The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19. Ви Корс

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      “Can I peel off the plaster?” Kors asked after a while, realizing that Nik had no intention of continuing the conversation at all.

      “Eh? No.”

      Kors barely suppressed the uncontrollable wave of anger that swept over him. His fingers clenched nervously into fists.

      “No,” repeated Nick, “I’ll do it myself.”

      “Then do it…” and Kors, thinking again for a moment, added: “Please.”

      “A little bit later. Get away from me, let me sleep! What keeps you up this early?”

      “I’m begging you, stop scoffing! Peel it off.”

      “I’m not kidding, I want to sleep, do you need it right now?”

      “But I can’t see anything!”

      “Why do you need to see something now? Sleep, that’s all!”

      “I need to step aside to relieve myself!”

      “Take a bottle there, Arel left some yesterday…”

      “Are you kidding?”

      But Nik didn’t answer him anymore.

      Continuing to writhe inside with rage, Kors rummaged around near their trestle bed and immediately stumbled upon several empty wine bottles lying there. “Just wonderful!” But what to do, need makes the old wife trot. Standing up and holding a bottle in one hand, with the other hand he pulled his cock out of his pants, and, pressing his head strongly against the neck, he nevertheless managed to relieve himself. As soon as he put the filled bottle aside, he felt Arel’s hands on his belt. He pulled his thin and soft suede pants even lower from his hips and at the same time persistently pulled Kors back onto the trestle bed, forcing him to sit down. Arel didn’t turn him around, releasing his waist, and pressed on his shoulders. Kors lay on his side with his back to the prince. They huddled together like folded spoons in a drawer. Kors felt a hot and hard cock resting against his sacrum. “Well, of course, come on, Arel! Calm your morning boner against me.”

      Arel confidently continued to pull off his pants. Kors wasn’t helping him. The prince completely pulled off only one trouser leg from one of his legs. Satisfied with this, he slightly lifted his now bare leg up. Kors felt his fingers, they were wet, Arel drooled on them, they felt and parted his sphincter, then a few pushes followed. Kors just lay there, not fucking back, but he was pleased, he felt somehow comfortable, at home. Arel covered them both with a blanket over their heads and slowly pushed into Kors, hugging him tightly and breathing in his ear. In this warm cocoon of a blanket, they softly fumbled, closely clinging to each other, as in a mink, and Arel, slightly hanging over him, tickled his cheek with his hair. The prince was so strong, firm, young. Kors squeezed his cock with his hand: “A-ah…” Arel increased the pace of his thrusts, and, to Kors’ pleasure, he moaned absolutely sincerely, throwing back the blanket that covered them, tearing their sticky bodies out of the warm, but cramped and airless space into the damp and cold world filled with humid air. Kors pushed back and met him, answering, receiving the thrusts already not so inertly. Arel appreciated this, he accelerated, and his breathing became deeper. They either strayed from the pace set by Arel, starting to move at random, then they again felt for synchronism, lost it and caught it again…

      “Should I leave for you?” Without stopping, Arel asked hoarsely, clearly addressing Nik. Kors understood what he meant – he asked him whether he could come inside Kors or pull out in advance, leaving him not so wet for Nik.

      “I’m not your cigarette!” Kors shouted indignantly, instantly losing his mood and hearing how the prince sharply pulled out of him, sprinkled next to him, a little on his thigh and probably on a brocade blanket. He “left”, that’s how it was called.

      Nik approached them. Hearing the creaking of the floorboards, Kors jerked himself up on the bed and stubbornly repeated:

      “I’m not a cigarette to leave me to each other! I. Am. Not. A. Cigarette!”

      “Yes?” Nik asked, as if a little surprised, and pulled Kors by the chain dangling from his collar. “And it didn’t bother you before. Even if we… mmm… smoked you alone for two or at the same time.”

      “You loved me then, but now you humiliate me!”

      “It seems to you,” said Nik, and Kors felt him pulling him by the chain harder, forcing him to lean forward a little, touching his face and ripping off the plaster with a sharp jerk.

      “Oh!” Kors covered his eyes with his palms. “You could be more careful! Not only you have eyelashes!”

      He looked up, and when he saw Nik, he literally froze in shock. Nik was not wearing a mask, but his face was tightly bandaged with wide strips of black cloth. He wrapped his head in the same way as Kors once wrapped it, with the only difference that Nik left a narrow gap for himself at eye level, and he also cut the fabric at mouth level, just as Kors did. He looked with horror at the shiny ring sticking out from under the strips of fabric under his nose, at the wrapped chin and the top of his head, on which white hair stood up a little between the bandages. Nik wrapped himself around both the way Kors wrapped him and the way Doctor Cassiel had done in Prince Arel’s estate. The side of Nik’s neck was plastered over.

       Kors swallowed hard, clutching his throat, unable to utter a word. Nik was almost no different from Valentine now. He looked frankly bad and pathetic. Nik unfastened the chain from Kors’ collar and walked away, returning to his couch of skins, laid right on the floor. He obviously didn’t intend to fuck.

      Kors, still silently, looked at him. He saw how hard Nik was making his steps, how he barely hobbled to the skins and sank heavily on them. Realizing that he was no longer going to be used, Kors hurriedly pulled on the trouser leg he had taken off from one leg, pulling up his trousers and buttoning his fly.

      “Son… what’s the matter with you?” The way Nik looked was depressing. He seemed to break, in an instant, overnight. Kors was discouraged. And this strange dream!

      “Nothing,” Nik said. Head low, he rummaged through his bag, and Kors knew what he was looking for there.

      “You look terrible. Why did you bandage your face like that?” he asked.

      “Well, how? That’s what you did when you treated me.”

      “But I…” Kors stammered, he couldn’t tell him now: “But I didn’t really treat you, and there wasn’t a need for such treatment, I just satisfied my vicious fantasies with you a little.” Does Nik really think this is how he should have been treated? Is he so naive that he didn’t understand that Kors wasn’t healing as much as actually playing with him? Limiting him, reveling in his power. Did Nick take everything in good faith? Did he trust Kors? And so, left alone, he repeated the treatment exactly, not realizing what could be done differently? No-o-o! It can’t be! Well, the Demon can’t be so stupid, Kors won’t believe it anymore! Or could it be so? And Nik doesn’t know how to do it in another way, he only knows what his father showed him? Kors tried to quickly analyze the situation logically. Previously, this always helped him in his professional activities. Everything had to be sorted out.

      First, his son is in symbiosis with a demonic essence, and СКАЧАТЬ