Captured by Kira Takenouchi

Eryan could run no more. He fell to the ground, panting, his eyes stinging with tears. Grenich was immediately upon him, kicking him in the stomach as he lay, helpless, staring up at him in a sort of terrified paralysis.

“You wasted half my day,” Grenich barked, seizing Eryan by his long, blond hair and dragging him to his feet. “You’ll pay for that. Mark my words, Varamond will demand to know what took me so long. And when finds out what you did to his horse, you’ll wish I’d killed you.”

The exhausted youth made no reply. A part of him was glad the ordeal was over; he’d been running since dawn. At one point he’d almost thought he’d escaped; but then, the moment he’d stopped to rest, he saw the man coming again. He knew Grenich, Varamond’s sentinel and henchman, was furious. Eryan hadn’t meant to hurt his horse; he’d been running backwards, trying to get a shot in at the man. The arrow went straight into the horse’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly.

Grenich removed the collar and chain from his bag—the very collar Eryan had tried so hard to avoid—and snapped it savagely around his neck, locking it and then shoving the key in one of his pant pocket flaps.

“It would have been much easier for you if you had submitted from the start,” Grenich warned, yanking on the chain and pulling the boy forward.

“Why would I submit to slavery?” Eryan shot back, unable to remain silent. “Varamond has no right to enslave free men like wild animals!”

“Varamond can do whatever he pleases,” Grenich replied, calmly, looking up at the sky to judge the hour. “Soon enough he’ll be king of all Arnasia.”

“He’ll be stopped!”

“Oh?” Grenich regarded him with a contemptuous smile. “And who is going to stop him?”

“The gods! Fate!”

Grenich laughed at this, fastening Eryan’s chain to his own arm with a thick iron manacle.

“The peoples to the north, then.”

“No one can stop Varamond.” Grenich regarded Eryan then, as if for the first time. Varamond had specifically pointed him out in the village of Hilathie, along with a few other pretty young boys, ordering Grenich to take whatever actions necessary to procure them. The other boys hadn’t even resisted; they were wiser, perhaps. But Eryan, once he realized that the tribute Grenich demanded on behalf of his master was more than the usual pouch of coins, had immediately fled, forcing Grenich to pursue him through the forests that bordered the village—a more difficult task than he had initially anticipated, for the woods were filled with thorny brush and strange gorges that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Eryan was an attractive youth, no question. His hair was blondish-white, and long—just the way Varamond liked it. He had serious, brooding features and dark eyes, a contrast to his light hair and light golden skin. His lips were pink and pouting, like a girl’s. But perhaps it was Eryan’s body that had garnered Varamond’s interest, for he was obviously athletic, his sculpted arms and legs bare in the merest shift of a tunic that was the style among the Arnasian boys.

If he did not fear reprisal from Varamond, Grenich would have enjoyed Eryan himself. He deserved that much for his trouble. But he dared not touch the boy that his master had clearly picked out for his own private enjoyment.

“Walk faster,” he growled, yanking on the chain as he increased his own pace. He felt miserable; his body was covered with scratches and bruises from being thrown by his horse and then stuck by a thousand thorns. Grenich found it annoying that Eryan showed not even one scratch-mark on his body. But then, Eryan was a Hilathien and knew the area well.

“What does he want from me?” Eryan demanded, struggling to keep up, though he could hardly feel his legs.

“You know what he wants.”

“He has the largest harem in the known world,” Eryan protested. “Why me?”

Grenich shrugged. “Apparently he finds you attractive.”

“I’ll do everything I can to make him despise me!”

“Do as you please, but that strategy will get you well acquainted with his whip.”

“Let him whip me! Perhaps then he won’t find me attractive!”

Grenich turned to look at the boy, shaking his head. “Why on earth are you so obstinate about this? Have you ever seen Varamond?”

“No,” Eryan admitted, frowning. “Though I don’t see what difference that makes.”

Grenich laughed softly. “Let’s see what you have to say after you see him, then.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should consider yourself lucky. Varamond is the most handsome man in all of Arnasia.”

“He shall never be anything but my captor, and therefore, he will never be anything but the most repulsive man in the world.”

Grenich laughed again, this time loudly. “You’re a fool, boy.”

Eryan pouted at this, his eyes flashing. He didn’t care what Grenich or anyone else said. He would never willingly serve Varamond, nor would he ever find him attractive or consider himself lucky to be the fiend’s captive. Varamond was a barbarian; and if Eryan had the chance, he would slit his throat

* ~ * ~ *

“Where have you been?” Varamond demanded. He was sitting at his high seat in the hall of his estate, having just enjoyed a good dinner of pheasant and potatoes.

“My apologies,” Grenich replied, bowing. “But this is why I am delayed.” Grenich pushed Eryan forward and the youth fell to the floor, just breaking his fall with his hands. “The boy had me chasing him over half the country, and he shot and killed my horse, to boot.”

“I depend on you to be efficient,” Varamond replied, sipping wine from a jeweled, golden cup. “I find it disappointing that you were so easily outrun by a mere boy.”

Grenich reddened at this, though he bowed again, this time lower. “I beg your forgiveness, my liege.”

Varamond dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The man stood for a moment and then bowed again, turning and exiting the hall.

Eryan remained on the marble floor, staring down at the cool, aquamarine surface.

“Stand up.”

Eryan ignored this command, deliberately looking away.

“STAND UP!” Varamond threw his cup across the room, its contents spilling onto the floor.

Eryan startled at the sudden noise but continued to deliberately ignore Varamond.

The warlord stood up and took two steps forward, seizing Eryan’s chain and yanking him to his feet. “How DARE you ignore me!” He struck the boy across the face several times.

Finally, his cheek burning red, Eryan met Varamond’s gaze. In any other situation, Eryan would have thought the man breathtaking—his dark hair and pale blue eyes, his sharply defined features, his thin, stern mouth. But all he could think of was that he had finally seen the face of his captor…and he hated him.

Varamond kept one hand tight on the chain at his collar while, with the other, he pulled his head back by the hair. “You will fully submit to me. Is that understood?”

Eryan was not quite brave enough to voice a defiant reply; still, he met Varamond’s icy gaze with a dark stare of his own, his eyes speaking for him.

It had been a long while since Varamond had met someone willing to challenge him. In truth, he had grown a bit bored of the obsequiousness of his captives. He was going to enjoy Eryan, not merely for his body, but for his will; he looked forward to breaking him completely.

“When I’m through with you,” he whispered into the boy’s ear, “you will be passive as a dove.”

“Is that what you feed on? Submission?” Eryan spat, unable, finally, to hold his tongue.

“You shall find out,” Varamond replied, delighted to have won a response from his captive. He had half-expected the boy to continue his silent treatment, at least until Varamond helped loosen his mouth with the raw side of his whip. “Tonight you’ll feel me burning inside you and soon you’ll beg me for it.”

“I’d rather die before I begged you for anything,” Eryan replied.

“Is that so?”

For a moment Eryan felt sure the barbarian king intended to kill him on the spot. His eyes suddenly seemed a shade darker, like the brooding ocean before a late winter storm. The next thing he knew Varamond’s mouth was over his—his hot tongue penetrating, devouring him. In the next moment Eryan was on the cold marble floor of the hall, Varamond on top of him, continuing his insistent kiss. He could feel the man’s knife at his waist, jabbing into his hipbone, the weight of his body pressing him uncomfortably into the floor.

Varamond’s hand slid beneath his tunic, drawing it up, and then tearing his loincloth away. And still the kiss continued, like nothing Eryan had ever experienced before, pulling him down to some dark place he hadn’t known even existed.

Perhaps he struggled; perhaps that was why his wrists were now above his head, pinned to the marble floor. But, in truth, Eryan hardly knew what was happening…until he felt Varamond’s fingers squeeze inside his untried sanctum.

Now he was actively struggling, yet completely unable to resist whatever his captor wanted of him. Varamond spread his legs wide with his thighs, continuing to explore him as he kept his mouth locked in an unending kiss.

When the barbarian finally broke away from his mouth to suckle a nipple, tearing Eryan’s tunic open savagely, the boy began to beg him to stop.

Varamond answered that with a low, chilling laugh. "Begging me already?" he whispered. "I thought you said you would rather die.

"Please stop!"

"You're tight as a temple virgin," Varamond replied, wiggling his fingers inside the boy. "I could take you right now; but it's my prerogative to wait until I can throw you facedown on my bed. I'll violate you tonight, my little Hilathien, until you whimper like a spanked child, until your ass is nearly split in two. Afterwards I'll have another go at you, and you will take me full in the mouth, and pleasure me properly, or I shall be forced to punish you. In fact," now the man unfastened his trouser flap, releasing his immense cock, "you'll pleasure me right now."

"No," Eryan pleaded.

The barbarian held the boy's head and reposititioned himself so that he was straddling him on the floor, his member pressed up to Eryan's lips. "If I feel even the slightest hint of teeth, I shall knock them from your mouth," he hissed.

Eryan opened his mouth to protest and Varamond immediately slid in, ignoring the boy's instinctive retching and forcing him to take his full length.

Now that Eryan's hands were free he pounded against Varamond's arms, pushing desperately.

"Stop resisting me," Varamond warned, frowning and sliding his thumbs inside the boy's mouth and between his teeth.

Suddenly he withdrew and, with a few quick pumps of his hand, ejaculated, his semen shooting onto Eyran's lips.

"Swallow it!" he hissed.

But Eyran turned his head away, wiping his mouth defiantly and spitting as though in disgust.

Varamond grabbed his hair, leaning close to his face. "You shall pay for that," he promised.

JOIN