Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)	By : Darkrogue Category: +S through Z > Suikoden Views: 3924 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suikoden, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and dialogue from the game Suikoden V belong to Konami.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
FLASHBACK:

The cell opened with a sharp, whining clang, and Gizel entered to find the prisoner huddled against a far wall, naked and obviously cold from the way he had curled his arms round himself. Again, it appeared he had not slept much. He was visibly weary, yet not too weary to acknowledge the Commander’s presence. Automatically he recoiled from Gizel, drawing himself further inward as if to conceal from him his nakedness.

“There is no need for that,” Gizel said, unemotionally. “Your body belongs to me, after all.” In truth, he found the boy’s fruitless modesty both amusing and tantalizing. “But before you are suitable for me to permanently claim, you require proper training.” The Commander approached Euram with deliberate steps. He had arrived alone this time, not feeling the need for guards to validate his authority over this one. The prisoner cowered back, as though he would press himself through the stone wall altogether.

“G-Gizel...I, I do not know exactly what you are planning to do with me. B-but I beg of you, do not put me through this.”

“You will be silent. The first thing you will learn is to obey me, without question. Now,” Gizel snapped. “Up.”

Euram groaned. “Please, Gizel—I...”

“You resist? Come, now. Up.” Finding his commands met with continued defiance, Gizel produced the horsewhip from his belt. “I see you require further encouragement.” With this, he swatted smartly at the tender skin of Euram’s flank. Startled, Euram jumped and squeaked a complaint. “The sooner you submit to me, Euram, the less painful it will be for you. Unless of course you would prefer to settle for execution. Now, again. Up.”

At a further, whipping smack from the crop, Euram capitulated, rising awkwardly to his feet.

“That is better. You would be well advised to do as you are told with more promptness in the future. You will discover that I can be quite reasonable, when I am content.”

He was answered with a sob. The prisoner refused to meet his gaze, but stared miserably at the stone floor.

“I wish to inspect what you have to offer more thoroughly. Turn and face the wall.” An uneasy look of dread wavered in the boy’s eyes as he reluctantly did as he was bid. “Now, place your palms upon the stone and bend forward and spread your legs. Reveal yourself to me.”

At this, Euram obstinately hesitated, a sound of protest catching in his throat. “Oh—oh, no, I...”

Violently Gizel caught him by the collar and forced him to lean against the wall, ignoring the spill of spluttered protests. Tucking the horsewhip into his belt again, he bent the former noble forward and held him there. “You will do as I say, or you will be thrashed raw. Or do you wish to be cast onto the chopping block, hmm?”

Euram made a croaked sound in his throat, his body trembling. Holding his grip on Euram’s collar, Gizel stepped round and kicked the boy’s legs wide. “Hold still,” he commanded, and released his grasp to move fully behind him. Crouching, Gizel slid his hands over the fleshy cheeks of his prisoner’s presented ass. Flawless and soft, the white buttocks were hairless and hinted at a lifetime of pampering, just as the rest of him. Euram possessed a pliant and thin frame that only resulted from idleness and coddling. He was virtually un-muscled as well, the familiarity with battle as foreign to him as any other manner of labor.

Gripping the cheeks in his palms, Gizel pulled them apart to reveal the tiny pink flush of the untouched hole between them. Euram’s eyes went wide, and he desperately shifted at this latest indignity. The Commander heard him gurgle in frantic objection.

“N-no! Gizel, stop! I-I cannot—this, this...it is dirty, it is debauched, degenerate!”

Gizel frowned. “You will bite your tongue, unless I command you to speak,” he warned, gripping the boy’s cheeks tighter to inspect the twitching hole with approval. The former young noble’s crack was as smooth and hairless as the rest of him, shaven clean and pretty as a girl’s. Only when Euram’s twisting protests reached a new height of desperation did Gizel finally have mercy and release him.

The younger man whirled about and pressed his back protectively to the wall, bending to cover himself with his arms and hands. Fresh tears streaked his face, and a delicious blush had spread across his cheeks, exposing his shame. Mortified beyond his own comprehension, Euram trembled and dared a glance up at him. Wide eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Euram looked at him with an expression so boyish and bewildered that Gizel nearly laughed.

“Gizel, please. No more of this, you simply must stop this madness!”

“You are not in a position to dictate what will happen, here.” Gizel reminded him, calmly. “Your asshole belongs to me, just as the rest of you. And should I command you to spread for me, you will do so.”

If possible, Euram’s blush deepened further, to a livid scarlet. He groaned and bowed his head as if to hide his face, sobbing.

“Now, down on your knees. Quickly.” To make his point, he produced the horsewhip again and slashed it with a sharp swish. Flinching at the sound, Euram dropped with a visible gulp.

“Gizel!” he complained, miserably.

“Have you forgotten so soon? I am no longer ‘Gizel’ to you. Perhaps you do require whipping.”

“Oh—no, my lord. Forgive me,” he sobbed, lifting a curled hand to his mouth in a gesture of denial and defensiveness. Hot tears slipped from his soaked lashes.

“I will not remind you again. Though I am hardly particular. You may address me as ‘Lord’, ‘Master’, ‘Majesty’...any respectful appellation you see fit. I have always been one to appreciate variety. Now,” Gizel used the horsewhip to tilt Euram’s chin. “I plan eventually to take my pleasure with you, as I would have a woman's flower.” At this, Euram shuddered and uttered a despondent wail. “I will not have you in this manner presently, however,” he added, noting the relief that quivered through his young prisoner’s thin, bent form. “Instead, I will test the sweetness of your mouth.”

Obviously ignorant as to his meaning, Euram looked up.

“I take it you are hungry?”
The disgraced noble nodded, his expression wary and wretched. But of course he was hungry. He had been here, detained in the dungeons for more than two days now, without so much as a crust of bread. He was clearly suspicious of his captor’s intent, nonetheless. Tilting his head, Gizel offered his prisoner a thin smile.

“I shall allow you a morsel of sustenance, if and only if you appease me.” Gizel loosed his stiffened member and presented it to the younger man. “You will take me in your mouth, and pleasure me. I wish to test your potential talent, even though I am convinced you possess none.”

Euram gaped in wide-eyed disbelief. “G-Gizel, I mean, my lord—I don’t understand! You cannot want me to…you surely cannot--!”

“I did not permit you to speak,” Gizel corrected him, snapping the horsewhip against his thigh. The boy’s innocence, whether genuine or false, was more delicious than would have been his full compliance, and he doubted Euram even realized this. Reaching down, he traced a finger down Euram’s cheek, over his pink and trembling lips. “You will pleasure me with these beautiful lips and tongue, and I might consider having pity. Now. Open,” he prompted, prodding the boy’s cheek with the horsewhip. Startled, Euram obeyed, and Gizel guided his cock to the spread lips.

“Use your tongue first to bathe it well.”

“Oh, Gizel, sir, I can’t...” Euram whimpered, hopelessly.

Gizel seized him by the hair and gripped in a threatening tug, bringing the crop down hard, delivering no less than ten sound strokes upon the flesh of the boy’s hip and buttocks. Euram twitched and yelped, twisting in the Commander’s hold in vain to escape the punishment. Roughly Gizel loosed his hold on his hair and thrust him forward, where Euram slumped, crying.

“You will get used to your new purpose very quickly. Or you will die. The choice is entirely yours, Euram Barows.”

The younger man’s face crumpled with humiliation and defeat. Ruefully he forced himself upright and reluctantly snaked his tongue outward to brush the tip of Gizel’s cock. The shudder of aversion that rattled through him was plainly visible.

“Mmm, there you go. Good. Now, get me wet, and take it inside. Wrap those pretty lips around it.”

Euram’s muffled sobs of submission were almost more exciting to Gizel than his efforts, which were laughable at best. Awkwardly the prisoner’s lips closed around his length, and the warmth was enough to make Gizel shudder on his feet. Still, Euram clearly had no clue how to pleasure another man.

“Tuck your teeth beneath your lips so you do not scrape. There. Suck, use your cheeks. I want to see you drooling on me.” Looking down, he noticed the foppish ribbon that hung from the younger man’s hair, loosely holding back what few strands had not fallen since Euram’s captivity. The bow clung pitifully to what remained of a ponytail, and Gizel reached down and pulled the ribbon fully free—the final wisp of his prisoner’s nobility stripped away and discarded. Fully released, Euram’s pale locks spilled forth unhindered as he sobbingly relinquished himself to the Commander’s directives.

The young noble’s wretched, spluttering endeavors were pathetic, and Gizel pressed a hand to his head, holding him there as he thrust forward. His sloppy efforts would never suffice to bring him to completion alone, but his pitiful attempts were strangely arousing just the same.

Gizel’s thrusts became more insistent, urgent, and Euram impulsively began to struggle, fighting him. Power surged deep through Gizel’s blood at the desperate thrashing, Euram’s choking sputters doing nothing but fueling his lust. Abruptly Gizel wrenched himself free, his hand stroking furiously, his other gripping the younger man’s hair to hold his head in place as spurts of his come spattered his cheeks, his lips.

At last, he released his prisoner, and untangled his fingers from their painful grip. Panting and quivering, Euram bent in shame, tears and come streaking his face.

“Incompetent, as expected,” Gizel announced, casually tucking himself back into his clothing. “But I will keep you, just the same. For now. But know this: should I continue to allow you to live, you will suffer each day for it, and your flesh will never be without the sting of my touch. Disobedience will be met with swift retribution, and you will accept such without question. Be grateful that I am feeling charitable this day.”

His words answered by the soft sound of sniveling sobs, Gizel left the cell, his key twisting in the lock with a finalizing click. Unhurriedly he strode from the dungeons, addressing the first Godwin guards he found. At Gizel’s approach, they stood rigid at attention, identical to one another, nameless men with identities hidden beneath red berets and gray uniforms.

“Send for the servants to collect the prisoner, and bathe him thoroughly. I wish for you both to accompany them, as a deterrent, though I assure you he will not dare lift a hand in defiance. He is to be cleansed, inside and out. Afterwards, he is to be fed. Nothing overly indulgent, you understand. Merely something to nourish him. Some bread, perhaps a mouthful of dried meat from the stores.

Saluting, the two men hurried off to carry out their latest assignment.

END FLASHBACK

“Well, you’re awake early, Lady Sialeeds,” Gizel commented.

“Yes, well…” Sialeeds stood at the terrace overlooking the Palace Gardens. Gizel often liked to come here in the mornings before his work began, though he was accustomed to being here alone.

“Let me guess; you never sleep well sober,” he finished her thought for her.

“Yes, there is that,” she said. The sun caught her silver hair in the cool warmth of the morning, the subtle scent of the surrounding Feitas River carried on the faint breeze. She was gazing idly at the Rune embedded upon her wrist. “I haven’t been sleeping well much lately anyhow,” she admitted, a lazy smile playing along her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts?”

Turning, she leaned against the baluster and folded her arms. “No, I’m not. Still, I wonder: do you really think you’ll be prepared, Gizel?”

“Have you so little faith in me?”

“Well, it isn’t as though everything has gone according to plan.”

“True. But the same goes for your rebel nephew, and his little army. Your…deception…was hardly part of their plan, now was it? The greatest features of a struggle such as this are the surprises. Would you not agree?” Gizel cocked his head and tipped her that smile; a smile that had once been so charming to her, now buried beneath years of cool detachment. He smiled, yet all that remained in his eyes was calculating aloofness. So unlike the boy she had known.

She supposed they both had changed.

“Everything’s a gamble for you, isn’t it?” Sialeeds sighed. “Well, I’ll take your confidence as a sign of optimism,” she supplied with matched nonchalance. Though she wondered if Gizel suspected that she harbored plans of her own. She presumed he did, although she doubted he had any clue as to just what her design might be.

“Have you pressing plans for the moment?” Gizel asked her, suddenly.

“Not at the moment, no,” she turned a curious eye on him.

“Well, then. Why don’t you go and see if my new plaything has roused. Take some servants with you, and escort him to the bath, if you wish. You need not spend any more time with him than you deem necessary. I’m sure he will be delighted to see you.”

Sialeeds considered him strangely. Then, all at once she laughed. “If you want me to go and put the fear of the Sun in him, why don’t you just say so?”

***

He was awakened by the sharp sound of a key twisting in the lock. Euram stirred beneath the covers, where he had been given the privilege of sleeping for the second night in a row. The past two nights he had taken to curling up in the covers as though he feared he might never feel their warmth and comfort again. But the voice that suddenly greeted him was more like being ripped from a pleasant dream and into a nightmare.

“Get up!”

He snapped alert and sat up quickly, his eyes suddenly wide and fearful. Lady Sialeeds stood in the doorway, accompanied by an entourage of Godwin servants. Impulsively he cowered from her, his body quivering from her presence.

Sialeeds sauntered into the room and circled the bed, chuckling to herself as the idiot crunched himself against the headboard, pulling the covers towards him.

“On your feet, worm. It’s time for your bath. Ha! Do not bother trying to cover yourself. Believe me, you have nothing that would impress me.”

Euram gulped. Why was she here? No, he knew why. Gizel had likely sent her, just to torment him. For Gizel to send her was like a kick in the face to him, for Gizel had to know that he feared Lady Sialeeds more than anyone living.

Trembling, he twisted himself from the sheets and deferentially bowed his head.

“Oh! Y-Your Highness...!” he spluttered, concealing his nakedness with his hands and arms in absence of the covers.

“Oh, stop that. Do you really think I care a thing for your modesty? Up!”

“Y-yes, Your Highness, of course!” He obeyed, scrambling clumsily from the bed.

“I see he lets you sleep in his bed now. Favored little pet, aren’t we?”

Euram didn’t answer that. He knew what she was capable of. An image of his father’s last moments crashed unwanted into his mind. The memory of Salum Barows meeting his demise in a flash of light, his life abruptly ended without so much as a warning from one violent flare from the Rune on her wrist—it was a memory that would never leave him as long as he lived.

The woman circled him, like a wolf stalking its surrounded prey. “I take it he has fucked you well? I knew he would find something you were good for.”

“Your Highness…” Euram sobbed, coloring a bright pink as he bent his head. He jumped suddenly, feeling her nailed fingers stroke his flank, his hip.

“Hmm, it seems his mark is settling nicely on you,” Sialeeds observed, her fingers playing briefly across the character branded on his flesh. Euram bit back a whimper, squirming beneath her touch. The brand still hurt, almost as keenly as when it had first seared his skin. Meticulously her hand wandered further down towards his buttocks.

“You are soft. You should have been born a girl.”

“Y-Your Highness, please—” he croaked all at once.

“Quiet,” she abruptly cut him off, dropping her hands from him. “I’m in no mood for your sniveling. Come this way, and quickly,” she ordered, signaling him to follow. She led him to the doorway where the servants waited. “He is all yours,” she told them. “I’ll not be accompanying this scoundrel. I have no desire to get my clothes wet. Someone has to see that this worthless fop behaves. But don’t worry,” she turned to Euram and took his chin in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Sialeeds met the fear in his eyes with scorn, her nails digging painfully into his jaw. “I shall return again to check on you, as the mood takes me. You are of better use here, where I can keep an eye on you.” She leaned close then, and whispered venomously in his ear: “As long as you remain a prisoner here, you will be hard pressed to continue your idiocy against my nephew.”

With that, she released him, and turning without a look back she sauntered down the corridor.

***

It never got any easier.

He always hated it when they bathed him. His relief at Sialeeds’ departure was short-lived, when as usual, he was wrapped in a robe and escorted from the Commander’s chamber to the baths, where they stripped him and proceeded in their routine. They enjoyed this far more than he, as they always seemed to take pleasure in handling him with as much roughness as possible without damaging him. But of course they enjoyed hurting him: the individuals sent to deal with him were mostly Godwin servants, ingrained with an innate disdain and hatred for anything—or anyone—that carried the name ‘Barows’.

They were not all Godwin’s of course. Although the Godwins had brought much of their own soldiery and servants, many who remained were formerly employed for the Falenan Royal Family, Queen Arshtat and Ferid, and were forced now to serve Godwin against their will. Still, it did not help that most of these harbored a bitterness of their own towards the Barows faction. Both political sections had long been considered a threat to the stability of the Royal Family’s power, even if such things had only been spoken in hushed whispers. Now, the Godwin faction had conquered, while the Barows line had all but succumbed. Euram was in fact the last remaining patriarch. This did nothing to quell the contempt even the servants of the late Queen Arshtat felt for him. After all, they knew, even if in whispers, that his actions had led to the Queen and Commander's deaths...

They flushed him out first. Forcibly the nozzle was inserted into his body, and by now he had learned not to fight it, instead closing his eyes and retreating to a blank spot in his mind. Still, the humiliation of it never diminished, no matter how many times they did it.

Yet again he endured their taunts as the bath was readied. Rough hands seized him, and he prepared himself for the scalding shock that inevitably came next. But then, something unexpected pulled him from his cringing anticipation:

“That is enough. Or have you all nothing you would rather be doing?”

The hands that had seized him loosened slightly, and everyone looked up as one.

“We have orders,” one of the men replied.

“I am sure you do,” the woman agreed. “But is this really necessary? There is no reason why six of you should have to attend to this. This poor fool poses no threat. I can manage this, alone.”

An awkward silence lingered in the steam-filled room, the men and women who had been tending the prisoner glancing at one another as if wondering what they should do. The young prisoner, now released from their grip, had withdrawn and stood cowering and peeking warily at the woman. He recognized her. She was the one who had remained behind after his previous bathing, and had handled him with such confusing gentleness. But her actions now were even more confusing.

“Have you all even breakfasted?” she asked. There was a murmur among them. “I did not think so. I have been the bath attendant here for many years. I will have no difficulty handling this. Go now, and do not worry yourselves with this menial chore. Should you be confronted, simply say that I sent you along.”

It seemed at first that the others would refuse, as they glanced at one another in confusion. Most seemed uncertain as to whether they should heed her at all, though it was clear most also detested their current task. It was of course partially why they were so rough with the prisoner. After a few moments of hesitant stalling, they slowly filed out in a collective cluster of confusion, leaving the prisoner alone with this insistent attendant, fully content to let any fault fall upon her shoulders.

She approached him carefully, watching him with pity as he attempted to hide his nakedness, his blushing face. He was trembling before the bath where they had left him, and she stepped past him to test the water. Shaking her head, the woman drew a sluice and adjusted the temperature before reaching over to take him by the hand, gently guiding into the warm water.

A soft moan escaped Euram as he slid into the bath. It was comforting, for once, and felt soothing to his skin. He closed his eyes. He had not felt such indulgence since he had lived pampered in Rainwall, and the sensation was welcome, a blessing. He did not question yet as to why she was treating him with such kindness, for fear that his spoken word might shatter his moment of bliss. She had taken a soft cloth to him, scrubbing gently, brushing his hair out of the way as she concentrated upon arms and shoulders, aching and weary from his prior day’s work polishing the Commander’s floor.

Euram had nearly let himself slip into unconsciousness when he thought he heard her speak:

“I am sorry they treat you so wretchedly, Mr. Barows.”

Euram snapped quickly to reality.

“Oh...” His breath caught in the midst of a small gasp. Whether it was the sudden pull from his reverie that startled him or the shock of hearing a kind word from another living soul, he wasn’t sure. He blinked, uncertain of what to say, or whether he had in fact heard anything at all.

“I...”

“I’m sorry I had to speak unkindly of you. But I could no longer bear the thought of them hurting you. It is disgraceful.” She said, sadly. Soft trickles accompanied her words as she rubbed at his skin with the soap and cloth, moving gradually downwards.

Euram sat speechless, a word of thanks on his lips that he could not quite utter. Somehow, a simple thanks did not seem like enough. He was beyond shame at this point, more grateful for at least some kindness.

“Oh, but...but why did you—” he began, quietly.

“I am tired of this nonsense. As are many of us. I remain loyal to Arshtat, and Ferid, even if I cannot say it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice small but genuine with curiosity. She saw him flinch as her cloth passed over branded skin and deliberately eased her ministrations.

“Because there are few whom I am able to tell. I am not alone, though we never imagined things would turn out like this. It was always something we thought about, but never did we think it would happen like this. And besides—” she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I was a Barows sympathizer, anyhow.”

Euram flinched, any comfort he might have felt by her words quickly replaced by guilt.

“Oh...but...if that is...you shouldn’t, I mean…”

“Oh, no, that is not the only reason I dismissed the others. I would hate to see anyone treated so. Here, tilt your head back,” she instructed, waiting for him to obey so she could wet his hair. Euram sighed, the warm cascade pouring over his scalp and down his back. He almost sobbed, the comfort he felt from it mingling with his guilt in such a way that he had no words for it.

“M-milady,” he faltered, not sure if he had found the right word. He was unused to addressing servants in a respectful manner, and had not been brought up to do so. He settled upon the address he had often heard Chuck, the former Barows family storage guard, use for his sister. “Milady, I cannot thank you enough. But…but you should not sympathize with me, nor my fallen faction. We were…wicked,” he admitted, bowing his head in thought.

Firm but nimble fingers lathered his hair, massaged his scalp. “And you should not be so harsh on yourself, Mr. Barows. We mostly have hearsay, under the Godwins’ regime. We are kept under steady surveillance, with little chance to speak to one another. Of course we heard that the Prince had—distanced himself—from your aid. But I never believed that the circumstances we were told of were entirely correct.”

Euram winced, her words a pierce to his heart. Were those held here in the Palace so truly kept in the dark that they remained capable of thinking even the truths the Godwins spread to be lies? He had no doubt that Gizel and his father Marscal embellished news of happenings outside, but this…how could she ever think him too harsh with himself?

Still, how could he admit, in his own words, the things of which he was guilty?

“There are others more deserving of your pity,” he entreated suddenly, as though he wished this conversation to end. He hugged his knees against his chest. “Please, do not waste it on me.”

“Nonsense,” the woman chided, gently rinsing the soap from his scalp and brushing through his locks with tender skill. “It is hardly wasted. How can you say such a thing?”

“Still, there is precious little compassion to be had. I would not see it squandered for my sake. I am…undeserving.”

“Stop that,” she admonished. “I don’t know what all Lord Gizel has done to you, but I won’t hear you speak such rubbish.”

Her voice, so kind, yet so firm and scolding, suddenly reminded him of his own mother, though she could not have been more than five years his senior. He bit back a sob, his shame felt all the more.

“Milady...whatever you were told of us, of Barows…I can assure you, it was correct.”

“It cannot be as damning as all that. Of course, I heard about the Dawn Rune, but I cannot believe all of the details…”
“It is true. All of it,” he forced, unable to stand it longer and hoping to quell her compassion before she invested too much in him. He would not have her believe for one moment that he was innocent of anything she had been told. It wasn’t fair to her. “We were wicked. And I must pay for it.”

Euram felt her pause in her soothing ministrations. A painful silence fell over them both. He sighed inwardly and waited for the moment when she would drop the washcloth and leave him in disgust. And yet, it never happened.

Eventually, she resumed her gentle attentions. “You shouldn’t say such things. And regardless of a person’s past, no one deserves to be so cruelly treated as you have been, here.”

Euram swallowed. She still did not understand, did she? Or perhaps she did not believe him? He did not know, but her charity toward him was as confusing as it was comforting. Just the same, he wished she would not bother with an unworthy wretch like himself.

“They will tell him,” he said at once, quietly. “They will tell him that you sent them away. I would not see you punished.”

“Mr. Barows, I am fully capable of taking care of myself,” she assured him, carefully squeezing the excess water from his hair. Reaching over, she took one of the many fluffy towels beside the bath. “Here, let us dry you, hmm?”

Nodding, he rose and stepped from the bath, and she began immediately to meticulously pat him dry. He chuckled.

“I can handle this,” he said, smiling at her.

“Of course,” she returned his smile, extended the towel to him. “I tend to fuss over those I am seeing to. It is only my way.” She bent down and retrieved his old robe, discarded on the floor. Frowning, she dropped it in the bin and went to a cabinet along the wall, where she retrieved a fresh one. As he finished drying himself, she held the article out for him, helping him into it.

“I am grateful for your kindness, milady.” He admitted, conceding himself fully to her compassion, willing to accept it for now, only in order that she would not feel unappreciated. He was just as grateful for the cover of the robe, and clutched it tight to his skin.

“Please. There is no reason to apply formal address. I am only a servant,” she reminded him.

“And I am a slave. That would make you my better,” he returned, and bowed his head to her.

The woman tilted her head, lifting his chin with a gentle hand. Catching his gaze, she offered him the warmest of smiles. “Come on, then. I hate to do this, but I should escort you back. I am certain you would rather not, but….”

He nodded, knowing as well as she that there was nothing either of them could do.

“Wait—” he stopped her, at the last moment before following her from the bath chamber. She halted, and turned, regarding him with kind patience. “I would know your name. Please.”

Again she smiled at him. “I never said, did I? Well, Mr. Barows, you may call me Sherina.”

***

It seems Gizel knows just how to torment me, even in his absence.

That is the only reason I can imagine for his having sent Lady Sialeeds to wake me. I have never, no, not once, spoken to him about my fear of her, and yet he is plainly aware of it. I can fathom no other reason why she arrived, and not just the usual entourage of faceless others. But why this morning? I wonder if it is something I have done? Is he angry with me, for something which I cannot guess? Or is it simply his way of making me fret about whether or not he is angry with me? I often suspect he relishes just that.

It is not that I fear so much what she will do to me; she would have killed me in Rainwall, had she truly wished me dead. And now that I ‘belong’ to Gizel, I do not believe she would murder me. Still, that matters not. It is her mere presence which fills my bones with dread. It is not only her cruelty I fear, but her genius. When I think of my humiliation at her hands in Sable, how fully she turned my own brilliant plot against me—it gave me a taste of her potential vindictiveness and her calculating mind. I was astounded, incredulous, that she could so effortlessly make my own cunning and spitefulness pale so thoroughly in comparison to hers.

If I must be honest, I feared less the angry mob that chased me from town and over the countryside that day.

I should not have been surprised to learn the true nature of her ‘visit’ to our mansion in Rainwall, when she killed my father without feeling or hesitation. And I will not ever say that Dad did not deserve his fate, or that I do not deserve her contempt. I regret with great embarrassment now that I endeavored to wed her niece for such selfish advantage, and I more regret that I repeatedly attempted to hurt her nephew. I was angry, and I realize now that blaming the Prince for my family’s ruin was nothing more than a way for me to deny my own blame. I told myself he was responsible for the collapse of the Barows reputation. He and that blasted detective!

No, no. His Highness and Oboro did nothing but expose Dad and I for the criminals we were. That was why I repented to the Prince, after all. I wanted to redeem myself for my selfish, thoughtless and dastardly actions. I wanted to set right my incalculable crimes.

Oh, how many years did I spend blaming the wrong people for all my troubles?

He has left his entire collection of boots to polish. Along with that, his note states *Not a speck of dirt, mind you. I shall inspect each pair carefully, so it is in your best interest to be as thorough as possible.* As if the task itself were not insulting enough, he must leave me these taunting letters. Once more the chore is more difficult than it would seem at a glance, especially as my arms ache so. Oh, what thankless work! Regrettably, it serves me right.

My father had many servants working for us at our mansion in Rainwall. I feel more guilt than ever remembering how I had treated them. How I would order them about, and if they failed to leap to my assistance or carry out my demands forthwith, I would only have to fling a tantrum, or threaten to tell Dad and they would scurry to do my bidding, doubtlessly in fear of losing their livelihood.

How ashamed I am now to have been so pitiless towards those undeserving of my meanness, those who endlessly bent over backwards to provide our family’s comfort.
There are other matters I wish to write about at this point, but I dare not. Some things I should not print here, and thus I must keep them in my head. Perhaps there is one small thing I can be grateful for in the chores Gizel sets for me: they allow me to occupy myself, so I do not have to think about things that torment me the most. Though I wish I could at least keep the robe on as I work. He demands that while I am in his chamber, I remain naked. I will try to distract him as best as I may...it is all I can do now.

***

Gizel found him waiting dutifully upon the cushions. His boots had been set in a neat row along the wall, as ordered. He could feel his prisoner’s anticipation as he leisurely strolled along, lifting each pair and taking a careful examination of Euram’s thoroughness. At length, he lifted his brow in casual surprise and nodded his approval.

“Not bad. Yet again, you have done better than I would have expected,” was the best he offered in praise. He then moved to his plush chair by the hearth and sank down, enjoying the comfort that engulfed him.

“Thank you, my lord,” Euram supplied, and rose from his cushions to slink near him. “Would you like something to drink? A massage, perhaps?”

“Not yet. Only a rest, for the moment.” Then, Euram did something he would not have expected. Draping his arms about his shoulders, the younger man slid into Gizel’s lap, straddling him. Purring softly, the boy nuzzled and kissed him. Now, this was curious, Gizel thought. Curious, but no less entertaining. Again his brow lifted in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he demanded with a smirk, barely bothering to veil his amusement.

“Nothing, my lord.” Was Euram’s innocent reply, as he squirmed slightly in the older man’s lap.

“Trying to butter me up? What is this flattery? What are you hiding from me, hmm?”

“Why Your Majesty, I hide nothing,” Euram’s put-on guiltless tone was almost as damning as his sudden overt flattery.

“Liar.” Unable to resist the temptation just the same, Gizel reached around and cupped Euram’s buttocks, shapely and spread in his straddled position. “You are hoping to distract me. I should tan your rump for lying,” he admonished.

Euram nuzzled into Gizel’s neck. “Oh no, no, no. I’m simply glad you’ve returned, my lord.”

Gizel nearly laughed outright. “Now if that isn't a lie, then you’ve never told one, Euram Barows. I think perhaps you do require a good spanking.”

Euram winced. Of course he was lying. Just because he had forsaken his nobility did not necessarily mean he had abandoned all the devices his former rank had ingrained in him, especially when such things could be of advantage to him. One thing that his breeding had taught him was how to honey his words. As a noble, Euram had grown fully accustomed to mendacity, and was well practiced in the art of telling others what they wanted to hear. Lying came as naturally to him as breathing, and could still be of use to him, especially in situations such as this.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, my lord. What would I gain from that, hmm? It’s just that I get lonely here by myself.”

One thing however that Euram had foolishly overlooked, was that Gizel could see right through him. Gizel was also of the nobility, and if Euram thought his little devices were going to work on him, he was sorely mistaken. Euram wanted something, perhaps a reprieve from him? It could have been several things Euram was after. This might be his way of begging him against sending Sialeeds along, or a means of distracting him from the undergarments he still had not touched. Or he could have been diverting him from that journal he now was aware he had knowledge of. Or something else. It almost seemed like something else...

“I’ve yet to punish you for not wearing my gift to you, as ordered,” Gizel tested, waiting to gauge the other’s reaction. Euram made a small whimpering sound and wriggled against him. The older man’s body responded, hardening further beneath restricting layers.

“Oh, but wouldn’t you rather I pleasured you, Your Majesty?”

“That does not address the issue,” Gizel said firmly, his patience fading despite his amusement.

In lieu of a direct response, Euram snaked down from his lap and slid to his knees at Gizel’s feet, looking up at him with anxious eyes. His fingers fiddled with Gizel’s robe, seeking to free his master’s cock.

“You’re ridiculous. You do realize this, don’t you?”

Again, Euram did not answer except with a demure smile as he assiduously applied himself until he had Gizel’s member free of its restraints. It had taken him considerably less fumbling, time and effort than last time, the Commander noticed. As much as this was an unexpected and curious move from his prisoner, he had to swallow a groan when Euram took him willingly in his mouth, without so much as a prompt or an order.

In all honesty, it took him somewhat off-guard. Euram was up to something, even if what that something was unclear to him just now. No matter: he would find out soon enough. For now, he would occupy himself within the warm sweetness of his slave’s suddenly-willing mouth.

Even if it was worth nothing else, it was a sight to behold. Those soft, pink lips were stretched wide around him, bobbing up and down on his swollen girth. Cheeks hollowed with noisy slurps, streams of spit escaping his lips to drool down Gizel’s length. The Commander had to admit one thing: Euram was learning. He was still laughably inept, but he was certainly learning how to pleasure him, and do it well. The younger noble gazed up at him while he labored on his cock, just as Gizel liked, and his obedience was delicious, however duplicitous. Reaching down with a ragged growl, Gizel twisted a hand through soft, shampooed hair.

He thrust, feeding him more, forcing him to take him deeper. A swell of need rushed through his veins when he thought of how his prisoner’s jaw must ache. He had serviced Gizel twice, now three times over as many days, and had given a thorough performance each time. The knowledge that it was he who caused that enduring soreness in Euram’s mouth, his ass--this knowledge gave Gizel such a raw feeling of power that it made his blood surge with triumph.

The younger man whimpered on his length, strands of his hair falling forward to cling to the wetness at the sides of his mouth. Gizel simply basked in the sight, the sensation for several minutes, feeling his need mount along with his throbbing pulse. Whatever Euram’s “clever” design, whatever he was hoping to achieve or avoid from this ingratiating behavior, it was clear that he needed a gentle but firm reminder of his place.

Grasping Euram’s scalp with a stinging grip, he abruptly halted his efforts. “Enough,” he commanded. Obediently Euram let him slide from his wet mouth, the sloppy results of his labors glistening on his pretty chin.

“Fetch the oil. You know where I keep it,” he directed, watching as Euram staggered inelegantly to his feet and went to the dresser. He could hear the younger man fumbling around in the drawer, clear signs of his nervousness. Euram was also taking his time. Hmph. Not so eager to please after all, perhaps?

“I am waiting,” he said, firmly. A scramble and a clink came in response, and finally the fool slinked back over to him with mincing steps, offering him the bottle.

“No, you hold it,” Gizel said, and reached out to take Euram by the arms and pull him into his lap again. Once more he made him straddle him, and doubtlessly the younger man could feel his hard member throbbing against his spread buttocks. Resting Euram’s arms about his own shoulders, Gizel ran his hands along the smooth flesh of his prisoner’s chest and sides. Skin shivered beneath his touch as though his fingers were ice as he persisted lower, over sensitive curve of his waist and hips. Eventually his wandering hand came in contact with the burn seared into delicate tissue.

Idly, gingerly, Gizel fingered the brand. “I think it suits you well,” he spoke into his prisoner’s ear.

Euram flinched at the contact, a whimper gurgling in his throat. The intense pain of that mark was still fresh in his memory, its sting a constant reminder of Gizel’s terrible dominion over him.

The fop shifted in his lap, his squirms brushing against Gizel’s length and arousing him further. The Commander removed his finger from burnt flesh and instead settled his attention higher. He traced the hollow of Euram’s collared throat, his lips…and then he slipped a finger inside. Obediently the former noble accepted the digit, and suckled. Chuckling at this new burst of submission in his slave, Gizel withdrew his finger and kissed him.

“Well. We’ll see how willing you really are, then,” he said at length. “Use the oil to slick me.”

Euram hesitated, then opened the bottle with trembling fingers. Fumblingly he drizzled a steam over Gizel’s very hard member.

“Work it down with your hands,” he instructed, groaning with stifled lust as the shamed noble obeyed. At the end of his patience, he took the bottle of oil from Euram and replaced the cap, casting the small vial aside to land upon the cushions by the hearth. “Now. Lift yourself a little, and sit on me. That is right,” he reiterated at a sudden, nervous hitch from his prisoner. “Sit down, and split your ass on my cock.”

Gizel saw the rise and fall of Euram’s pale throat as he swallowed a gulp, delighting at his reluctance. But he was visibly now loath to disobey, lest he prove himself a liar in spite of his feigned eagerness to please.

Awkwardly the young Barows moved to comply. Lifting himself, he braced one hand upon Gizel’s shoulder and found his master’s stiff member with the other, positioning it at his small entrance. He was trembling, Gizel could feel it, and it made his own breath grow shallow and husky. Slowly, carefully Euram began to lower himself, until the tip breached the tiny opening.

Gizel scrutinized the boy’s face carefully as his eyes popped open, a sharp gasp catching in his throat.

“Yes, you feel me, don’t you?” In response a sob escaped Euram’s lips, and he grimaced, his eyes frozen wide for several moments before they slitted in pain.

“More. Take me deeper.”

Euram bit his lip and whimpered in complaint at the command. He seemed frozen in place, his trembling body rigid as he attempted to ease into the intrusion.

“You flatter and you fawn, yet you do not obey,” Gizel snapped, and grabbed him by the hips, forcing him the rest of the way down in one punishing plunge.

Euram grunted. “Ahhnn!” Limbs scrabbled uselessly, but he was trapped, fully impaled between Gizel’s cock deep inside him and the hands imprisoning his hips, holding him still.

“Mmm-hmm. Aches, doesn’t it?” Gizel husked.

“Uhnn...!” Euram’s hands flew to Gizel’s shoulders, clutched him hard.

“Shhh, hush,” Gizel soothed, stroking the other's hair as he watched his face. He shifted inside of Euram, feeling the clasping ring twitch around him, the inner walls of the younger man’s bowels shuddering to accommodate him.

A shiver seized Gizel’s limbs, the furnace of his slave’s body almost pushing him over the edge. He held Euram in place, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes just long enough that he could regain his composure. Finally he opened his eyes. Euram still clutched his shoulders, eyes wide, his perfect teeth clamped beneath lips spread wide in pain. Streams of tears flowed from the corners of his eyes.

“I think you’ve had plenty of time,” Gizel announced. “Now, lift up, and sit down again. Fuck yourself, Euram Barows.”

The boy responded with a despondent moan.

“You disobey? You try my patience, Euram--a dangerous thing. Spear your body,” Gizel commanded, delivering a smart slap to the younger man’s hip. Wretchedly Euram obeyed, forcing himself to lift his hips, guided lightly by Gizel’s hands. Before he felt the head pop free, Gizel urged him back down, and he complied, taking the older man fully inside him again.

“Ahhh!”

“Good,” Gizel murmured approvingly, watching as Euram awkwardly moved to ride him, his limbs trembling as he used them to aid him in his reluctant endeavors. Gizel moved his hips in synch, studying the delicious, pained expressions on his prisoner’s face. He would teach him how to engage in his own ravishment, how to wholly feel and appreciate his cock inside of him!

Euram’s body quivered, his legs aching and quivering as he followed Gizel’s commands.

“Faster,” Gizel instructed, thrilling at the other’s sobs. Moving his guiding hands from Euram’s hips, he freed him to do the work, and reached down to wrap a fist around the smaller man’s almost flaccid length. Gripping him, he began to stroke in time with Euram’s efforts, until, unsurprisingly, the thin member began to stiffen.

Gizel chuckled with approval. “Mmm. And what would your father think, Euram? Or your sister? To see you, seated on my lap, your face twisted in pain with your ass lewdly stretched upon my cock, the Godwin brand stamped into your skin? All this with you growing hard in my hand.” The younger man’s shame spread across his cheeks in a furious blush.

“Oooh, uuuhh, G-Gizelll!” Euram moaned, his slender hips sliding up and down on Gizel’s thickness.

All at once, Gizel released Euram’s member and hooked his arms beneath the crook of the smaller man’s knees. He rose from the chair, lifting Euram along with him, and carried him to the cushions by the hearth. Lying him down, he withdrew and whirled him onto his belly. Gizel dragged Euram’s hips back until he was resting on his knees and elbows, and, positioning himself, he roughly shoved inside again.

The Commander shuddered at the other’s yelp and seized him firmly by the hips. “Thrust yourself back. Come, now.”

Gizel saw Euram’s hands twist themselves into the cushions in front of him as the boy complied with a wail of defeat. The older man drove forward, working in synch with his reluctant partner’s movements, watching with lustful intent as the soft hips bucked unwillingly back at him.

He knew of the intense jealousy Euram had once harbored towards him. The reasons behind Euram’s own obsession for Princess Lymsleia’s hand had been so barefaced, and yet Euram himself had not even seen it. He was such a simple creature to read, and yet it was amazing how clueless he was as to his own motivations, desires and feelings. He was so childlike for a young man of his age that it was almost endearing, and his attempts to appeal to Gizel were hilarious enough that he was prepared to let it slide, for now.

Instead, he concentrated on taking his slave. Skillfully he thrust inside, locating the place he knew would send helpless shudders through his hesitant lover. Sure enough, when he hit that spot, he felt the younger man quiver, heard him moan.

His cock pounded Euram’s bowels, groin spanking his raised ass to rhythmic rush of his blood. He could feel his lust tightening, his endurance slipping far beyond his control. His pulse thundered in his ears, and Gizel seized Euram’s own hardness again and he stroked, furiously, feeling the other writhe and impulsively thrust forward into his hand as he struggled to snap his hips back into him.

“Ooh, n-noo! Aaahh!”

Gizel felt the smaller body stiffen and convulse, spurts of his completion soiling the cushions beneath him. Euram’s cries and his climactic shudders propelled Gizel to orgasm, and he thrust himself against his pet, gripping his hips hard as he gave in to currents of pleasure, emptying his completion into the other man’s quivering body.

Panting, Gizel withdrew after several long minutes. Beneath him, Euram collapsed in exhaustion, trembling and snuffling quiet, mewling sobs. Taking pity on him, he rose and left him there to recover, deciding that Euram was suitably put in his place for now.

As usual, he went to the vanity and cleaned himself, then tucked himself away and straightened his clothes. He would discover Euram’s little secret, or whatever it was, with time. The best thing to do was wait for the time when he would unwittingly give himself away. He assumed, for the most part, that his flattery was merely a ploy to win himself more indulgent treatment at Gizel’s hands, and possibly to win his trust so that he might let his guard down. To what end, however, was yet to be seen.

Returning to the delicate heap stretched on the cushions, he rolled him over and smoothed his hair from his eyes, then carefully swept away with a cloth the come that had stuck to his belly when he collapsed onto the pillows. The rest of the mess on the cushions could be cleaned another day. That would be a good task for Euram, he thought, with a small grin. Gathering him in his arms, he carried him to his bed and set him down, lying next to him and propping himself on an elbow so he could look at him. Reaching out a thumb, he swept away tears and pulled the younger man close. Predictably, pitifully the other accepted the comfort and snuggled near. Gizel assumed that more than likely, Euram simply craved the intimacy. He would sooner believe this than be fooled into thinking that Euram had completely accepted his position at last.

He allowed Euram his comfort only as long as he deemed necessary. Once the boy had calmed himself, Gizel rose from the bed. Euram looked blearily up at him.

“I will go and take my supper. However, you may sleep here, for now, if you wish. I shall return soon.”

Wretchedly Euram watched him go. Supper…sounded nice. Perhaps Gizel would bring him a morsel when he returned.

Ignoring the aches in his body and the hunger in his belly, Euram curled himself beneath the covers and retreated to a heavy sleep.

*****

Miles away, at the Sindar Castle in Ceras Lake...

“When is the earliest we can deploy?” Prince Freyjadour Falenas asked his tactician, a hint of impatience tinting his tone.

“Soon,” Lucretia Merces assured the rebel Prince, so mature for his age and yet so eager to have this war over. “Very soon. We have only a few more bases to cover fully.”

“Lym is waiting for us!” the Prince reminded her. “We have kept her waiting for too long. And not only that, Godwin has our allies. Both you and Oboro have said that sources tell you they’ve captured Euram, and the Sun only knows how many from the squadrons of the other generals he has taken prisoner.”

“The dwarves and beavers are diligently working in their research.” At the Prince’s mention of the Barows boy, Lucretia cast a glance toward Luserina, standing dutifully by. “I know you are anxious, and so are we all. We are almost prepared. There are simply a few precautions we must take. We have to be ready for anything, Your Highness.”

“We are running out of time. I cannot let poor Lymsleia lose hope. Too long has this dragged on. And somehow I am afraid Godwin will execute Euram, just to make an example, or to intimidate us. Gizel is not a merciful man, and I fear what measures he might take to prove it to us.”

“We cannot risk making a hasty mistake. Thus far, Godwin has made no demands or attempted to reach us for negotiation on his capture. And even if he did, we could not bow to them. For that matter, who is to say that young Euram has not switched allegiances, and tales of his capture are not falsefied? That alone is another possibility we must consider. The information we are receiving may be purposely distorted. Godwin may be utilizing Euram to confound and lure us. We cannot rule out anything, at this point. You do understand, Prince.”

“That is beside the point. And besides, he would not betray us, not now. I spoke with him, several times. He is a changed man, Lucretia.”

At once Luserina Barows spoke up, her voice respectful but insistent. “Prince, please. Do not worry about my brother. I would not have you distracted even partially for his sake, and he would not wish so, either. And…if what Lucretia suggested…if in the event that he has swapped allegiances again…well, I would not be so quick to put it past him, even now. As much as I hate to say it…I would rather see him executed than that. We cannot even be sure he lives, for that matter.”

The Prince looked at her incredulously, but before he could make another argument, Lucretia sought to reason with him again.

“Please, you must take this time to rest, and visit with your allies. This time may be the last we have, should things not go well. Please remember that, Your Highness.”

Prince Frey nodded, subdued, as though realizing that he had momentarily forgotten the potential risk they faced.

“I will call upon you, and inform you when the time is right. At such time, you shall give the order to depart. Is this acceptable for you?”

He sighed, helplessly. “I wish...I just want Lym free, I do not care the cost at this point. I know she is frightened, and I can’t bear them doing any more horrible things in her name. Please—as soon as the time is right, let me know, even if you have to wake me in the middle of the night. I will be ready.”

With that, the Prince departed. Luserina too was preparing to take her leave, when Lucretia suddenly called to her.

“Luserina, wait.”

She turned. “Yes, Lady Merces?”

The tactician approached her. “I know you are more concerned than you let on, Luserina.”

The girl appeared surprised, but then shook her head. “Oh, no, it is...it is nothing, really.”

“Nonsense.You are worried about your brother, just as His Highness worries about his sister.”

Luserina sighed. “It is true. I should have gone with him to Rainwall, but I felt...”

“Felt your duty was here,” Lucretia finished for her. The younger woman nodded, solemnly.

“It is just that…we had spent so little time together. I was so happy to have him back, to see him changed. To see him resemble my brother again. And now he is gone again, and no one is certain what happened exactly. It is...frustrating. And I did not mean to sound callous to the Prince. But I meant what I said: I would rather see him put to death than believe he might have betrayed us again. But I have a feeling…he wouldn’t do such a thing. Not now. He wanted too badly to redeem himself. I hate to think of his as a prisoner of the Godwins. How they must be treating him…if he is alive...”

All at once, Lucretia came closer and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I think he is alive. Luserina, your brother is tenacious, if nothing else. He will survive. I know he is vulnerable. But there is also strength in him, strength that I do not believe he realizes he possesses.”

The girl clasped her hand and nodded, her eyes shimmering with appreciation for the kind words.

“Thank you, Lady Merces.”

The tactician smiled warmly at her, her voice smooth and confident in her gentle reassurance. “You will see your brother again, Lusierna. I feel it in my heart of hearts.”
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)