The Mist and the Lightning. Part 11. Ви Корс

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      “No, I don’t hear him,” Arel barely whispered, “I don’t hear you, Nik, forgive me.”

      Ver went up to him to take the jacket, and Arel handed it to him. And Ver put the key on the table in front of Arel. It was the key to the part of the mask that covered his perforated cheek. Having opened the lock at the temple with the key, it was necessary to unfasten the buckle and remove the flap that covered the lacing.

      By unlacing the slit in the mask, the hole could be opened. Arel raised his head in horror:

      “No! No,” he whispered, “Nik, no.”

      Ver, without another word, stepped away from the table. Sitting down in his place in the corner, he began to mend Arel’s jacket. With trembling fingers, Prince Arel took the key, there were tears in his eyes.

      “Yes?” Kors distracted himself from the map, which he took out of the cylinder, using the seal. “Who's there? Valentine, is it you?”

      And since there was silence outside the door, he swore and, coming up, sharply opened it.

      Arel stood on the threshold, without a jacket, undressed to the waist, and Kors froze, a little dumbfounded, but quickly pulled himself together.

      “Oh,” a pause followed, “do you want more, prince? Well, come in.”

      Kors didn’t take his eyes off the thick ring protruding into the slit of the mask cut specially for it.

      “Come in, come in.”

      Arel took a step into the room, as if with an effort, his eyes were empty.

      “Can't you forget our time with you?” Kors grinned, slapped Arel on the cheek so that his head dangled to the side.

      “Well?” Kors looked expectantly. “Why are you only half undressed? Take everything off. As it should be.”

      Arel clumsily began to pull down his pants with fingers clumsy like wooden, revealing a metal chastity belt.

      Kors saw it. He saw his body covered in tattoos:

      “Beautiful,” he said, “nothing can be said, it suits you. And what's that? A hole through which you can only pee? Oh, poor thing! So your lover chained you, was he afraid that you would cheat on him? Yes, you can. You are a slut of noble blood. You can't be left alone for a minute, right, Arel?”

      Arel was silent.

      “Well? You came so that I could put something in you, as you love. And where to? Wait,” Kors laughed, “or, judging by the way you stand, there is already something in your ass. You moron!”

      Kors screamed and suddenly, going up to the table, knocked it over with a crash. Arel jumped to the side, but Kors had already grabbed him, pulled his hand:

      “Where are you going? Stay, once you've come!”

      He grabbed Arel, dragging him to the table, pushing on its leg, throwing his own leg over it. Arel tried to break free.

      “Sit! Sit!” Kors shouted, and Arel froze. He stood with his back resting on the bottom of the countertop and with his hands back a little, clutching the edge of it. Between his legs was now a table leg, a massive four-sided one. And Arel almost lifted himself on his toes so that this wooden edge was as far away from his crotch as possible.

      “Sit, I have said!” Kors sharply pressed on his shoulders, and Arel sat down with a swing, the table leg’s sharp rib bit into him, pressed on the chastity belt. The stick inserted inside the prince went even deeper from the push, and since it happened unexpectedly, Arel, unable to restrain himself, cried out, immediately tried to get up and pull himself up on his hands.

      Kors slapped his arms.

      “Hands removed! And legs! Lift them up!”

      He grabbed Arel by the ankles, tying them together with his pants. Forcing him to tear his feet off the floor and bend his knees, he tied them to the table leg behind the prince’s back. Arel arched up, heaving himself up, helping himself with his hands, but Kors finished and again unhooked his fingers from the tabletop by tying his wrists there, behind his back.

      “Sit, Arel, sit! Make yourself comfortable.”

      Arel endured and allowed him to do all this, until, finally, Kors shook him several times, lifting and lowering him on the table leg, and only then, unable to bear it, Arel shouted:

      “No! No! Don’t do it!”

      “So I'm right, and there, in the ass, you have something. Hop, Arel! You see, he can close you from head to toe, but I'll still figure out how to fuck you!”

      Arel looked at Kors with some horror:

      “Please, Kors, let go… I have to…” he closed his eyes in pain, his breathing was interrupted, “not this way…”

      “Not this way?” Kors grinned and stretching out his hand patted the prince's ring. Arel again tried to arch, dodge. Any movement hurt him. He sat on the edge of a four-sided leg and couldn’t move, the stick inserted into him dug deeper and deeper into his insides.

      “This mask and this ring suit you. It is threaded through your nose, I hope? Was it painful?”

      “Nik… he will see everything, no…” Arel barely uttered these words.

      “See your ripped ass and wonder how I did it, despite the chastity belt? Do you think I'm afraid of him? For God’s sake! I'll leave a message for him myself, right on you! There is still some space left.”

      And taking a pencil with a rod soaked in black dye, Kors wrote on Arel's chest: “Before my name was a stupid handsome prince, now I am a thing of a demon named Nikto.”

      “Let him read it, he will like it.”

      “Kors, the key is in my pants pocket, you can open the mask, Ver gave it… Nik allowed… let me go… in another way…” Arel’s voice was hoarse, “I will give you pleasure in another way.”

      “The key? He allowed? You will give me pleasure? Gods, how done you are, and I still felt sorry for you, you idiot!”

      But Kors nevertheless untied the prince, and he, on stiff legs, got off the table leg. Behind him, blood oozed from under the leather and metal of his chastity belt.

      “Well, I'm letting you go, although I planned to leave you like that for the night, so that you howl. I want to see how you decided to please me,” Kors smiled.

      Arel straightened his crumpled trousers, took a key from his pocket and handed it to Kors. The prince's hand trembled a little from the tension he had just experienced.

      “What should I do with it?” Kors asked.

      Arel went to the platform on which the bed stood, knelt down sideways to Kors, bowed his head:

      “Open the lock, unfasten the buckle and pull out the laces,” he said.

      Kors rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but nevertheless walked over and inserted the key into the padlock.

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