The Mist and the Lightning. Part 15. Ви Корс
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Название: The Mist and the Lightning. Part 15
Автор: Ви Корс
Издательство: ЛитРес: Самиздат
Жанр: Героическая фантастика
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He returned for the prince. He was still lying on the bed without moving, his face with his eyes glued to the pillow. But Kors no longer felt his pain. He touched him gently:
“Come on, it won't hurt you to take a medicinal bath either,” he said, and taking Arel by the hand, he carefully lifted him out of bed and led him away. Arel didn’t object, and Kors noted to himself that he followed him quite confidently and calmly. Had he accustomed to being blind?
“Be careful, there is a stone side,” warned Kors, “come down.”
He took him by the braid, holding it. When Arel plunged into the water, leaning his back against the wall in the corner of the pool, Kors put his braid on the slabs near the edge, so that it would not end up in the water, thinking that if Arel got it wet, it would be difficult to dry his hair, and it would take a lot of time.
Kors went down to the pool and, approaching Arel, gently ran his hands over his chest and shoulders. He felt now a light, but pleasant tingling in those places where his body was injured – this was the effect of drugs dissolved in water. The water was warm and soothing. Kors tried to kiss Arel again:
“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 СКАЧАТЬ