The Mist and the Lightning. Part 15

“To hell!” He pulled back and twisted the piercing that was blocking him. All the same, the Demon would surely punish him, and for the fact that he attacked Lis, and for the fact that he smashed his head with a candlestick, Verniy would definitely complain to him, he would tell in paints how Lis was bleeding. So one more, one less. And finally freed from the iron that he hated, Kors with some animal lust dug into Arel’s disfigured lip, taking it completely into his mouth, feeling this cork and stroking it with his tongue. Arel answered him, Kors heard his heavy breathing, and let him go for a moment so that Arel could take a breath of air, his nose plugged with a ring now also excited Kors. He didn't care that Arel was no longer handsome, smeared with black dye, which is why the thin rings in his nostrils and the corners of his lips, which were not so noticeable before, now shone in contrast and were striking. Only now Kors realized how much shit was on the face of unfortunate Arel. Along the edges, in two places, Arel had each eyebrow pierced and small rods were inserted into them. In three places, the nose was pierced, both nostrils and the nasal septum. The corners of the lips and tongue were pierced. There was a tunnel in his cheek, and the gums were visible through the hole. There was a cork in his lower lip. His earlobes were stretched. Kors couldn’t understand how, at the same time, Arel still managed to look good and, until recently, remained beautiful. But it seemed that there was a limit to everything, and that day Lis crossed it, disfiguring Arel completely.

Kors, clinging to his prince with his whole body, with one hand, leading it back, behind Arel's back, took him by the braid, which was still lying on the side and floor slabs. Kors felt that he couldn’t completely grasp it, grip it in his hand, it was so thick. He lowered his other hand down, stroking Arel's cock, the scrotum, lifting it, moving lower, and it was still unusual for him that now Arel had a ring threaded through the head of his penis, and two rings were inserted along the edges of the anus. He stroked them and gently pushed his fingers further and deeper, pressing, feeling the tight walls and some resistance. Arel arched under him, and Kors pulled his braid, forcing him to throw his head back, and biting his lips into his neck, chained in a wide iron collar, kissing just above its edge. It was an incomparable sensation, and Kors pulled out his fingers, clenched his hand into a fist and, putting it against the hole, pressed, pushing inward. He didn’t want to carefully insert his fingers one by one any more, slowly, he wanted to do it immediately.

Arel wheezed, but made no attempt to interfere with Kors, and he realized that he had received what he had long wanted and that had long haunted him in his fantasies. How deep was it possible to go? Kors was still afraid of crippling the prince. He made a few thrusts with his fist inside, experiencing an indescribable sensation, it was even better than his beloved “push hard on dry”. Kors breathed intermittently, choking in orgasm, losing control a little, forcing Arel to grab his shoulders with fingers twisted from tension. Now Arel tried to push him away, but Kors did not let go of him, pulling him out a little, he pushed his fist back sharply, literally hitting his fist several times, realizing how cruel it was, but unable to cope with his nature. He growled like an animal, shuddering from the buzz that covered him, it seemed to him that now he would tear not only Arel, but himself. His cock throbbed in jerks, his heart pounding, popping out of his chest. Breathing heavily, Kors pulled out his fist and looked down, expecting a cloud of blood to swirl in the pool water, but nothing happened. Arel let go of his shoulders, he only breathed noisily, opening his mouth with an absurdly protruding lip forward.

“Damn usual slut,” whispered Kors, even somehow disappointed.

And Arel tried to smile.

“Damn noble slut!” Kors pounced on him, squeezing, hugging, again looking for his mouth and sucking in so that the cork suddenly gave way and jumped out of his lip. Kors froze, recoiling, pulling it out of his mouth. Arel clutched his lip, feeling how it was. And Kors only now heard some vague snatches of his thoughts: “No, no, he will kill me”. Arel was afraid of the Demon, and this was the first time Kors heard it so clearly. Arel was afraid of Nikto, he was afraid of him for a long time and more than Kors, somehow differently, because he knew much more about Nikto.

“Nothing will happen,” Kors quickly tried to calm him down, “I'll put it back. Say something, why are you keeping quiet all the time?”

“Return everything as it was,” Arel whispered, “we can't…”

“I will put it back.”

Kors pulled Arel up:

“Get out!”

They lay down on a soft carpet. Kors leaned on Arel, pressing his erect cock to the perfect dark-skinned torso with smooth silky skin. The prince’s face was a disfigured mask, but the body remained the same. Firm, young, strong body with prominent muscles. Perfect proportions. Kors was amazed at its safety, despite constant use, unlike the face, the prince’s body was not damaged so catastrophically, and the tattoos didn’t spoil it. Kors stroked the thin, light stripes of scars on the hard stomach, he remembered them, and Arel almost died then, stroked a small curved burn on his chest.

“Where does it come from?” Kors asked. “I noticed it a long time ago, and you didn’t have this scar before.”

“I got burned being drunk,” Arel answered.

“How was it to be contrived, Arel?”

“I lit from a fireplace poker.”

Kors tried to grasp his thoughts at this moment, and really “saw” a red-hot, curved tip of a small fireplace poker in the prince’s hand. The vision was very blurry and short-lived. Kors didn’t catch either the pain of the burn or any motives explaining Arel’s act. It looked like he was really drunk.

“You ruined such beautiful skin, what a fool!” Said Kors regretfully, removing his fingers from the burn, moving his hand lower, caressing Arel’s cock, and seeing how pleased the prince was. He rubbed his cock on him and gently stroked, slightly jerking off both heads at once, pressing them as close as possible to each other. He pushed Arel down, guiding and spreading his knees bent, sitting on his face.

Arel understood everything.

“Stronger! Deeper! A-a-a!”

Kors shifted slightly and suddenly thrust his cock right into the gap in Arel’s lip, from the outside and further into his mouth. It seemed to him so exciting that he immediately got an orgasm again, it was only necessary to rub his cock a little in the slit back and forth. He immediately, while the hole was wet and slippery, pushed the plug back in, and it even went in somehow easily. Kors didn’t expect it.

“It seems I stretched this hole for him,” thought Kors, “it looks like the Demon will not kill you, Arel, but me, for everything I have done here”. And he, turning to Arel, said:

“Wash your face and rinse your mouth.”

Arel leaned over to the edge of the pool and, scooping up water with his hands, washed his cum off his lips and chin.

They returned to the room and went to bed. Kors saw that Arel’s cock was erect, but he understood that he couldn’t get relief no matter how he tried, and it was very offensive. Arel experienced pleasant sensations, he answered Kors, but couldn’t come. Burying his face in the pillows, Arel lay on his stomach, pressing his cock to the bed. Kors really felt sorry for him, because he responded to all of Kors’ actions, gave him pleasure, did everything, and Kors wanted to thank him, but didn’t know how. He squeezed Arel’s buttocks with his hands, pushing them apart, inserting his cock again, feeling as from his thrusts Arel only began to rub his cock back and forth in a useless attempt to relieve tension. And Kors suddenly tried to do as he had heard many times, Nikto did – clearly in his thoughts he pronounced as a command:

“I allow you to come!”

So thought Kors, and Arel screamed and trembled under him, choking and swallowing air. Kors recoiled. And Arel, jumping up, also grabbed his still throbbing cock with his hands and involuntarily lifted his face approximately towards Kors, although he couldn’t see him.

“How can it be?” He whispered. “How can you order me?!”

“It turns out that I can,” Kors answered a little dumbfounded, but happily.

Arel shook his head in confusion:

“Your voices are very similar. I noticed this long ago, your voice… it is the same as his, only yours is not crippled. But in his mind he speaks better.”

“His voice is the same as mine,” corrected Kors. “It was inherited by my son, and the Demon uses it. And yes, you're right, his thoughts are not so husky.”

The fact that Arel was in his hands, that Arel heard him and came from him, all this filled Kors with some indescribable pride. Which of us will become a Demon even faster, he thought.

And Arel threw up his head:

“Do you want to become a Demon?” He chuckled.

“Do you continue to hear me?!”

“Yes.”

“You've evolved! And I helped you with this. No, it looks like the Demon won't kill us. What do you know about my Mission?”

“Nothing.”

“Although yes, what can you know, you don’t really hear anything.”

Arel shook his head in understanding.

“Forgive me, prince, I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

“Humiliate?”

“I used to think that my Mission was related to the Upper City. He wants to make Alis the king of the red, and he will make me the king of the black. But now I began to doubt it. Maybe he will make you king? Royal blood flows in your veins, mine doesn’t.”

I don't want to be king.”

“As if someone asks you!”

“He won't make me king. He will take revenge on Leonardo and smash the Black City to hell, just as he smashed the Western Limit of the unclean and the Slave Farm before. Here's what he'll do.”

“And I? What is my role then? I cannot become a king, I am not a descendant of a royal family, like you…”

“It doesn't matter, Lis will become king, and he is a commoner.”

“No. His red father is far from a commoner, and we don’t know what they have there, maybe he belongs to the royal family, how do we know. And Alis is like Prince Ariel Riel. And even if not, everything is different with the reds, they don’t observe so strictly the purity of blood, there are many of them, and in fact, the king of the reds in the Black World is just a governor. The True King of the reds is above. Alis will make a coup and become simply the governor of the king in our world, which the reds use as their raw material base. It is quite possible that the status of the governor of the colony doesn’t require royal blood.”

“Lis will close the Portals and will not obey anyone.”

“Well, of course! Well, if I don't become king, maybe then I will become a Demon too?”

Arel only grunted skeptically.

“Why? I stand above you in the hierarchy created by the Demon. I am the ring finger, I am a noble warrior, and you are a slave.”

“The ring finger is the weakest and most useless of the five. You can't even move it properly,” said Arel.

“I am the father of his body!”

“Oh well…”

“Why are you discounting me, Arel? Yes, my family is not royal, but also ancient. My ancestors observed the purity of blood.”

“So you are also a black sheep in the flock?”

Kors bowed his head.

“It turns out that so… but… I can still marry a noble black, and unlike you, I can have children. Noble descendants. I am still able to continue my race!”

“Kors, do you have a drink?” Arel asked. “Give me some wine.”

Kors woke up, embracing Arel, he glanced at the clock, it showed at about nine in the morning, the pillar candles were ate glowing on massive racks, pouring wax onto the floor, the room was dark and stuffy. Since in the world of Nikto there was no space, sky, celestial bodies and, accordingly, there was no need for windows, Kors had to navigate in time exclusively by the clock. He felt a slight hangover, a pendulum, and all night through his sleep he heard that somewhere nearby, with an anguish, a dog howled loudly and protractedly.

Arel also stirred, his black face and protruding lip depressing Kors. He gently stroked his head, through his silky hair, and, laying on his back, carefully peeled off the strips of plaster from his eyes and removed the gauze swabs:

“You see?”

Arel blinked often, his eyes with black whites were watering, but the eye that was implanted into Arel from the unclean looked at Kors quite meaningfully, the second was still defocused and looked past.

“I see a little with the eye of the unclean,” said Arel.

“This is good, I'm sure in a couple of days you will see with your own eye, and the dye will start to come off.”

Arel’s black eyes looked creepy, and at the same time there was something beautiful about it. They reminded Kors of the Demon’s true face, his bottomless black eyes. Kors again hugged his prince, whom he loved, but could never protect from bullying, only from time to time picking up more and more broken and disfigured Arel after others and playing with him after all. Arel responded to the hug, he was young and strong. Kors felt it:

“I want you,” he whispered, “take me. I will do whatever you want.”

And Arel readily crushed him under him, leaning against him.

“No, wait,” exclaimed Kors, dodging, “I can't do that, let me put a mask on you. Your spoiled face bothers me now. I cannot obey a disfigured slave.”

Arel let him at once. Kors got up, went to the bag and took out his mask, put it on Arel. So he was almost the same prince, with a strong and beautiful body, and Kors could obey him. Arel immediately inserted his cock into his ass, and, lifting his face, obscured by a mask, looked at him, at his reaction. Kors endured, and Arel's unclean eye, his iris, lit up somehow strangely, becoming from dark brown more and more bright orange, and the pupil in front of the astonished Kors’ eyes stretched out into a vertical strip. Kors screamed with delight and fear, feeling now from Arel the same demonic energy that the Demon had.

“Speak!” Arel gritted his teeth.

“I allow you to come!” Kors immediately said in his mind, and Arel wheezed, in the mask he didn’t have enough air at all.

“More, more,” whispered Kors, it was delight.

“Lick,” Arel ordered hoarsely, lifting him and bending to his crotch, his low voice, distorted by a mask, was a stranger. Kors realized that this action was unacceptable, but complied.

He bowed obediently, Arel watched him, looking down from above with his inhuman eye. Kors gently ran his tongue along the side of his thigh, along his scrotum, feeling that Arel’s balls were drawn in with pleasure. Kors took them in his mouth, Arel threw back his head and groaned. He grabbed Kors by the hair on the back of his head, pulling him slightly and directing him to his cock, forcing him to swallow. Kors barely suppressed his gag reflex, fortunately, feeling only the smell of the prince’s semen and its salty taste. It was not as disgusting as he feared, even pleasant, because Arel groaned and guided him so proprietly, holding his hair, that Kors fully felt his subordinate position and new emotions from this. To be like this under the fallen prince, to suck him after himself was a violation of all taboos, and it was exciting. Arel knocked him over on his back, sat on his face. Kors closed his eyes and plunged his tongue into the soft, easily accepting, gouged hole, feeling the stretched walls and also scars, old scars. Arel inside was torn, and the tongue could feel these places where the skin was not so elastic. Kors stroked a clearly palpable scar with the tip of his tongue. Who did this to Arel? Leonardo? King? The demon would surely have healed Arel immediately, not leaving wounds, which then healed into such scars. Arel got off him and, putting his cock in his mouth, said:

“Swallow!”

Kors, who didn’t expect this at all, felt an elastic stream of warm salty urine flow into his throat, he instinctively tried to escape, but it didn't work.

“Swallow!” Arel growled, continuing.

And Kors, choking, involuntarily took several sips, urine flowed down his chin.

Arel stopped, Kors looked at him, wiping his face. The bed was wet too.

“I didn’t humiliate you like that,” he said, getting up from the bed with resentment, he no longer looked at Arel, didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“You can do it if you want,” Arel shrugged.

“I don’t want to be like Leonardo and others,” said Kors, and without looking at Arel, he rushed into the bathroom.

Arel very quickly came to him, went down to the pool. Kors no longer took offense at him, responded to the gentle touches.

“Take off the mask, I miss your face,” said Kors, “even if it is awful.”

Arel silently opened his face.

They started kissing again.

Chapter four

When Vitor Kors and Prince Arel, tired and satisfied, returned to the room, they found a servant-slave in it. In their absence, he brought a tray of dinner and remade the dirty bed. All the servants wore a helmet-mask on their heads, which completely covered their heads and faces. Thin, short, hunched over, it was clear from the proportions of the body that this slave was male. In a simple black clothing, a work robe and a long jacket over a shirt, gloves closed at the wrists with wide steel bracelets, while doing his work, he moved carefully, but without fussing.

Kors approached the table, lifted several heavy lids from the plates, examining what the slave had brought. Involuntarily, he poked his finger into a strange jelly-like dish, which easily swayed from the touch, and immediately restored its shape, as if there were no dents from the finger.

“Hey, come here!” Kors called the slave in unclean language. He immediately reacted and, leaving the scraper with which he was cleaning the floor near the massive candlestick counter, approached him. He stood in front of Kors with his head lowered. The slits for the eyes in his mask were obscured by an additional shield – only a narrow strip at the very bottom remained for vision. The slave could look at his feet, see his hands, the table, the floor, but he couldn’t look straight ahead, much less look up. Kors understood that the slave didn’t see his face, but saw only the thighs wrapped in a soft towel.

“Bring more of this wine,” said Kors and slipped the bottle under the slave’s nose so that he could see it, “do you understand? Answer me!”

The slave nodded his head, falling at Kors’ feet.

“Don't lie here, do you understand me?” Kors raised his voice.

“I don’t think he can answer you,” Arel observed, watching this scene, “most of the slaves are mute.”

“Mute?”

“Uh-huh,” Arel sat down at the table and, taking his knife in his hand, cut off a piece of meat, began to chew lazily.

“Go, do it!” Ordered Kors to the slave and sat down at the table to Arel. “I seem to be hungry,” he smiled, “why is there such a small sight in his mask?”

“The slave only looks down,” Arel shrugged his shoulders indifferently, he took a big sip from the glass and Kors thought it was not in vain that he ordered more wine.

The servant was not long in coming.

“Strip!” Kors ordered him. “Take off your clothes.”

And Prince Arel almost choked on another piece, bursting with laughter:

“Kors, are you nuts? Why do you need him?”

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