nothing.

Surgical reduction.

That was Zane's goal.

The bare bones of what I could be; the primordial faggot animal at the core of me.

He succeeded at last.

My sexuality broken, tamed, and trained; enlightened and consummated. I can never get pleasure from my own dick again, for lack of a better word.

My sexual energy abandons that zone, swarming my cunt, blanketing my hole and the awesome force inside it.

For a moment, that's all I can feel.

And then—even that goes numb.

I'm on the page of the Escher book. I run along the spine of the open tome, the page folding over my head, connecting the sky to the ground twice over. I run over Chris's old writing, magnified, twice the size of my body.

Bitch...

He knew I loved him. He knew...

And he could have held me. He could have let me weep in his arms. He didn't have to love me as I loved him; he merely had to look into my eyes, and understand—that I would have done anything for him.

Who cares... who cares what he calls me...as long as he holds me...

But instead, he threw me...he sent me flying...into the trajectory of mental anguish that dropped me into the abyss...

Floating in space...

And anything bad Zane did to me was Chris's fault. Anything bad Zane does is Chris's fault. Because Chris got me into this mess in the first place...

The fucking asshole.

Why did he hurt me?

Nothingness.

That's what Zane sought. What he knew he'd find, at my erotic core.

In the depths of my soul.

And yet...

There was still the ghost of something.

A dazed half-smile crosses my face.

Zane slaps my face--over and over--and I feel it—magnified--zinging through me---electric.

I smile, opening my eyes halfway.

He smirks at me, brushing my sweaty hair out of my eyes.

His eyes glimmer with a foreign emotion. Could it be...relief?

I let out a little laugh.

The glimmer vanishes.

"Puppies don't laugh," Zane growls, tugging on my leash.

He hammers me without mercy, palming my mouth in an effort to quell the laughter.

I suck on his palm, licking salt off, till my eyes roll back.

I don't require mercy.

My cunt muscles dance, entering a trance-like state of rhythmic devotion I had found but once before, when I was at barrel's end. But I don't need to taste death anymore to channel the darkness. Zane tightens the hold on the leash, gripping my face, muffling the laughter, but not silencing it. Fury plays in his eyes as he tries and fails to squeeze that last pathetic shred of disobedience out of me.

Maybe he'll brainstorm some new way to punish me.

Won't that be fun?

Zane bites my ear--not holding back—and it runs hot, a bead of blood rolling down. "Do something like that with Chris again—and I will fucking NEUTER you. Do you understand, puppy?"

I tongue the length of Zane's middle finger before sucking it into my mouth.

"All that's left now...is to bring Chris down. Can you imagine her—squirming like a faggot worm—pushed as low as she can go? As low as...you? She deserves nothing better, does she coin?"

I shake my head, laughing more.

Zane jabs his pinkie into one of my cheeks and his thumb into the other side, as I chew and suck the other three fingers.

I can tell Zane is pondering, as his next few thrusts are delayed—stretched—cursory.

"No, I'm sure that she doesn't," Zane says, a sick smile spreading from ear to ear, his eyes dancing. I could have sworn I saw the fire reflected in them still.

Then he savages my ass.

My slave cunt opens for him, keeping up to the best of its ability, but his thrusts are so rapid and deep that the moment my pussy flexes its callback, the next thrust has come. The sensations collapse in on themselves like the sound barrier breaking.

Zane wraps his arms around me, encapsulating me with his muscles. Pulling me back from the depths of space, back to the world.

He KNEW I had craved his arms around me for at least an hour. NO—not craved. Needed. But he had deprived me--until this very moment.

I swivel my head, sucking and chewing Zane's neck.

He tightens his arms, holding me close. Sparks bounce from his body to mine as he flexes, enveloping me in his intoxicating sweat, swaddling me in his unthinkable power...

A facsimile of a man's orgasm shoots out of me, and Zane takes his turn to laugh, pounding my ass, packing my slave pussy to the brim with the genuine article.

"Happy Valentine's Day, faggot." He squeezes me again, his abdominals digging into the handcuffs still binding my arms. "I got you here all night...and trust me--by the end of it--no one will fucking recognize you."

--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com