Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 18

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Kors remarked regretfully.

“It wasn't my will,” Nik replied. “It’s just tradition.”

“It amazes me that you didn’t cripple and circumcise Arel in the same way in your Limit for the sake of your wild traditions,” said Kors.

Nik looked at handsome Arel:

“He’s a true black, prince of royal blood. It is impossible to distort too much the body given by the forefathers and created in their image.”

“Glory to the forefathers for this law,” Kors remarked with relief.

“Yes, you are too beautiful to want to change something in you. Tall stature, beauty, longevity, black soul…”

“We’re perfect,” Kors agreed with a smile.

Nik fell silent, returning to work, but after a while he laughed again:

“Enough already!”

Kors’ cheeks flushed. Fortunately, Nik didn’t see this, but he continued to catch his thoughts.

“Why are you laughing?” Shouted Kors. “You say that I am bothering you, but you yourself are shaking no worse than me. Now it looks like I will have a crooked tattoo like your slave!”

“Like which slave?”

“Like Claire… Remember, you twisted her lips in red crookedly. Yes, Nik, you are a so-so master.”

“Ah-ah, Claire, ah-ha…”

“Nik, that’s enough!”

“Then stop imagining my cock,” Nik smiled, “you do it very funny, you compare cocks just like the height of each and every one. You see, I’m shorter than you, and my cock is no way smaller…”

“Nik!”

“You miss Lis – that’s with whom you endlessly happily measure your cocks.”

“I don’t measure cocks! All the more so happily!”

“Don’t twitch!” Nik continued to have fun. “Well, should I stick a dildo in you so that you lie calmly and be afraid to move?”

“Do you have a dildo?” Kors asked with some dismay.

“I will order Verniy, he will find,” Nik bent down to Kors and gently kissed him on the tailbone.

“Ah, ah… Nik, stop, I'm starting to want you…” Kors barely kept his composure. “You tickle me with your hair.”

“Sorry,” Nik replied tenderly and stopped distracting Kors and distracted himself.

“I called Parky,” Nik said after a while.

“Why? For him to bring a dildo for me?!” Kors froze.

“No, he will bring some weed. Have you been waiting for a dildo?” Nik laughed, and Arel, who was smoking at that time, laughed too.

“Yes, of course, it was exactly what I was waiting for!” Answered Kors indignantly.

Prince Arel, smiling, handed him a half-smoked cigarette, and Kors immediately took it.

Parky entered their tent, but Kors didn’t change his posture, still continuing to lie on the skin and not at all embarrassed that his captain sees his commander lying with his bare ass up. Nik, meanwhile, continued to tattoo him.

“Commander, can I take Tyutya?” Parky asked.

He squatted down next to Kors, laid the box of weed on his skins, and bared his teeth in a smile, displaying his iron crowns. He was actually very funny, this unclean one.

“Take what?” Not understanding, asked Kors, slightly lifting his head from his folded hands.

“Well, Tyutya, red slave girl,” said Parky.

And Kors laughed: “Parks, don’t speak black! I can’t hear you lisping, it’s very funny!”

“Vitor, don’t shiver! You’re bothering me!” Nik shouted for the umpteenth time.

“What can I do if he makes me laugh!”

“And he is not lisping, Vitor, you just think so,” tried to explain Nik, “he just tries to speak softly. You keep jerking me that I insert everywhere, how are they called… these… consonants. So he just tries not to insert them.”

“And you’re right,” thought Kors, “I just remembered, when I first heard you speak, I also thought that you were lisping, as if you had not even half your teeth.”

“I just tried to pronounce the words softer, to speak your language like you,” said Nik, “and you immediately began to make fun and humiliate me. You asked if my teeth were in place. Do you remember? And then I just recently inserted these beautiful teeth, you couldn’t help but notice that my teeth were all right…”

“Give me my jacket, Parky,” Kors said quickly, trying to ignore Nik and clearly not wanting to continue the conversation with him.

Parky handed Kors his jacket, and Kors, taking out the key from there, handed it to the unclean one:

“Here you go. Valentine will open the cart for you, unfasten her hands and take her, just don’t give her to anyone else. If you want, give Adrian to others, but not Tyutya!”

“Okay, commander. Thank you!” And joyful Parky literally ran out of the tent.

“Tyutya” Kors repeated, shaking his head, and all three laughed again.

There was very little to go to the Fort.

That evening they sat by the fire with the unclean ones. After the capture of the Ore Town, many unclean warriors painted themselves with black and red dyes, thus demonstrating their status as victors. These patterns, combined with their favorite piercings, made their face-muzzles even creepier, but Kors during this time became more or less accustomed to such wild notions of beauty and masculinity.

Kors took off the mask from his Nik, and, not at all caring about how it looked and what the unclean commanders would think, casually fed his son the way he loved, giving him pieces of food from his hands.

After supper, one of the unclean ones began to sing a song, while the others began to sing along with him in the chorus:

I wandered in different countries,

My marmot was with me,

And I was cheerful, and I was happy,

My marmot was with me!

And always mine, and everywhere mine,

My marmot was with me,

And always mine, and everywhere mine,

My marmot was with me.

The unclean ones smiled, revealing impressive fangs, and stared with interest at Kors, who was sitting near the fire and hugging his Nik tightly, kissing him every minute on the top of his head. Kors noticed their looks and smiles, it seemed to him that many literally choked with laughter, barely restraining themselves.

“Hey? Why are you so happy?”

“Just so. Good song, commander,” answered one of the unclean. The fangs on his lower jaw were so long that they protruded from his mouth, making him look like a boar. Others began to grin even harder.

Kors even thought it somehow disrespectful – they seemed to sneer at him. He snorted in displeasure, pushing Nik slightly away from him:

“Pfff, I, apparently, am too noble to experience such unclouded joy from this stupid song of the poor.”

And Nik looked at him with a sly and slightly sly gleam in his eyes, smiling. “Why are you so happy, after all!” Kors couldn’t resist.

They all laughed.

“It’s okay, Vitor,” said Nik and pressed closer to him.

A red slave was sitting by the fire next to Parky. She was without a bag on her head, her dress was torn, and her long auburn slightly curly hair was disheveled. A steel bracelet with a chain was fastened on the wrist of her left hand, and the opposite end of the chain was fastened to the belt at Parky’s belt. But the girl didn’t look as intimidated and hunted as before. Tyutya watched as Parky drank cup after cup of unclean moonshine, and her expression was more displeased than frightened. At some point, seeing that Parky was already drunk thoroughly, but continued to drink, despite the fact that his movements became confused, the girl suddenly pulled the cup out of his hand and angrily threw its contents into the fire. At the same time, in response to Parky’s surprised look, the girl sharply ran the edge of her palm down her throat, clearly making it clear that she was sick of it all. Stunned, Parky froze, and Kors, seeing this slave’s attack, literally choked on wine and laughed sincerely:

“A-ha-ha, Parky, she’s commanding you!”

“Tyutya…” said Parky in complete confusion, “Tyutya, what are you doing?”

But he didn’t look angry and didn’t hit her, although everyone sitting around made fun of him, laughing at him and the wayward slave. The girl, not at all frightened, defiantly turned away from the unclean, and her face was still the same displeased.

“She doesn’t like that you drink so much,” Kors said, “and she’s right, you’ve already had enough. Do you have a wife, Parky?”

“No.”

“Well, now you’ll understand what it’s like to have a wife,” Kors laughed, “everyone knows that the reds have a bad temper, they are aggressive, and now the red Tyutya will show you the heat!”

“No,” Parky protested.

“Yes, Parky, yes,” Kors continued to laugh, “they are completely unpredictable, maybe that’s why men began to restrict them so. All blacks have known this for a long time, and red women are never married. No black man has a red wife. And you have fallen in love, right?”

“I like her.”

“Do you know the story about the red girl named Iridia?”

“No.”

“A guy planned to marry her, but the girl didn’t want to. When her fiancé came, she asked him: :Why do you want to marry me and thereby give me so much grief and sadness?” He replied: “Truly, when I see you, Iridia, I become all like a fiery one!” She asked: “What is it about me that attracts you so much?” And he, as expected, politely replied, (though not what he really thought), he said: “I am seduced by your beautiful eyes!” Hearing such an answer, the girl immediately grabbed the candle from the candlestick and gouged out both of her eyes.”

The unclean ones who listened to the story froze. Seeing that his story had an effect, Kors grinned contentedly.

“Those are the reds, so be careful, Parky.”

Parky turned away. He didn’t drink any more, took out a small piece of wood and a knife from his pocket, and began scraping over the piece of wood with the blade. After a while, he handed the girl a bird carved out of wood. The toy was rude, but the fact that it was a bird could be guessed without a doubt. It had a small beak and a rounded plump body with a small forked tail. Parky handed the bird to the slave, and she took it, squeezed the round bird in her fist and smiled happily. Realizing that Tyutya was no longer angry with him, Parky happily grabbed the girl in his arms and hugged her. So they sat, she – squeezing a wooden bird, and he – squeezing her.

Chapter 7

After a couple of days they returned to Crimson Rock and stopped for a while at the Fort. As before, people settled on the right side of the camp, and the unclean ones near the menagerie, and Zaf was very happy to see that everything was fine with his favorite bear.

Kors, Nik and Arel again occupied their room with the painting on the wall.

The days passed lazily and calmly. Most of the time, the three of them lay on the bed, fucked and slept. Prince Arel drove around the neighborhood on his horse.

Kors watched as his Nik in the arena on the left side of the Fort fought with the unclean ones, participating in their battles. Kors understood that the spirit of the Colosseum warrior was strong in him and didn’t disappear anywhere. Nik didn’t need to work now, he didn’t need to earn money for his living, but he did it anyway: he fought for the amusement of the crowd, just like that, just because he wanted it. And of course, because he did it very well. In minimal ammunition, stripped to the waist, with a shock of white disheveled hair and long bangs falling over his eyes, Nik made precise and powerful blows, defeating rival after rival, some in a matter of minutes, moving closer and closer to the final.