The toy deep inside of him shifted, pressed hard in that spot as he sat down on his narrow bunk. Tannusen bit back a quiet noise, looking down at his obvious arousal through his robes. No pants meant that the constant stimulation regularly exposed his state to the rest of the tower. He'd been asked about it a few times, snide comments wondering if he should go off by himself for a few minutes and take care of that.
He'd simply smiled and licked his lips. The topic was dropped, but eyes still lingered... eyes always, always lingered.
Even now, as the apprentice mage stripped his robe off and slid under the blanket on his bunk, he could feel the stares boring into him, curious and heated alike. His Master would be pleased that so many of his fellow students had taken notice of their new ritual.
Now, Tannusen did moan, just at the thought of the hooded and robed man. He could never remember his face, but he remembered the rest well enough, the feel of him in his mouth, his throat, his ass. Claiming, owning, controlling. The sweet, sweet touch of a whip...
His hips arched off the bed, untouched cock straining against the blanket. He didn't move to hide its shape, even when he heard shifting in the blankets in neighboring beds, instead he left his hands on the bed and remembered the little pieces he could, his breath coming in shaky little gasps that seemed terribly loud in the dark barracks.
He remembered yesterday, well enough. That's when this new ritual had begun, his trousers forbidden and smooth metal pressed into his ass, meant to remain there for two nights and a day except for necessary functions. He'd been hard through all his lessons today, just as Master had surely intended. If he thought he could get away with it, this would probably be every day. Elven slut, his Master had called him, they'll all know what you really are.
Just the thought of the spectacle he made pleasing his Master made him moan, louder this time, his face flushing with heat. What was embarrassment beside the caress of a whip, the tinniest twinge of approval in that voice? He didn't deserve it, but he strove for it anyway.
Slowly, he slid his right hand over the bed, scraped his short nails over his hip hard enough to leave lines. One by one, he wrapped his fingers and thumb around his aching cock. It was so hot, and so hard, seeming to swell further in his grasp.
Knowing what his Master wanted and not even considering disobedience, Tannusen kicked the blanket off himself, exposing his actions to the dark room. His hips lifted slightly off the bed as he slowly slid his fingers up... pausing to squeeze just under the head... and then back down again with a shaky exhale. Up... the skin was as soft as rose petals, and as warm as a sun-warmed brick, shifting like so over the firm core of flesh so that his breath hitched sharply on the way back down again.
Two whole strokes so far, and he bit his lip. Scraping his left hand over his hip and up his stomach and chest, he released his lip so as to lick his own palm and fingers, even as his right hand slid slowly back up almost of its own volition. It slammed back down, his own action surprising him into a strangled squeak, and he hurried to finish slicking his hand with saliva.
The trade of switching hands was torture, because it meant letting go of himself briefly, swaying in the dark. His cock throbbed strongly enough to hurt as he began to repeat the process with his right hand, wrapping his left around himself and stroking slow and hard while he licked. Without even realizing he was doing it, he slipped two fingers into his mouth and sucked, purring around the digits, trying to imagine what it would be like to suck himself, if he was somehow able to reach. Everyone else loved his mouth, after all. He could remember the cocks in his mouth well enough, just never any faces...
But it was hard to think, and he squeezed the head of his own flesh hard enough to bring flashes of white pain to his eyes, and then stroked. A little faster, now, but with no less pressure, shifting and sliding the skin. Stroke, stroke, his hips shifted on the bed to the rhythm of his hand, and his other dropped from his mouth to clutch at the bed beneath him, leaving him panting in the darkness.
Stroke, stroke. He could see himself, when he lifted his head off the bed to watch. Swollen and dark, on anyone else his state would be followed at any second by orgasm-- on anyone else--
But not Tannusen. He moaned helplessly, letting his head fall back against the mattress again. Filthy fucking thralls didn't come unless their Master willed it, and what his Master willed was quite different.
Torture. He would torture himself forever for his Master's amusement. Master was everything. Master was everything.
Stroke, stroke, he picked his head up again -- he had to count, after all -- and squeezed. A single, pearly drop of precum beaded at his tip, and he smeared it against his shaft with his fingers, resuming the still-slow, hard stroking with trembling fingers. He could feel the thick vein along the underside of his shaft, how it almost seemed too hot to bear.
Another squeeze produced another drop, and he shuddered violently on the bed, clenching around the rounded object in his ass. Two...
He had to lick his hand again before he could coax out a third, tasting himself on it. Then back to stroking, his balls so taut and full he felt like they could burst. The third drop made him beat his head back against the bed, briefly, before raising it to watch for a fourth.
Stoke, stroke, squeeze, stroke... there was the fourth, his cock so sensitive it hurt to keep touching it. But he did, knowing that the more it hurt, the more it pleased Master, and he pumped his hips up into each stroke, straining for that fifth drop, the movement pressing the toy in his ass against his over-stimulated 'spot' with each thrust.
The fifth drop.
Tannusen immediately released himself, hands clutching the bed beside his hips, his entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind. His cock, hard and angry, swayed gently in the air.
It would take quite a while for it to calm enough for him to bear pulling the scratchy blanket back over himself again, and quite a while longer before he could possibly sleep. Especially when every movement seemed to squeeze the object inside of him.
Torture. Penance. Worship. All for Master. He blinked away the silent tears he hadn't realized he'd been shedding, and waited in the dark.