Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 15

Kors went into the adjoining room, there was a small stone pool. Knowing Kors’ love for cleanliness, Nikto put him in rooms with a beautiful bathroom, and Kors was pleased. Karina had a balcony in her rooms, and he had a pool, and this was more desirable for him, one can do without a balcony and windows, especially in a world where there was not a hint of heaven. He turned on a tap of warm water, took a few bottles from his first aid kit, and poured the contents directly into the water.

He returned for the prince. He was still lying on the bed without moving, his face with his eyes glued to the pillow. But Kors no longer felt his pain. He touched him gently:

“Come on, it won't hurt you to take a medicinal bath either,” he said, and taking Arel by the hand, he carefully lifted him out of bed and led him away. Arel didn’t object, and Kors noted to himself that he followed him quite confidently and calmly. Had he accustomed to being blind?

“Be careful, there is a stone side,” warned Kors, “come down.”

He took him by the braid, holding it. When Arel plunged into the water, leaning his back against the wall in the corner of the pool, Kors put his braid on the slabs near the edge, so that it would not end up in the water, thinking that if Arel got it wet, it would be difficult to dry his hair, and it would take a lot of time.

Kors went down to the pool and, approaching Arel, gently ran his hands over his chest and shoulders. He felt now a light, but pleasant tingling in those places where his body was injured – this was the effect of drugs dissolved in water. The water was warm and soothing. Kors tried to kiss Arel again:

“To hell!” He pulled back and twisted the piercing that was blocking him. All the same, the Demon would surely punish him, and for the fact that he attacked Lis, and for the fact that he smashed his head with a candlestick, Verniy would definitely complain to him, he would tell in paints how Lis was bleeding. So one more, one less. And finally freed from the iron that he hated, Kors with some animal lust dug into Arel’s disfigured lip, taking it completely into his mouth, feeling this cork and stroking it with his tongue. Arel answered him, Kors heard his heavy breathing, and let him go for a moment so that Arel could take a breath of air, his nose plugged with a ring now also excited Kors. He didn't care that Arel was no longer handsome, smeared with black dye, which is why the thin rings in his nostrils and the corners of his lips, which were not so noticeable before, now shone in contrast and were striking. Only now Kors realized how much shit was on the face of unfortunate Arel. Along the edges, in two places, Arel had each eyebrow pierced and small rods were inserted into them. In three places, the nose was pierced, both nostrils and the nasal septum. The corners of the lips and tongue were pierced. There was a tunnel in his cheek, and the gums were visible through the hole. There was a cork in his lower lip. His earlobes were stretched. Kors couldn’t understand how, at the same time, Arel still managed to look good and, until recently, remained beautiful. But it seemed that there was a limit to everything, and that day Lis crossed it, disfiguring Arel completely.

Kors, clinging to his prince with his whole body, with one hand, leading it back, behind Arel's back, took him by the braid, which was still lying on the side and floor slabs. Kors felt that he couldn’t completely grasp it, grip it in his hand, it was so thick. He lowered his other hand down, stroking Arel's cock, the scrotum, lifting it, moving lower, and it was still unusual for him that now Arel had a ring threaded through the head of his penis, and two rings were inserted along the edges of the anus. He stroked them and gently pushed his fingers further and deeper, pressing, feeling the tight walls and some resistance. Arel arched under him, and Kors pulled his braid, forcing him to throw his head back, and biting his lips into his neck, chained in a wide iron collar, kissing just above its edge. It was an incomparable sensation, and Kors pulled out his fingers, clenched his hand into a fist and, putting it against the hole, pressed, pushing inward. He didn’t want to carefully insert his fingers one by one any more, slowly, he wanted to do it immediately.

Arel wheezed, but made no attempt to interfere with Kors, and he realized that he had received what he had long wanted and that had long haunted him in his fantasies. How deep was it possible to go? Kors was still afraid of crippling the prince. He made a few thrusts with his fist inside, experiencing an indescribable sensation, it was even better than his beloved “push hard on dry”. Kors breathed intermittently, choking in orgasm, losing control a little, forcing Arel to grab his shoulders with fingers twisted from tension. Now Arel tried to push him away, but Kors did not let go of him, pulling him out a little, he pushed his fist back sharply, literally hitting his fist several times, realizing how cruel it was, but unable to cope with his nature. He growled like an animal, shuddering from the buzz that covered him, it seemed to him that now he would tear not only Arel, but himself. His cock throbbed in jerks, his heart pounding, popping out of his chest. Breathing heavily, Kors pulled out his fist and looked down, expecting a cloud of blood to swirl in the pool water, but nothing happened. Arel let go of his shoulders, he only breathed noisily, opening his mouth with an absurdly protruding lip forward.

“Damn usual slut,” whispered Kors, even somehow disappointed.

And Arel tried to smile.

“Damn noble slut!” Kors pounced on him, squeezing, hugging, again looking for his mouth and sucking in so that the cork suddenly gave way and jumped out of his lip. Kors froze, recoiling, pulling it out of his mouth. Arel clutched his lip, feeling how it was. And Kors only now heard some vague snatches of his thoughts: “No, no, he will kill me”. Arel was afraid of the Demon, and this was the first time Kors heard it so clearly. Arel was afraid of Nikto, he was afraid of him for a long time and more than Kors, somehow differently, because he knew much more about Nikto.

“Nothing will happen,” Kors quickly tried to calm him down, “I'll put it back. Say something, why are you keeping quiet all the time?”

“Return everything as it was,” Arel whispered, “we can't…”

“I will put it back.”

Kors pulled Arel up:

“Get out!”

They lay down on a soft carpet. Kors leaned on Arel, pressing his erect cock to the perfect dark-skinned torso with smooth silky skin. The prince’s face was a disfigured mask, but the body remained the same. Firm, young, strong body with prominent muscles. Perfect proportions. Kors was amazed at its safety, despite constant use, unlike the face, the prince’s body was not damaged so catastrophically, and the tattoos didn’t spoil it. Kors stroked the thin, light stripes of scars on the hard stomach, he remembered them, and Arel almost died then, stroked a small curved burn on his chest.

“Where does it come from?” Kors asked. “I noticed it a long time ago, and you didn’t have this scar before.”

“I got burned being drunk,” Arel answered.

“How was it to be contrived, Arel?”

“I lit from a fireplace poker.”

Kors tried to grasp his thoughts at this moment, and really “saw” a red-hot, curved tip of a small fireplace poker in the prince’s hand. The vision was very blurry and short-lived. Kors didn’t catch either the pain of the burn or any motives explaining Arel’s act. It looked like he was really drunk.

“You ruined such beautiful skin, what a fool!” Said Kors regretfully, removing his fingers from the burn, moving his hand lower, caressing Arel’s cock, and seeing how pleased the prince was. He rubbed his cock on him and gently stroked, slightly jerking off both heads at once, pressing them as close as possible to each other. He pushed Arel down, guiding and spreading his knees bent, sitting on his face.

Arel understood everything.

“Stronger! Deeper! A-a-a!”

Kors shifted slightly and suddenly thrust his cock right into the gap in Arel’s lip, from the outside and further into his mouth. It seemed to him so exciting that he immediately got an orgasm again, it was only necessary to rub his cock a little in the slit back and forth. He immediately, while the hole was wet and slippery, pushed the plug back in, and it even went in somehow easily. Kors didn’t expect it.

“It seems I stretched this hole for him,” thought Kors, “it looks like the Demon will not kill you, Arel, but me, for everything I have done here”. And he, turning to Arel, said:

“Wash your face and rinse your mouth.”

Arel leaned over to the edge of the pool and, scooping up water with his hands, washed his cum off his lips and chin.

They returned to the room and went to bed. Kors saw that Arel’s cock was erect, but he understood that he couldn’t get relief no matter how he tried, and it was very offensive. Arel experienced pleasant sensations, he answered Kors, but couldn’t come. Burying his face in the pillows, Arel lay on his stomach, pressing his cock to the bed. Kors really felt sorry for him, because he responded to all of Kors’ actions, gave him pleasure, did everything, and Kors wanted to thank him, but didn’t know how. He squeezed Arel’s buttocks with his hands, pushing them apart, inserting his cock again, feeling as from his thrusts Arel only began to rub his cock back and forth in a useless attempt to relieve tension. And Kors suddenly tried to do as he had heard many times, Nikto did – clearly in his thoughts he pronounced as a command:

“I allow you to come!”

So thought Kors, and Arel screamed and trembled under him, choking and swallowing air. Kors recoiled. And Arel, jumping up, also grabbed his still throbbing cock with his hands and involuntarily lifted his face approximately towards Kors, although he couldn’t see him.

“How can it be?” He whispered. “How can you order me?!”

“It turns out that I can,” Kors answered a little dumbfounded, but happily.

Arel shook his head in confusion:

“Your voices are very similar. I noticed this long ago, your voice… it is the same as his, only yours is not crippled. But in his mind he speaks better.”

“His voice is the same as mine,” corrected Kors. “It was inherited by my son, and the Demon uses it. And yes, you're right, his thoughts are not so husky.”

The fact that Arel was in his hands, that Arel heard him and came from him, all this filled Kors with some indescribable pride. Which of us will become a Demon even faster, he thought.

And Arel threw up his head:

“Do you want to become a Demon?” He chuckled.

“Do you continue to hear me?!”

“Yes.”

“You've evolved! And I helped you with this. No, it looks like the Demon won't kill us. What do you know about my Mission?”

“Nothing.”

“Although yes, what can you know, you don’t really hear anything.”

Arel shook his head in understanding.

“Forgive me, prince, I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

“Humiliate?”

“I used to think that my Mission was related to the Upper City. He wants to make Alis the king of the red, and he will make me the king of the black. But now I began to doubt it. Maybe he will make you king? Royal blood flows in your veins, mine doesn’t.”

I don't want to be king.”

“As if someone asks you!”

“He won't make me king. He will take revenge on Leonardo and smash the Black City to hell, just as he smashed the Western Limit of the unclean and the Slave Farm before. Here's what he'll do.”