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TRISTAN CHAPTER 5

COPYRIGHT © 2014 SLEGEND FICTION 

All I can see are two glowing purple eyes.

The light of the candles is gone, scant moonlight squeezes through gaps in the clouds that have covered the night sky, and into our bedroom’s skylight. Corrik’s happy laughter has vanished from existence: He’s in a trance—I’ve never experienced anything like it, and have to assume it has something to do with being an Elf. He reminds me of a person in the heat of battle: I’m afraid; I can’t move; I won’t speak—it’s not wise to interrupt someone in such a state—anything could provoke, attack.

He takes inventory of my body, and decides I’ve been clothed long enough. He unsheathes the great sword from his back and slices my gown in the right places, tears it from my body, discards it, throwing it to the floor along with the silver chastity belt.

I’m naked for the first time in front of Corrik—I hope I appease him. I won’t be Warlord, but I can still win victories for Markaytia, and him admiring me would be such a victory.

“You are beautiful, Kathir, and all mine; mine, do you hear me? No one shall touch you, or look upon you because you belong to me.” He does the same to his clothes, and when he’s naked too, he tosses his sword with the rest of it—it’s just us now.

His body is magnificent; it’s what raw power must look like. Solid muscles contract and squeeze the flesh that fights to hold them in, reminding me of full water skins bursting at the seams.

“And I am all yours to look at….” he says and takes my hand, the one attached to his bringing it down to rest on the velvet skin of his cock. “….and this is yours to touch.”

His cock.

Mine is large, but his is much larger. It’s long, and thick with a head that mushrooms over his girth. His skin is white porcelain, but his cock is more of a cream color, with full veins embossed on the shaft like twin lightening bolts.

It’s bloody magnificent.

When I remember it will be going inside me, I start to panic—that thing is likely to split me in two. I’m distracted when I feel something wet being slicked over my cock. It’s Corrik’s hand with something similar to the lotion I used earlier. My cock likes what’s being done to him; I moan.

“That’s… nice, Corrik.”

“Relax.”

Do I look nervous? Because I’m not—I’m not at all nervous about being impaled…

He leans over me, placing his lips by my ear to tell me, “I’ll go gentle for our first time, though what I want is to fuck you senseless.” It’s a small comfort and a confession. Does the Prince desire me that much? I press into his hand, I love his hand, I could spend days with my cock holed up inside of it, deep dark cave of wet wonders, in and out, in and out… I’m building up, building, climbing—

“Corrik, nooo…” I cry when he takes his hand away. I’m so close, but I guess that’s the point. He’s in charge. He’s in control. I get it. Unless…. I put my free hand on my dick, and in short order, my hand is removed and slammed over my head.

“Do not touch him again, not ‘til I say.” It’s a threat, a promise, and hey did he just? Yep, he referred to my cock as a ‘him’. He doesn’t wait for a response, his lips crash down onto mine and we’re kissing—no, he’s trying to kiss me while I try to suck his face off. Do all Elves taste this good? His pelvis rocks into mine, our cocks touch and get to know one another; I tilt up so my cock can continue to find his. Something raw and powerful takes over, we aren’t strangers anymore, we’re lovers. He breathes in as he kisses me, taking my air with him as I exhale; I pull my breath back through my mouth. We dance like that, trading air back and forth with an urgent force, until he stops suddenly and reaches over to the table by the bed for something. I continue to attack him—an animal has taken over my body, Tristan is gone. All I know is I have to taste him: Lick, suck, and nibble his skin. I breathe in hard so I can have his scent, my free hand claws down his back. He moves down out of my reach and kneels at my entrance. I lift my head to look at him as I pant like I’ve run the distance of two cities. By Gods, this is it, the part where he impales me with his monstrous appendage. Be brave, Tristan. You’ve faced far more terrifying situations; you can do this.

Nope, doesn’t help. I’m terrified.

“Accck! Corrik!”

Without warning, he coats everything with slick, cool lubricant: My cock, my balls, and most specially my hole. The liquid isn’t cold, but it shocks me. He doesn’t apologize and uses the lubricant to glide his hand up and down my cock some more before settling one finger at my entrance. With more care than I thought him capable of, he slides his finger in, to his first knuckle a few times, before he twists it in all the way. He’s skillful and gentle. Once he’s able to work the whole finger into me, my fear of his large, Elf cock, begins to ease. I know what he’s doing, he’s relaxing my entrance and he’ll make sure it’s open enough to accept his cock. Besides, I like what he’s doing now—

“You may grab your cock now, Tristan. I want to grab it, but I can’t.”

It seems the handcuffs thwart even him. No matter, I’ll gladly grab my own cock. It’s slick with lubricant as I slide my hand up and down in time with his finger. He adds another. By this time I’m drunk with lust and press down on both his fingers.

“Add another,” I beg. “Please?” He’s more than happy to oblige. I’ve taken to sex quite fabulously; I want more, I crave something I can’t name. I moan, writhe and sigh on his fingers—I’ve lost count of how many are in there—I pump my cock and climb toward climax a second time. Once again, he pulls everything away. Evil Bastard. His cold purple eyes look down at me, filled with an emotion. Lust? Caring? Possession? I can’t name it, but I’m going to pretend like it’s love. I don’t care if I’m called a sap for it; I want love present here, now, as he takes me.

“Don’t feel so bereft my darling. Don’t you want to see what my cock feels like in there?”

Yes, yes I do.

If multiple fingers feel like that, I’m all in, I want that mighty cock to fill me—want him to pound into me, make me scream.

“Take your hand away from your cock; only I will touch you now.”

I obey and move my hand to the side of my body.

“Legs up, spread them wide—open for me, Tahsen.”

He uses the softer of my Elvish names and it feeds my fantasy that he’s in love with me, that I’m not a concubine, but his true husband—someone he treasures. I bend my legs toward my ears spreading as far open as I can and expose my hole. He presses his thumb into the pucker and teases it some more. “Corrik. Please,” I beg harder.

The corners of his lips tug slightly—Corrik’s version of a smile.

Unless he’s laughing.

He dumps lubricant onto his member with one hand and I’m left to suffer watching as he pumps his cock, coating it. Finally, after what feels like a thousand years, he lines the head of his cock up with my hole, but doesn’t push in; instead he reaches down to grab my free hand and slams it over my head like before. I’m vulnerable—but I’m too high on this sex mountain to care. With him over top of me, I can see clear his intentions; he leaks possession seeking to dominate me. I shiver with terrified excitement.

His voice, normally a hard, decisive tone, has changed to an otherworldly hiss. “That wedding was just words, but this is different. Once I claim you—you will be my mate for life. We will be bonded by flesh, and by magic.” His words should scare me more, but they don’t. I like what he says. I don’t understand it, my feelings have not changed for him: I still hate him; I want to be his; I don’t want to want him.

“Go on then, make me yours. What’s taking you so long?” I taunt, seeking some control.

He emits a growl only a creature could and when he does, I see teeth, sharp as razors; the moonlight glints off them. With a mighty thrust he slams into me and I hear thunder in my head, or did thunder actually happen? I’m not sure; all I know in this moment is Corrik’s cock is deep inside me. It’s larger than all the fingers he had up me, and it’s not nice at first. It hurts. Corrik either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care; he continues his thrusts. I wince as he slams into me, and for the smallest of seconds, I’m concerned he really is going to split me in half.

But I remember how much I wanted this—I remember how long I’ve waited and deserve this. My sexual prowess has been locked away for too long and I won’t be denied the enjoyment of this moment for anything; even big, arrogant War Elves whose parents spoil him with whatever trinkets or humans he decides he needs. I let my body relax and bear down so my entrance opens for him once again. The pain is gone in that instant—I’m able to enjoy the benefits of having a mate with a large cock. Corrik is angry and overtaken by something he’s not in control of at the moment, but I’m not afraid—the worst that can happen is pain, the best: Intense pleasure. That’s all I feel right now, pleasure—pleasure deep and intense. Our souls sew together as we become one, as we become mates by flesh and by magic… whatever that means.

The thunder is back. It clashes noisy inside my head as Corrik pounds the life out of me and I climb closer to climax. Up, up, up and… I can’t. I want to cum so bad it hurts, but I can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong until I hear Corrik’s voice rich with haughty, sarcastic, mirth. “What’s the matter my mate? Is there something you need?”

I want to spit on him—I hate how he says that to me like the nothing I am to him. His enjoyment of both my body, and the knowledge that I cannot cum is plain. I want to tell him to fuck off, but it hurts. I need to cum; we need to consummate the marriage, and more than that, I need this.

“I need to cum,” I bite out.

He laughs but it’s not the laugh I love; it’s cruel. It’s like the Corrik from earlier has gone and he’s left his ugly twin. No matter which Corrik is present, he has power over me—both Corrik’s enjoy power. He grabs the hand over my head and slams it down again, this time to make a point. “Ask nicely and I may consider it. You don’t need to cum to satisfy the ritual.”

That’s news to me. In Markaytia, both participants need to cum to consider the marriage legitimate. Once again Elvish Customs differ, and Elvish Customs rule. The way he pounds into me now, there’s no way I can back down—I’ll say whatever he wants me to, beg even.

“Please, Corrik. Please let me cum.” I’m desperate and scared he’ll say no.

He stills his cock and I writhe around it with a whimper as he pets my cheek with his free hand, his other still holding mine steadfast over my head, bound to his by the handcuffs. “You’re so pretty, especially when you beg—stop moving.”

His lips stretch over his teeth, so I can see every one of them, “You should not have provoked me, now look what you’ve done! Our wedding night was supposed to be perfect, I was going to be so soft, so gentle!” His hand reels back and he slaps me across the face—it stings but I’ve had worse, and something incredible happens; my cock aches more, to the point I think it will explode.

He liked when Corrik hit me.

“You like that?” Corrik notices it right away and is both surprised and not surprised at the same time.

It pleases him.

“Not to worry my Kathir, I’ll give you so much pain—

With that he slams into me again, and it does hurt, but it also feels so, so good. I moan, and beg, and swear to him I’ll do anything if he’ll just say I can cum.

“You will—you will do everything I ask,” he tells me.

Fuck, yes, whatever; just say the Gods damned words!

“Cum hard, sweet baby boy.”

I cum hard—harder than I ever have before, and he cums too, filling me up with his Elven seed. I hear the thunder again, and I know it’s done: I’m his mate now.

He’s also mine.

It’s a sudden feeling that grips me, courses through me. It must be the Elven Magic. I feel like he’s my possession as much as I am his. He might hold the leash and all of the authority between us, but he too belongs to me now. It won’t matter if we never love each other; he’s mine and I’ll make sure he knows it.

He collapses on top of me; he’s panting; I’m panting and I wish he’d get off me, but I say nothing; the weight of him crushing me grounds me and keeps me in the present, so I can’t fly away in my mind. We stay like that for some time until my silent wish is answered; he rolls off of me and takes his cock with him. We both lie on our backs and stare at the ceiling. I feel a comfort between us like we’ve known each other a hundred years, yet I don’t remember a day. My feelings of hatred aren’t gone, they’re full force, except now I feel I can tell him.

“I hate you.”

I expect the creature from before to return, but he doesn’t. Instead I hear Corrik’s soft voice, the one he’d used earlier, drift regretfully over to me.

“I know.” His cuffed hand finds my cuffed hand and he squeezes and rubs his thumb over my wedding ring. We lay like that for the Gods only know how long. Cum is leaking from my ass, cum is splattered all over my stomach. I should feel dirty, but I don’t. I’m not going to bother to ask him to get up with me to clean, I’m going to close my eyes, fall asleep and worry about it in the morning. It’s cum, not toxic waste.

He doesn’t agree that we should fall asleep like this. I feel him stir beside me then he’s tracing over my body with a warm, wet, cloth.

“Corrik, where on Earth?” First there’s handy lubricant and now warm towels? How convenient.

Corrik waggles his eyebrows trying too hard to be impish when he’s clearly, still pensive. “Someone thought we’d need these. Most likely someone from my side of the family.”

Of course—bloody, kinky, Elves.

He takes care as he cleans me, but there’s no more quarter smiles from my Elven Prince—he’s still thinking about whatever it is he’s been thinking about since the end of our, er… mating. When he finishes cleaning both of us, he returns to his position beside me and resumes his silence. Now I’m going to find it impossible to sleep. I wish he would’ve just left me alone. That way I could continue thinking about what a domineering ass he is, but now I’m confused. He cares enough to take care of me—if I didn’t matter to him, he would’ve just left me, right?

He rolls over on his side to face me so he’s over top of me, while I still stare up at the ceiling. His fingers trace the spot where he slapped me. Perfect. I wonder if he can see the mark in the darkness? Or perhaps feel the heat of it?

I can still feel it pulsing.

He traces it and its existence calms him—he visibly relaxes. “Close your eyes, Tristan,” he orders firmly.

I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to provoke him again for his sake. He seems more affected by it than I am. He continues to trace the mark on my face, and he knows that though my eyes are closed, I’m not asleep. His voice sings in my ear: A haunting Elvish lullaby. I can’t understand a lick of it, but the melody is calming. Calming enough for me to drift off to sleep…

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