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Prince of Slaves - The_Fifth Master & Rawr Kitten

The bolera found it's mark. Gyth was elated as he watched his big black hit the ground solidly and skid to a halt. Now was the time to claim him and Gyth ran hard then leap on his back so he would not rise.

It was called xul roping. The manacle around his wrist and using his knees for leverage he pulled the arm so that the wrist was behind the mounts head at the back ring on the pinch collar. He set the chain in place and quickly reached for the other hand while the big fellow was stunned from his pouncing.

Both wrists were secure in the manacles and linked behind it's head. Gyth took the drag rope and knotted it at the bend of both the mounts elbow. He checked the tangle to see that it was tight. A careful inspection revealed the strain of the thighs and no higher. It was then that he discovered he forgot the hood.

Guth's hand slipped along the stallions back. Further down the curve of its tight ass cheeks where he clenched and squeezed. The flesh raising pleasantly to his touch. He gave a nod of approval. Time for that later.

Gyth stood in the middle of the path and looked around him. The light was waning and he would need to feed soon. Unless he wanted to untangle his mount and ride him back but without the carbic in hot pursuit Gyth did not want to chance another run. As he felt the Devil struggling under him he cuffed him hard with a fist to the jaw. Sign language for stop.

There was some sticker brush on the lean of a fallen tree at the edge of the forest. It would do well enough for his purpose. They would not be staying all night and the cries would ward off any carbic teams thinking a kill had been made by another team and would avoid the place.

With the rope around one shoulder Gyth gave a tug. The body moved but it wasn't going to be easy. He stood up, his feet planted solidly on the stallion's shoulder blades wanting no more trouble from him. Funny how mother nature leaves things around that turn out to be handy. He could smell it as he took a handful of the big stallions mane. A herd of tanga had been down the path recently and had left a present so close to the Big Fella's head.

Hooding him would have been the perfect blinding to keep him from struggling so much. In the thrill of the chase Gyth forgot the hood. And without the hood Gyth thanked the tanga and used a drooling vine leaf to scoop enough of the waste product to cover the stallion's eye lids with the thick paste of it. It would begin to dry almost immediately with the contact of heated flesh and transform into a natural glue.

Gyth decided to give it a few minutes to work before moving him in case it didn't close the eyelids solidly. He did not want to expose himself to possible attack just for a second application. Once he was sure the eyes were sealed then he'd move the stallion. He glance down to have a look see.
 
How fucking humiliating. This majestic man, almost KING, felled by a simple rope with three stones. But, he supposed, somewhere in his confused ass, that even the simplest of weapons was effective in the hands of a master. He struggled, but it didn’t help. The breath in his body painfully robbed between that sudden stop and that close brush of pain to his special parts. Hell, one more inch, and he might have been a woman. He felt the creature moving over him, and that last impact completely had him gasping for air.

That bogey man expertly immobilized Kalfor, so much so that he felt completely trussed up. The hands pressed against his ass cheeks, and the struggle he made was almost frantic. But by that time, he could not move, could not even shift his flesh away and then was slammed roughly in the face with a fist. Hard enough to see stars. The message was loud and clear… don’t do that again.

Almost about to shake his head to clear it, he felt and SMELLED… oh hell no. Shit. Literally and figuratively. Closing his eyes tightly, he felt the steaming heated sludge cake on and over his eyelids, and he could do nothing. His hands bound, his body sliding, and his legs completely tied… He kept his eyes shut and was left alone to his own mind. And his own fears.

Shrugging his shoulders, he only made the bindings tighter, and finally, now blinded, he stopped. There was no other sound but his returning breath, that sound of the bogey man who was nearly silent, and had moved away.

Nothing touching him except the strong ropes and the cool grass.

Nothing to feel but complete helplessness coated with the pain of his previous run, and his jaw.

Probably going to leave a bruise. He worked it gently back and forth and realized that it wasn’t broken or dislocated. Just hurt like a son of a bitch. Sighing, he put that in the pain bucket… full in varying degrees.

That hope that had flared up like a candle in his heart had been snuffed out.

Defeated, he slumped against the grass and breathed. It was easier now to do so, but Kalfor didn’t notice. He was captured, caught and without status. Far from home and familiar things. Far from his father and his kingdom. Far from anything he ever knew.

He didn’t know where that bogey man devil was, and frankly, he no longer cared. A small shudder rolled through him and, behind the shut and clumping eyelids, tears gathered. For the first time since he was a boy and had lost his first match, he did something unbelievable, unacceptable and completely demeaning.

There, in the middle of an unknown place, at the mercy of an unknown creature, with an unknown future… Crowned Prince Kalfor, heir to the throne of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the land, cried like a little boy.

And in that moment, in that place and in that time, he most certainly was.
 
Gyth watched. The eyes sealed and the stallion docile for the moment. It took the bog and the chase to bring the mount under some kind of control. It would not last long, just long enough.

Gyth used a length of rope around a sapling as a small pulley. The other end tied securely to the Big Black’s elbow rope. It took him some time and lots of heaving to drag the big fellow inch by inch to the hidden respite.
Finally Gyth had him stretched out beside the length of the log. It was the wrong position.

Gyth’s breath came heavier as the last of the light was covered by shadows. He hadn’t wanted this now. Not like this, but it was too late. The burning had already begun. The fire at his center. It was said that the mounts brought hunger sooner the wild scent of these fierce beasts. He could not say. He only knew the burning and the anguish he could not stop but one way.

He bent to the mount and put his hands under the shoulder. A grunt and a strain to bring the stallion into a sitting position. Gyth leaned the fellows side against the log before pulling the legs in an arc, still tangled straight out from hip to ankle. So that the stallion’s back was against the log and the feet straight out.

Gyth dropped to one knee as the waves of pulsing pain shot thru his body. He tore at his shirt as he fought the heated avalanche of hunger so desperate it consumed him. There was a moment of conscious choice.

He straddled the stallion’s hips. One hand grabbing the mane and slamming that head back against the log without mercy.

Gyth opened his mouth to breath and raised his own head, releasing the pair of fangs unhinged from the roof of his mouth. Shaking his head until the pair were in place like snaggled cruelly curved long pointed canines.

Gyth pressed his body against the stallion. Breath along the flesh of the big devil for that coopery hint signaling a cache of nourishment. Not just any cache, a big one. Gyth had not fed in two days.

He licked the mounts right tit to tease the fluid closer to the surface. He wanted it pounding thru the body in waves of sustenance. His other hand gripping the stallions cock. It was already hard and aroused from the excitement of the chase.

Gyth licked again and brushed his beard across the tit. A deep primal rumble rose from his chest in pleasure knowing that the coopery hint would surface, if he began to grip and ride down that cock with his hand. To the edge. Force the stallion to pump faster, bringing him to the edge and no further so that his master could feed deep and fully.

Gyth pulled the stallion’s head back in a tight grip and sighed hot air over the tit as he mouth it with his tongue and lips. Calling the fluid from it’s sleep.
 
Kalfor was adjusted, that slowness in his appendages meant to make it more difficult for him to be moved, but it seemed that it mattered very little to the bogey man. He was shifted, adjusted and settled, none of which he could tell where and he wasn’t sure what was going on.

He was sitting up, and the male… that bogey man… his head connected hard and fast with an object behind it that almost splintered completely with the force of it. He was reeling with the impact and his eyes almost opened in surprise but for the crud keeping them shut.

Then, some touch… touches… unwelcome, surprising, and wet. Warmth that touched his nipple and he felt it pucker under the touch, his cock wrapped in an unfamiliar and calloused grip… He twisted in surprise and in an effort to dislodge the hand from him.

But it didn’t help.

That hardened cock had been itching for attention for the better part of the day, but not like this. Not by HIM. He groaned and cried out with the contact, still shifting, completely immobilized and all it did was enable more contact, more of a stroking touch… “No!” he cried out, feeling his body betray him as the tongue and mouth heatedly suckled his nipple. Sensitive skin hardened completely in the bogey man’s mouth.

That mixture of fear, pain and pleasure twisted inside of him and he panted, strangled cries causing animals to flee from the underbrush. His hips moved forward, rocking into that contact, still fighting the pleasure, still feeling the pain, still chased by the fear…
 
It was the heavy force of nature. Eyes blazing as Gyth's rough tongue probed and pressed the meat of the tit. The stallion struggling under him. Drawing against the ropes, begging to be turned loose as Gyth's hand stroked in a pace to heat it's very body for his use.

Gyth's eyes traveling over the stallions body even as the ache in his own groin increased. Feverishly nipping the tit. Sucking the flesh above the darkened skin, urgently seeking the coopery fluid. Sensing the fear of the beast he pressed his weigh against him. He was heady with it. The sensual vibrations of the devil's throbbing harden cock in his fingers as he felt the rushing of a deep pulse just below the surface of the silky flesh.

A squeeze to tighten fingers around the stallion's cock. Gyth ran his tongue above the tit against the muscles of the chest. Chewing and nipping as he waited for that edge and the throbbing river of blood to surface at the chest so that he could feed.
 
Hellllllllll nooooooooo... That inner crooning fought the very pressure that took him, pleasured him, called his pulse to race and his body to open to it. That tingling, that rough stroke, he groaned in fury, anger and forced sensation as his hips moved forward in smoother thrusts.

The mouth that teased, the tongue that licked... not seeing with his eyes put pictures inside of Kalfor's head that drove him forward, seeking that caress, those teeth that teased...

Fingers wanted, and his body answered, inwardly cursing his weakness and embracing it... UNWILLINGLY... he told himself... demanded of himself... pleaded...

His head went back against the splintered log and his shoulder pressed back a little, body flushing and he was only filled with need...
 
The stallion's body stirred and raised of it's own accord. Gyth pressed and now the back arched. The chest answered a moment later twisting against his mouth as he chewed and licked it. The pulse quickening, the red stream rushing to fill one ventrical only to be emptied into another until the pressure echoed in the chest. The chest that Gyth was preparing for his feeding.

The pulse at the cock deepening, as the veins swelled and throbbed in his pistoning hand. The stallion writhing against the log as Gyth moved his hand up and down to the full length of the hard ready cock. The head throw back and loud groaning as the tension brought the beast to the edge.

Not willing to wait any longer Gyth let go of the mane. His hand on the tangle he leveraged the beasts hips atop the log without losing the chest in his mouth or the cock in his other hand. He released the untangle from the legs as his own knees pushed the stallion's legs wider. It would not take much with the need so great for them both.

Gyth could feel both his pouch and stem swelling with readiness. His loin cloth caste to the ground to expose the quivering hollow trunk that would swallow the cock of the stallion fully, and below the trunk a swelling penis sheathed waiting to entered the beasts unprotected anal ring.

Gyth pulled the hard stiff cock in his hand towards his own pouch where the trunk jerked in the air anticipating the arrival of throbbing lust. He gulped air feeling the tip of the stallion's cock around the outer rim.

Fine hairs inside the trunk already spasming in waves of contractions like undulating caterpillars as the head entered. The trunk surrounded the head of the shaft almost immediately. The ends of the fine hairs pricked the silky foreskin lightly to hooking it as trunk muscles swallowed the cock in deeper as thought it were a meal for a snake. Promising jolts of intense frenzy with each new strike of a contraction.

Gyth's mouth was above the deep pulsing gusher under the chest flesh. The unquenchable and the relief merging. He unhinges his lower jaw for the fangs to protrude and scrape along the flesh until his sensitive tongue located the right spots. Slowly the cruel fangs punctured the chest seeking out the nourishing blood to be taken in this terrible way.

His sheath slowly rolling back exposing the dark spear head stiff and ready to enter the hole to lock the beast for his full submission. He rocked his hips until the spear had found the entrance and held all of the stallion in place against him as the initial stab occurred.

The fluid slowly rising up to dampen the fangs. Gyth rode the stallion's thrashing body as he sank those fangs into the blood rich river. His thrust spearing deep into the beast as the trunk swallowed the large cock torturing it with rippling madness as Gyth strained to brutally feed for all he was worth.
 
What... the... hell...? Kalfor was held in the grip of intense pleasure, despite the throbbing pain that coursed through him, in spite of the fear of death that loomed as he felt the first pricks of teeth. Then that suckling... deep, long and dizzying as it drew upon his life's blood.

But what he felt in the swoon was something surrounding his cock, something that absorbed it within itself, grasping it hard and milking it for all it was worth. He was almost too caught up in that sensation until the pressure against his ass, pushing hard and without end into his body.

He had never been taken in such a way before, never even considered such a thing... but here with the bogey man, he was held in a delirium which steadily increased with the continued taking. It felt like a burning, driving itself deeper into his bowels, but that steady rippling against the ridges of him... he could do nothing more than pump his hips, groaning with the scraping and moaning with the grip.

He could not see. But he could feel. And it built against his will, something so... painfully throbbing in his ass, riding his cock hard... as he was ridden... mouth suckling, taking from him... he was going to die but he no longer cared. All he cared about was that steady stroking, his hips moving and experiencing something he had never done so before in his whole life...
 
The feeding frenzy took over. Gyth turned and twist the fangs deeper still. Opening the wound, deepening it, he was primal with need. Nourishment denied for two days.

He threw himself against the chest. His tongue thinned to a long string and wormed around the tit. Capturing it. Anchoring the mouth on the tit and tugging in rhythm of the stallion's heart beat. The blood came rushing thru the fangs, pooling into the mouth as the muscles at the back of the throat pushed cup fulls to the stomach.

Gyth thrust his body against the captured stallion. His hands clenching in a vice grip. His tunnel stamen convulsively swallowing the stallion's full cock. Hair like hooks scraping against the silky foreskin in crushing waves creating a vacuum meant to force the beast to fire a full load. His own savage penetration into the unlubricated anal passage furious. Slamming the full length into the stallion over and over again in long strokes. Thundering in the stallion wildly.

Vaguely aware of his surrounding. Uncaring of his victim's need. Body fluid exchanging, with each violent attack. He fed in deep gulps as his stamen demanded the stallion's cock to release and his own release pending. He threw them both into the whirling hellstorm of a feeding climax.

Gyth bit to seal the chest, and stabbed deep to detonate into the stallion passage as the stamen erupted in clamping madness around the stallion hard cock. The roaring triumph echoed in the bog.
 
Pleasurable pain. Heady confusion. And impending death.

Kalfor had felt these things before, felt them brush by him after being unhorsed on the lists. Or that giddy pleasure as he took wenches to bed, or had them suck his cock until he exploded, pumping his cum over their faces or down their desperate throats.

But this? What the hell was this?

Like a drug, like something that touched his senses and pulled him, kicking and screaming, into a place that people whispered about. Something was feeding, those teeth unmistakable and the pulling suckle at his breast almost unhinged him.

But what pushed him over the edge, what made him grunt and groan with that painful release was that stabbing burn between his ass cheeks, and the rhythmic grasping of whatever had swallowed his cock. He twisted, unable to resist, unable to do anything but finally give over to the pleasure, squeezing his cum out his cock and balls as surely as it was milking him.

And perhaps it was.

The tendons stood out on his neck, a screaming cry of internal struggle ripped forth from his soul. One singular word that rose up and pierced the air as harshly as the bogey man had pierced him. Even as he shuddered in the throes of his orgasm, he still tried to fight...

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
 
The stallion under Gyth pushed his hips up as the stamen showered the cock with waves of colliding sensations. The stamen greedily absorbing the hot cum gushing from the stallion's cock. Gyth's own load shot deep soaking the beast with stinging menthol creme.

Only after the stallion’s soften cock had slipped out the stamen did Gyth pull out of the mount’s orifice slowly. Sated, trying to catch his breath he collapse against the beast’s chest. His hand stroking the mane tenderly. The stamen slipped into it’s pouch once again and his own penis sheathed against his stomach.

He had to move quickly before the big fellow had the first clear thought. It was hard to tell if the first feeding or the second would begin to cause the change. It was getting dark enough for the night to bring out the dark hunters. Time to get the stallion back to camp for the night.

Gyth set the bit back into the mouth. His hand on the reigns, he jerked the Stallion off the log towards him and waited to see if it would be kneeling or standing.
 
His chest heaving, his body sore and aching, and that hard and fast cumming that drained him of everything he had. As quickly as it had begun, it was over. His anus burning and cooled with something he could only assume came from the bogey man. He had to assume it all... he still couldn't see.

Kalfor bent, feeling that calming stroking against his hair, as though what he had given was of his desire, and he tried to push it out of his mind. He had been, still was, a Prince who would be King.

Wasn't he?

As he lay recovering, he felt the bit slip over his head. Heat smouldered its way through his body but he managed to shift to his feet after that sharp tug. Groaning with pain and humiliation, forced pleasure still tingeing his nerve endings, he was standing.

He was at the mercy of a merciless race who consumed him, one swallow of blood at a time. One thrusting of his hips at a time. One humiliating fuck at a time.

He would be led, because he could do nothing else.

He would go, because there was nothing else.

And he would be a mount because, for now, he could be nothing else.
 
Gyth used the log to gain his stallions back again. His hand on the Xul skin of water at his back for a handful of water. He held the bridle as he washed out one eye of the smuck and wiped it on his chaps. This limited his stallions vision without causing it to trip.

His hand rested easily on the big fellow's shoulder as he clicked his tongue and gave a tap of his heels to the stallions hips. A sign to start walking. Gyth would guide with the reigns and the black devil would be taking steps. A team effort.

But all Gyth could think about was the sweet taste of cooper fluid in his mouth and the energy absorbing thru his body from the stamen. His own aching groins significantly reduced to practically nothing except for the warm pulse of sensation as he rode along the path back to the camp.

Oather would have tea ready for him once he bedded the stallion down for the night. He wondered how the others had fared. He hadn't heard the keening of a feeding but then he had his own and heard nothing but the roar of his stallion. He looked at the great beast under him and smiled.
 
That weight returned, and he could tell from the familiar feeling, that it was the bogey man who had done sone before. He grunted with the extra pressure, and certainly with everything else that felt so raw, hurt, violated...

Water, cool and fresh, cascaded over one eye and down his face. He closed his mouth, knowing full well what had been blurring his vision, and until the rinsing stopped, he kept his eye shut. Unknowing what had occurred save the way his body remembered it and his mind's eye had imagined it, he finally saw where they had gone, where they had been. And who might have been there as well.

But there was no one else, no possible extra person who might have joined them, and he had a twisted sinking in his gut. He acknowledged the clucking and moved as he was directed, unsure if that had been punishment or considered to be a reward. Shuddering inwardly, he hoped that it was only one time that would happen; once in the great scheme of his life, and that he may be dying as he moved. Perhaps that's why the heat in his veins was so pronounced.

He walked as though in a daze, and could not tell depth with only one eye uncovered. It took a bit for him to get used to the change in the lighting, but soon, he could see fires, and felt the path. It took little time, and soon he was bathed in the circle of light from the fire.

He was tired. He was sore. He was completely off-balance with no sense of footing except the ones beneath him. He was Kalfor. PRINCE Kalfor.

And on the second night from the castle, he was neither pampered nor attended to. Instead, he was beaten, wounded, branded and raped. Violated in all aspects. A small fire burned inside of him, thinking on what his father might do to these devils had he the chance. And then it was almost snuffed out with the sinking feeling that there was no rescue attempt coming. That there were no pursuers from the kingdom.

The slower pace a relief, he waited to be directed. His skin couldn't handle a beating. And his ass couldn't either.
 
They entered the camp as all eyes turned. Oather looked up, his expression questioning until his eyes fell upon the four red dots marking stallion’s chest. Sark hands on hips with a nod of approval, his own mount wearing red welts that criss cross his body and hobbled on it’s pad. Arvir sitting by the fire and gave a wave of his hand, his mount resting quietly on it’s pad without hobbles but it had been injured the worst Gyth reminded himself.

Gyth guided his stallion to the log as he greeted the others. He reigned in the big black in exactly the place it had earlier departed from. It was a reminder and a warning.

Gyth dropped to the ground reigns in hand and made a soft shhh as he tapped on the beg fellows knee. A signal for the beast to kneel on the pad. He had the ball sack and cock ring ready to place. The ring that dangled was for hobbling the ankles and wrists.

But tonight the wrist would remain at the neck so that in the morning Gyth could install a pin manacle to those big paws that so ably held such a dangerous dagger and keep the animal from closing it’s front paws fully. They were going to civilization and he could not take a chance on have a beast lose to terrorize people. Not even if he wanted to.

Gyth waited for the stallion to kneel. The ball and cock ring ready but out of sight. He hope it would be too exhausted and confused to fight but he wasn’t taking any chances.
 
Up, down, lying, sitting...

Every muscle in his body was throbbing, even his gluteus maximus. So when he was tapped to kneel, he knelt.

He had given them a good run, had tried. And failed. He had done his best. And damn it, he was tired. Bone-weary. And ready to just sleep.

But no. More shit to do. Kneel. Crouch. Sit up and beg...

But for now... he knelt...
 
His big stallion could barely find his balance. Gyth tapped the pad with his hand. A signal meant for the beast to place his forehead there. He waited patiently as the others looked on.

Sark had the worst view sitting away from the fire. Oather and Arvir exchanged glances knowingly.

Arvir took a sip from the bowl as he looked at the tanga seal on the one eye. [Gyth forgot the hood]

Oather poured more in his own bowl and nodded. [ I called to him but it was too late]

Arvir watched curiously [ It has the look of one who would run again]

Oather looked over studying the two [Gyth has a hobble ring]

Arvir took a sip of tea. His eyes alight with humor [ He had a hood also]

Oather sprayed the fire with a mouth full of tea. The comment had caught him off guard. Annoyed, he turned slightly from the fire and Arvir.

They both watched with side glances to see if Gyth got the stallion's head to the pad and the ring on that cock and ball sack.

Arvir grinned [Two quill says he gets kicked before he can hobble]

Oather spit in his hand and held it out to Arvir. Arvir took it in his. The bet was sealed. They both turned to Gyth and the Stallion.
 
He was down, wasn't he? Oh hell, now even his INNER voice was whiney.

All he wanted to do with sleep. All he wanted to do was just. Fucking. SLEEP!

His whole body ached, and after a helluva day and a helluva ride in more than one sense, he laid his head down. He wasn't even fully aware of doing it either. He just knew that he had been eaten, violated, beaten and run ragged, and he had had enough.

Whatever they wanted, they could have because he'd either be unconscious or dead by the time they had gotten around to doing it.

Fuckers. Couldn't they just... fuckin'...

His brain started spiralling in circles, and images came at him from his inner darkness. His mind was already riding the flow of sleep...
 
Gyth waited that extra few minutes after the head found the pad. It paid off. He moved quickly to the stallion's shaft and balls to ring him efficiently without disturbing the big male in his sleep.

The ankle cuffs were installed easily and a short chain that connected both ankles to the cock and ball ring was sturdy hobble for any mount no matter how big. Gyth brought the blanket out from his pack and placed it over his stallion. It was enough for one night.

Sark was fussing over his own mount. While Arvir and Oather sat sipping tea by the camp fire. Gyth moved to the fire with the other two and sat. He accepted a bowl from Oather and drank the deep rich tea as he watched the wood snap and pop around the flames.

Arvir reached to his pouch and place coins in Oather's hand. Neither VuNish saying a word when Gyth turned to them with a puzzled look. He probably didn't want to know any way.

Gyth took another sip and looked at Oather [Do you have block pins?]

Oather nodded. [Three sets]

Arvir grinned [Experience counts!]

Gyth move the bowl between his feet [In the morning?]

Oather looked into the flames trying to read things in the way it lick around the logs burning there

[Before dawn. You'll need help. Tip him on his back and while he jerks his feet and the hobble pains him drive the pin fully. Don't hesitate. Then the next.]

[The pain of the ring will be his focus at first. They have little protected from a direct assault there. Later the wrists will cause some discomfort. But he will be traveling so free his wrists and he will serve you well.]

Arvir nodded and put his own bowl at his feet.

[I have even equipped mine with a dagger so that I could reach it quickly without moving to my belt. I did it to show my stubborn mount that even if a dagger was within reach it would do him no good. He could not grasp it tight enough to cause harm.]

Gyth stood and stretch. [Wolf dawn comes soon enough. I am for my pad. Oather, Arvir Dreamless ]

Oather held out the two thin pin. [Dreamless sleep Gyth]

Arvir stretched as well [ Sleep well, Gyth, Oather]

Gyth took the pins then turned to the pad where his stallion slept. The beasts were known for the heat in the winter. Gyth lay on the pad near the big fellows head and closed his eyes. Wolf dawn would come soon enough.
 
Shades and shadows toyed at the edges of his mind... his equine mind. At least, that's how it appeared as he swung his heavy head back and forth, watching his face elongate... his whining cries turn to whinnies...

It was like a fight from beneath the waves, as though he had sunk so deep inside of it, he was unable to get out. His head was spinning, and that shock of his nightmare jarred him awake.

Then a whole OTHER set pain kept him on the edge. He couldn't focus... couldn't tell if it was day or night.

All he knew was pain.

All he had was loss.

All he felt was that overwhelming pinching in his balls as he groaned aloud...
 
[Now!]

Arvir tipped his end while Gyth tipped his. The pin in hand. The stallion still one eyes. Dozy and now turned on his back. If he kicked out it was gonna hurt.

A boot on the fore arm and the slender pin in the hole of the manacles below the wrist. No permanent damage but for now hobble those hands to prevent an attack. Six month to a year and then they would come out. Earned and deserved.

Gyth slid the manacle back more then raised the hammer and slammed it down setting the pin in place.

Oather already had the other forearm place and the pin ready. Gyth shifted and brought the hammer down again. One blow and it was done.

[Move now. Let him be for half an hour.] Oather motioned them away.

Arvir was already on the move. It wouldn’t do to be kicked by those big feet. Break a VuNish’s leg easy.

Oather had led the way but turned to ensure his Vunish were following. [Gyth!]

Gyth moved back. Far back knowing his mount would struggle. A young animal. It would need him. Maybe even now.
 
Hadn't they done ENOUGH?

Kalfor had almost been asleep... almost. Then, he was rudely awakened and even MORE rudely tipped over. And then... agony, slamming into his wrists, hands slightly open and panting with the pain.

He struggled then; feebly as he felt the yanking pull that almost made him squeal, but he adjusted to allow for that... allow for everything.

He whimpered after it was done. Hurt. Lonely. In more pain than he had ever experienced before in his life.

He could hardly move without the tug. He could hardly move without the strain. Muscles met hard and deep in the middle somewhere, and he couldn't handle it any more.

At all.

Curling into the mat, he tried desperately to still his shoulders. He was a PRINCE, for fuck sakes... surely he should be regal even in his degradation?

But all he could muster was shuddering sobs that rattled against his ribs and to add more insult to injury... he could only shudder so far.
 
Gyth had watched. He wasn't sure what he expected but it wasn't this. His stallion all but undone. Terror and fear replaced by despair. Mounts in agony made those sounds. Sounds that couldn't be faked.

[Gyth No!]

It was the big fellows pain that called him. The same call that spoke so clearly as the stallion hung in the tree. He knew this was his companion even without having met him. This evil devious wild spirit was part of him in ways he could not name.

He came to the pad. Knelt. His hands to the big male's head. Combing thru the hair. Stroking the shoulder. Not to reassure him that things were peachy. Gyth stroked his head to tell him that even in his pain his rider would not abandon him. They were now inseparable.

They had fought the cambric and won. They had fought each other and come to this. Not slave and master, but companions in a way that few would know. He was there and his companion was no longer alone.
 
That touch almost made Kalfor flinch. It wasn't soothing so much as... well, what was it? A gentle touch in the darkness, that reached for him, called to him... made him feel... not alone.

It didn't still the sobs, it didn't even placate his fears. But in the middle of it all, he felt connected to something that cared enough to do take that step.

Not that he wanted someone to do that... not that at all.

But it relieved him a little anyway.
 
Gyth laid that big head on his lap as shifted so his back was against the log. He took a deep breath. Plenty of time to sleep before the sun was up. His hand stroking thru the big fellow hair. A time to be with him. The first of many.

They were now companions in a way Gyth had never been with another mount. His first joined mount and his stallion was young. A nice long life ahead of them both. He stayed awake as the sobbing slowed. Determined to see him thru all this first horrible part and help him settle into his life.

Oather had stopped moving. Arvir was making his way to his own mount deep in sleep. Sark curled around his lanky blonde as they both took deep breaths.

This fellow had promise. This fellow was his.
 
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