Yay! Still no finished plot, but I found a few outline notes, so I know where I wanted to go with his. Excuse the errors, I had a last-moment writing spree and just typed this down.
Find the entire story here!
The decision to run had come too late. The Ailill’s steel grip on his throat was unbreakable, his strength shocking as the lithe elf dangled him inches above the floor with one arm and no sign of exertion. Niro flailed, trying his luck at kicking his captor, but all that got him was a rough shake and a slap. None of that helped with his increasing need to breathe, or the panic bubbling up in his chest.
Niro knew this game. It was meant to break the spirit, to prove superiority, to crush resistance. It had almost cost him his life as a boy, and the only reason he was still here had been old Cyril. The halfbreed had pulled away the Ailill drillmaster in the last possible moment, just inches from drowning the young human who wouldn’t stop bucking and struggling, no matter what. And after saving Niro from suffocation, Cyril had beaten him up so badly, he hadn’t been able to walk straight for a week. That had taught Niro to at least act the part of the subdued scholar, if only to escape Cyril’s bull whip, and he had gotten good in it.
With a cut-off snarl, Niro let his body slump, reined in his instincts to fight for his life and waited. If he stopped struggling, the Ailill would let go, this was how the game was played. Any moment now. Just a little longer. Colors bled out of the world as his sight started to weaken with lack of oxygen. His heart beat faster and faster, jumping against his ribs with the increase of panic. The Ailill smiled broader, his bone-white teeth glittering in the lamplight. His fingers tightened like murderous stone around Niro’s neck, casually crushing his windpipe, his arteries, his nerves. Niro’s mind started screaming, don’t trust him, this is not a game, he will not let go, save yourself, kill him, and finally his will gave beneath the growing pressure of self-preservation.
Niro threw his remaining strength against the Ailill’s grip, gargling through the pressure against his larynx as he struggled, tugged and kicked, but it was too late. He had waited too long and risked too much. His body was already growing faint, his sight turning darker, his fingers getting numb and hard to move as he slapped and kicked against the immovable body in front of him. At least he would go down fighting, instead of dying bound to a pole and surrounded by cheering people. Being strangled was a honorable way to die, was it not?
Niro didn’t feel the impact of his body on the ground when the Ailill finally let go. The colorful carpet burned his back as he was dragged over to the bed, but his body still didn’t obey his frantic orders. The only thing he could do was cough and gasp as he was heaved onto the bedsheets, and groan as he was lifted to close the shackles dangling from the bedposts around his wrists. The stitches holding his back together twinged and burned enough to make him groan even in his half-conscious state, but it took a little longer for him to come to his senses.
The harsh grip on his hair helped with that. The Ailill pulled his head back in a dangerous angle, staring down at his face with that intimate smile. “Be silent,” he ordered.
Niro snarled, then opened his mouth to say what he thought of his master’s orders, but the second his lips parted, the Ailill poured a honey-colored liquid into his mouth. Coughing and gasping, Niro tried to spit it out, but the angle made it all but impossible and all the coughing only forced him to swallow faster. It tasted bitter, fruity with a hint of cinnamon, like an expensive Yahirian tea. It also prickled through his throat, numbed his tongue and rushed to his head faster than it should.
With his deed done, the Ailill let his head go and stepped back, putting the stopper back into the little flask he had emptied into Niro’s mouth.
“This healing potion is quite strong, so don’t be alarmed if your wounds start itching soon,” he explained, still smiling. “I also overdosed you, which means you will have to endure a few side effects. Probably a little vertigo, increased salivating, certainly heightened libido, which is why I shackled your arms. We don’t want you to get carried away and play with yourself, now, do we?”
As much as Niro would have loved to yell at the pointy-eared bastard, the prickling in his throat had increased so much, he had a hard time doing anything else but swallowing convulsively. Worse, he could feel the first tingles on his back, a promise of things to come that he didn’t want to experience. His whole body felt warmer, thicker somehow, and all that warmth was just starting to slowly creep down his chest and towards his crotch. It felt eerily familiar, although he had never felt it in this intensity.
“Dragon’s Tail,” he hissed, tugging at the shackles wide-eyed. “You gave me Dragon’s Tail? Are you trying to kill me after all?”
The Ailill huffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic, pet. This was hardly enough to kill someone who frequents the dragon baths as much as you. Now, just ride the waves and be calm, I have a guest to tend to.” And with that statement, the Ailill turned and walked towards the door.
“Wait! Come back!”
The door fell shut. Niro couldn’t do anything but stare at it dismayed, left alone in the lavish bedroom. His heart was beating so loud, he could hear it jump against his ribcage in the sudden silence. Then the itching on his back started, and he hissed through clenched teeth. “Good-for-nothing loiter-sack, snivelling, stinking wandought, if I get my hands around your neck,—” The itching spread all over his back and no amount of twitching or twisting bore any relief. The lone thought of having to hang there and endure this for any amount of time was unfathomable, but then the heat creeping down his belly reached his crotch, filling his length until it strained against the linen pants he was wearing. The vertigo hit him almost simultaneously, intermingling the opposing sensations until one bled into the other and his whole body was on fire.
A groan forced its way out of his throat, shivering through the empty room like a call for help. Niro closed his eyes, gasping as he started to sweat. If this was the penalty for attacking his master, it was an effective one, if unusual. But would he come if Niro called for help? Would anyone come?
Fear settled in his stomach like a stone. He wouldn’t call for help. He didn’t need help, he could endure this, he would endure this. After all, with this, he already knew what he was in for. Better than to call out and then realize that nobody would come to help. They never came, they never helped. He wouldn’t humiliate himself, not again, not anymore.
Another wave of tingling lust rushed through his body and into his cock, sending twitches through the hard length. A wet patch appeared on the cloth of his pants, another moan crept out of his throat. Niro closed his eyes harder, frowning with self-restraint. Hold on as long as you can. They never outlast you, you just need to hold on.
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