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The Maker's Will

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The young man was... beautiful. Eldric could admit it, watching as his fellow templars ripped the apprentice robes right off of him, bound his hands behind his back, made him kneel... made him bleed with rough armored hands and a cruel whip that had come from... somewhere.

The mage did not struggle. He leaned into every caress, every slap, opened his mouth sweetly for Eldric's own cock as he was guided forward by that voice that rang strangely inside his mind. He parted the skirts of his armor, unlaced the clothing beneath, and drew himself out. His fellows held the elf's head firmly in place, armored hands tangling with long white-blond hair. The voice encouraged them all; ordered them all; caressed them all with red mist inside their minds.

Eldric teased the mage's outstretched tongue with the very tip of himself, feeling how hot and wet it was, like fire. Like magic. Magic made into flesh, just for them.

Fuck his throat, the voice whispered.

The templar stepped closer, watching vivid blue eyes -- blue like a lyrium potion -- widen as he pushed into sucking, soft, slick heat and straight down into his welcoming throat in a single motion. He pulled back a little, rocked forward... the mage tried to struggle at the deep intrusion, clearly gagging, muscles spasming around Eldric so erotically... but the armored hands on his head made it futile.

Soon enough and he was complacent again, all but melting into place, his tongue fluttering softly against Eldric's cock on every pull back, his soft, pretty lips dragging against him as though to keep him inside.

There were tears in those pretty blue eyes, but no more struggle. Eldric gazed into them from the safety of his helmet as that voice whispered for him to come, and without warning he jerked once, twice, three times in that impossible heat before slowly pulling back, a single drop of his seed escaping the corner of the mage's lips as he obediently swallowed. His mouth opened and his tongue swept out to catch that drop before it could get far, so eager for every speck of seed.

It would be a while before it was his turn again, and so Eldric knelt beside one of his fellows, stripped off his gauntlets and took over his fellow templar's grip on the elven mage's head. His long white-gold hair was so soft in his fingers, and he leaned close to smell it as best as he could through his helmet. He watched as those blue eyes fixed on another concealed face, lips parting, tongue extended for the engorged head of another thick cock, a soft moan from the young man as his mouth was taken again.

And again.

And again.

Eldric was long-since hard again by the time they wrapped a blindfold over the mage's eyes and finally took their helmets off, breathing easier. They unbound his wrists and hauled the young man up onto cramped legs, taking him to their Master, the voice, and draping him on his back across the hooded figure's table. Wantonly, the mage spread and lifted his knees, shivering under fingers that roamed his smooth pale skin. He arched up into each caress, his cock hard and blushing, the table beneath him smearing in blood as his whip-marks reopened with his slow writhing.

He cried out when the cold flat of their Master's knife slid along his hard flesh, the sound crystalline and pure. Desire. Pure desire.

Part of Eldric knew this was wrong, but another part that sounded unlike and exactly like himself whispered that it was right. This mage was theirs by the Maker's will, and the voice told him, then, to touch.

And so the templar did; all of them did; sliding their fingers over smooth pale skin and pretty bruises, some of them gentle and some not. The mage moaned at each pinch, panted like a whore when he was slapped, mewled softly at each delicate cut as their Master slid the tip of his knife into his skin. The more he seemed to want it, the easier it was to ignore that tiny part of himself that felt something was... off about this.

He forgot all about that tiny voice as the voice told him to take the young man's head between his hands -- which he did -- and tilt his head back over the edge of the table -- which he also did -- and slide his hardness into that slick warmth again. Which he did, watching as that upturned throat flexed around him, looking so small and pale and vulnerable...

Stay, said the voice, once he was buried to the hilt. His hands roaming freely over that throat, the mage's chest and shoulders and pointed ears, but otherwise he held completely still. Some long moments later and other hands held the mage down as he began to struggle, muscles spasming around Eldric's flesh until the templar threw his head back and exhaled a soft moan of his own. It was like being stroked, squeezed, and he ran his fingers up and down that convulsing throat. So pretty, so tight.

But he held still. Completely still, rolling one of the elf's nipples between his fingers, pinching sharply, smearing the blood from one cut onto his fingers and tasting them.

The struggling slowed, weakened. The mage was surprisingly strong, taut muscle nearly as defined as a templar's, but he could do nothing with so many strong hands pinning him down.

Pull back, Eldric was told, and so he did, missing that blazing heat immediately, his hands on the mage's head keeping him from moving as he gasped and choked for air around the head of his cock. Even now, the young elf would not bite, and offered teasing brushes with his hot velvet tongue in between desperate bids for air, as though the taste of unseen cock was almost as important as breathing.

"Such an eager little slut," Eldric whispered.

He pushed forward, goaded on by that strange voice in his head. The elf struggled again, his fingers clawing at the empty air, arms and shoulder pinned down by strong hands, most bare, several still encased in cold, hard steel.

Eldric was lost. Made to hold still again, he feathered his fingers up and down the young mage's throat, entranced by its smoothness, wondering if he could feel himself through it. Slowly, he encircled the pale, vulnerable column with his hands. Slowly, he squeezed.

The pulse beneath his finger and around his cock hammered harder and harder yet, frantic, as though struggling to escape the mage's very skin. And yet, for all his struggling to breathe, the boy's legs remained bent and lifted delicately into the air where their Master had placed them, one sharply bent and one half-bent, thighs spread. A tiny, pearly drop of precum formed at the blushing tip of his upraised sex, untouched by any roaming hands thus far. It fell onto his stomach, sliding over the curve of a trembling muscle, pooling in the dip of his belly button.

Surely, this mage was the Maker's own gift. It would be a sin to ignore such beauty.

He let his eyes roam for a moment, taking in the way his fellow templars had parted their own skirts again, each with one hand helping hold the boy down and one hand now wrapped around their own flesh, stroking slowly, eyes fixed on the display. It was prayer. Meditation. Worship of the Maker's own work.

The struggling under Eldric's squeezing hands ceased, the lips around him went slack.

Listening to that voice -- the Maker himself? -- guide him, Eldric stepped back, sliding completely from the mage's hot, slick mouth with a sigh of regret. He gave the side of that unconscious, slackened face a hard slap with his bare hand, shocking the mage back to wakefulness. Another slap, and his fingers twisted in white-gold hair, jerking the mage's head up incrementally, pushing his cock against parted lips while the young man's chest heaved for breath.

That hot velvet tongue immediately guided him back in, and Eldric thrust slowly forward with a soft moan. Back, forward, back, forward, back, out... the elf strained under the hands holding him in place, stretching out his neck and his tongue to lap delicately at Eldric's very tip, tonguing his slit. A slap snapped the boy's head to one side, but he quickly resumed his work, straining with a soft, frustrated noise as he could only reach the tinniest, smallest bit of cock, and even that much involved much blind licking at the air, his blindfold still firmly in place.

So eager.

So right. In suffering there was divinity, in pain there was beauty, and when their Master, surely the hand of the Maker himself, pressed a lit candle of the very same type kept in the chapel into one of Eldric's hands, he knew it was his duty to make the beautiful mage suffer.

He knew the Maker's plans for this beautiful little mage, and he felt deeply honored to be of service in the work put before him. Just as the Golden City had been tarnished and defiled by the evils of mages, so this beautiful mage with his pale skin and his white-gold hair would be tarnished and defiled by the Maker's own warriors. His beauty was the Maker's work, but he had been created to be punished; damaged. Who was Eldric to deny him his very purpose?

The tiny voice that no longer seemed so important cried out in his mind that this was wrong. Eldric could barely hear it through the red mist, and ignored it.

He slapped the mage again, harder, hard enough to split his pretty little lip, and trapped the back of his head down against the side of the desk with his armored thighs, leaning over the young elf. His gaze rested on that upraised hardness with its tiny beads of precum, absolutely untouched this evening, the skin as smooth as silk and probably even softer, so blushed and eager...

Slowly, he tipped the candle. Slowly, the hot wax slid to the edge of the flame-carved cup atop it...

The boy trembled beneath him, as though he knew, despite his blindfold and painful position on the desk, the torture that was about to befall him. Eldric let his cock slide along the outside of that smooth throat, smearing the mage's saliva and his own precum against silky smooth skin, his armored thighs forcing the mage's head to stay tipped sharply back, his bruising throat exposed.

But the templar had eyes only for that blessed candle and holy, molten wax. And slowly... slowly... it dripped free.

The mage cried out, sharp and pure, suddenly struggling in the grip of the templars, several of whom had to grab his legs in order to keep them spread apart. Eldric reached down with his free hand to touch himself, straightening the candle to let it melt more wax, and then lowering it even closer to the tip of that blushing sex, almost touching it, tipping the candle again...

Those cries were in the Maker's glory; there was worship in agony.

Staring intently, Eldric lowered his hand; watched, breathless, as the flame of the candle licked the tip of the boy's flesh, making him shriek in pain and strain all the harder under their hands as the fire curled almost lovingly around his sex. But even as the mage struggled, he begged for more when the candle was set aside, as though to chase further torment... and Eldric smiled.

"P-please," the young mage had such a pretty voice, though it had gone a little hoarse, "again, my Masters, please..." at least the boy was appropriately pious, and knew his place and purpose. His blindfold was damp with tears when Eldric backed up a step to let him lift his head, and he thumbed the damp cloth, thoughtfully.

"Heal your burns," another templar -- Draen -- ordered coldly, gesturing to the others to let go of the mage's arms, "and peel that wax off, you greedy little slut. You will keep nothing from us but our seed, and you will be thankful for it."

...Some of the templars needed less convincing than Eldric. Some, in fact, needed little if any at all, the red mist of control sliding unhindered over their already-existing sadism and disgust. These templars were the sort who spoke with relish of those times they had run an apprentice through in the harrowing chamber. Sometimes they spoke, where their superiors could not hear them, of missing the vitals on the first stab on purpose... or cutting through a neck only part-way in the first strike...

Draen was one of those templars.

The young man seemed to know who it was, too, because he paled a little at that voice, and his fingers shook slightly as he wove his healing magics over his singed flesh.

That was good. The taste of the mage's fear pleased the Maker.

Eldric turned his back on the desk and its panting, trembling occupant and surrounding templars, going to the table at the wall where various instruments had been placed, including the still-bloodied whip from before, and a great deal of restraints. His fingers lingered, caressing, over the whip for a moment before taking up the leather and steel instead.

By the time he returned, the mage had done as told, and was peeling the last of the wax from his freshly-healed cock with still-trembling fingers. He was still impressively hard, his fear not yet affecting his arousal. If anything the healed skin had only flushed darker.

Eldric tossed the assortment of bars, chains, and straps onto the floor, and nodded at Draen. The older templar grinned, and stepped forward, grabbing the mage's head in both gauntlets and bending down to speak directly into one delicately-pointed ear. "I'm in charge of you now, Tannusen," Draen breathed, and the young man actually paled even more, but he held very still in the templar's grasp.

"It's a good thing you're a healer, you stupid slut," Draen continued, "because that stunt with the candle is going to seem mild when I'm done with you... I've watched you," his voice lowered, almost a whisper, "I've watched you for a long time. I know what a defiant little thing you are when you think no one is watching..."

Eldric watched Draen step back, hauling the mage off the desk by his head and letting go so that he hit the floor without any assistance. He gave the boy a kick with an armored boot as the others circled in close, Eldric among them, his gaze transfixed on the quickly-forming bruise on that high, pale cheekbone. "But someone is always watching."

Another templar -- Eldric didn't bother to glance at his face -- reached down and yanked the young man up onto his knees by his hair, his other hand jerking at his exposed cock, harder, faster...

The first spurt of seed landed across the boy's face, just below the blindfold, and the mage -- Tannusen, Draen had called him -- tipped his head back and opened his mouth, blindly catching part of the second thick string to hit his face. Most of it slipped down his jaw and onto his bruised throat, the marks from Eldric's earlier strangulation finally beginning to show against his pale skin.

Eldric didn't realize he'd begun touching himself again until he was gasping and clenching, just about to--

The third shot from another dripped across the blindfold and over one pretty, pointed ear and the sight of it undid Eldric the rest of the way. He jerked, hips thrusting against his own fingers as he came, lowering his aim so that his seed touched the boy's chest, his stomach, his cock...

And they weren't the only ones doing it.

By the time the jerking and gasping and shuddering had abated, Tannusen was liberally streaked in a dozen templar's seed, and Eldric watched as Draen wiped his already-softening tip clean on the boy's blindly-proffered tongue. He'd stripped one gauntlet off to stroke himself, but the other remained on, and he used steel fingertips to scoop thick fluid off the kneeling mage's cheek, making him lick his armored fingers off and then repeating the process.

"You're going to clean all of this up," Draen all but purred, tucking himself back under his skirts with his bare hand, "and the only proper way is for it all to end up inside of you, don't you agree?"

When the young man didn't answer, Draen shoved two of his armored fingers -- smeared in more seed -- deep down into Tannusen's mouth, his other hand grabbing his bruised throat and squeezing. Hard. The mage flinched, but didn't struggle or raise his hands to fend him off, and when those metal fingers came back, thoroughly-cleaned, Draen slapped him.

Hard.

Twice.

Once on the left side of his head, making him snap to the right, and once on the right side, snapping him to the left. Being hit with a steel gauntlet was no small thing, and a trickle of blood slid free from Tannusen's mouth, coming from the inside. He licked his lips, and visibly shuddered.

"I asked you a question," Draen stated.

"Y-yes Master," the young mage gasped, "inside of me one way or another, Master..." another templar who Eldric didn't bother to look up at joined in on the feeding, his bare fingers smearing the mixed cum across Tannusen's bleeding lips, which the boy immediately licked clean, "please..."

"Good," Eldric watched as Draen's smirk widened, and the templar went back to scooping up their leavings and making the boy lick it off. "My balls still feel pretty heavy, little slut," the templar commented as he continued, and several others joined in on scooping and feeding, "you've already swallowed one load from us all, and now you're eating another... it's going to be a long night for you, Tannusen."

The mage only moaned in response, his lips and tongue busy cleaning off multiple fingers.

As soon as his body and face were wiped clean, Draen yanked the damp blindfold off of Tannusen's eyes, wadded it up, and stuffed it into the boy's mouth while he was still blinking hard at the sudden light. "Suck," he ordered. The cloth was wet with seed and tears, and Eldric felt himself slowly begin to harden again at the idea of that hot tongue pushing against the cloth...

Several long moments later, and the cloth was ripped free again, now soaked. Draen grabbed the back of Tannusen's head and shoved him at the floor, where every shot of seed that hadn't hit him had landed. "Clean that up, whore," he growled, "lick it all up. Every drop goes into you, tonight."

Eldric stared, holding his breath as that slick tongue licked at a glistening trail on the stone floor, lapping them up. "Ass in the air while you work," Draen added, twisting the wet blindfold in his hands, "and spread your thighs."

The templar knelt behind the mage, reaching between his thighs with his armored hand and roughly grabbing his clearly painfully-hard flesh, pulling him back. "Close your thighs," came the order, and Eldric watched as this, too, was obeyed, presenting himself to the armored man's whims as his hard flesh remained exposed.

Eldric dropped to his own knees, watching as Draen took hold of that the tense, hairless sac and slowly pulled, until the boy gasped in pain against the floor, still licking traces of their seed from the floor. He wrapped the wet blindfold around his captured prize, winding the cloth until it would prevent any orgasm from the boy, and then binding it around the whole root of his flesh, leaving the still-long ends loose. That Draen had done this to someone before was obvious to Eldric, but it was hard to care enough to wonder about it, right now.

"Oil," Draen snapped, lifting a hand. Someone set a pot of the stuff into his armored palm, and he set it on Tannusen's back. "You'd better not drop that," he growled to the mage, "or you won't get anything lubed at all, do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," the mage whispered, and crawled a half-step forward to reach a thick drop of fluid on the floor. The pot of oil on his lower back didn't even wobble, he was so careful in his movement.

Draen smiled his cruel little smile, and reached up and back, drawing his longsword. All eyes in the room focused on him at the distinct sound, including Tannusen's as he turned his head to look over his shoulder. The templar slapped his bound flesh in response, growling at him to keep cleaning, and the boy turned away with a shudder of fear, the oil pot on his back shifting with the slap.

"I am going to fuck you with this sword," Draen informed him, "and you are going to beg for more as I do it."

"I... y... yes, Master," Tannusen's pretty blue eyes, Eldric could see from where he knelt, were wide with worry at the thought, perhaps not sure which end of the longsword Draen intended to use on him. Eldric absently parted the skirts of his armor again, freeing the erection that was growing steadily again at the sight, red mist in his mind whispering how pure and devout the whole spectacle would be.

"Make him cry," Eldric whispered without even realizing it, "I want to see him cry for us while he begs." A murmur of approval went through the rest of their fellow templars, many of whom were wandering back over to the spectacle, several kneeling beside Eldric to share the view.

"Oh," Draen laughed, "I think that can be arranged..."

The young mage shivered visibly as the flat of the sword slid against his side, down his thigh... ever-so-close to a lover's caress; a mockery of the sort of slow, gentle touch a mage was unlikely to feel very often. Eldric watched as Tannusen's head bowed, his forehead resting on the cleaned floor, his white-gold hair pooling on the dark stone, concealing his expression.

"Pick your head up," someone ordered, "we want to see your face."

Shaking, the elf obeyed. The bruise on his cheekbone was dark and angry, and the circle around his throat from Eldric's strangling almost looked like a collar, now; the marks forming against pale, smooth skin. The sight was enough to make Eldric's fingers circle himself, stroking slowly.

Tannusen met his gaze, and smiled. He suddenly suited his bruises, his slowly-bleeding lip, his position on the floor on his hands and knees with an armored sadist kneeling behind him with a drawn sword... it was as though a lever had been pulled and the mage in front of him was not the same one he had choked unconscious. Or was he? The eager way he'd encouraged Eldric's actions...

Suddenly everything was right; Eldric watched as the boy curved his spine until the pot of oil on his back trembled, nearly falling. It was both incredibly arousing and incredibly disturbing. What sort of sacrifice to the Maker was this creature? Pushed finally to a point of pain and fear where many men would have been sobbing to be released, this elven apprentice's response was opposite. It was as though a mask had been dropped from his face, leaving that faint, jagged little smile with his slowly-bleeding lip, the tip of his velvet tongue dabbing at the cut.

Perhaps the sacrifice had long-since been made.

This was no innocent, pure little thing. Draen was right.

"Please, Master," the young mage purred, lyrium-blue eyes roaming the group of armored templars. A hard slap to his bound flesh made a few of the templars wince, but the mage only lifted his ass a fraction higher in the air, panting just like the whore he'd been called.

"So eager," Draen grunted, twisting two oil-coated fingers into Tannusen's tight little hole. Eldric shifted to the side a little to watch as that ring of muscle clenched around the intrusion. The templar gave a few twists, and then withdrew his fingers, oiling the flared, rounded pommel of his longsword -- much wider than any of their cocks, and much less forgiving -- with his bare hand, sliding his fingers down the hilt.

Even with the oil, that hilt was meant for gripping, not sliding... it was difficult to think of this as anything pleasurable for the elf. And yet, the way he arched back, begging for it with his body... "Are you always so eager, you little slut?" Draen laughed, sharp and cruel, and pushed the narrow tip of steel pommel where his fingers had been.

"Always, Master," the mage crooned, visibly pushing back against the intrusion.

"I know," Draen reached forward with his gauntleted hand and grabbed Tannusen's hair, jerking his head sharply back, pushing the steeply-flared steel against him. "Our Master always makes you forget my face, my voice, my name... but he always lets me remember you," the templar breathed, armored hand twisting in white-gold hair hard enough to make tears well in the young mage's eyes, "so that I can watch you. All the time."

The thick red mist in Eldric's mind wouldn't let him recoil in shock, the surprise feeling... distant, quiet. That this had happened before, that memories were somehow altered... he had a hard time caring, though he somehow knew he should have. He watched Tannusen reach back with both hands, held up by the templar's grip on his hair, spreading himself open for the intrusion and shuddering.

Tannusen tongued his split lip, his gaze sliding to something -- someone? -- over Eldric's head. He smiled again, and Eldric swore he saw him nod, just a little.

"Are you going to fuck me with that sword, ser templar, or just tease me with it all night?" the mage purred, earning himself a hard jerk at his scalp. Eldric wondered if the boy was completely insane, and the soft laugh that came from the mage's bloodied lips sent a chill down his spine.

Draen sneered, and let go of the mage's hair, sending him sprawling onto the floor. It stopped the laughing, even if it didn't stop that odd smile when the boy picked his head up again, pushing up onto his elbows, and then his hands again. Eldric watched in fascination as the other templar looped an armored forearm under Tannusen's hips and hauled his ass back to where he wanted it, pressing the wide, oiled pommel of the longsword against that ring of muscle...

Slowly, the metal pressed in.

That smile finally faltered, now. Eldric felt himself licking his lips, shifting forward to get a better view as that pommel -- wide and unforgiving steel -- slowly forced the mage open, much thicker than the two fingers Draen had twisted into the boy. As wide as at least three fingers, and without an ounce of give to it. But the mage knew this game, and relaxed, and though it was a tight -- so tight -- fit, the pommel slowly slid inwards, the short cone at its tip leading up to the flared bulk and then back down again until that ring of muscle closed behind it, sliding now against the oiled grip of the sword as Draen continued to push it inwards.

When the rounded steel inside made the elf gasp and jerk in place, Draen laughed and paused, tapping on the flat of the blade with his gauntlet, making the mage squirm as the vibration of the metal hit that sweet-spot inside. Draen kept tapping until the young mage was sobbing for air, the promised tears sliding from his eyes at the over-stimulation, unable to climax with his flesh bound, pushed to the point of pain and held there mercilessly.

It was beautiful.

"Even un-bound," their Master purred, stepping around Eldric's side and walking the few steps to Tannusen's upturned face, "you couldn't come, my pet. How long has it been since I last let you have release?"

Eldric was unable to contemplate how that was possible, instead just accepting it as fact. He watched as the robed and cloaked figure bent gracefully to take the elf's chin in hand, forcing his head up at an undoubtedly-painful angle, displaying his collar of bruises. Tears continued to stream down the mage's face, and his gasps were sharp and painful, but his expression was one of adoration as he stared up into that dark hood.

"Three weeks and two days, Master," Tannusen whispered, almost inaudible over the tapping of steel on steel.

"And you touch yourself every night, as I have commanded?" their Master's other hand smoothed back damp hair from the young mage's eyes, almost lovingly. A mockery of gentleness.

"Y-yes, Master!" Tannusen cried out at a particularly hard tap against the sword.

"Good boy," the robed man chuckled, and then snapped his fingers at Draen, "Enough of that, or you'll make him numb. Tie it off."

The long ends of the blindfold were brought up, tied beneath the crossguards of the longsword, tethering the metal to sensitive, straining, delicate flesh. Every tug of the sword would pull at him, and the metal would stay firmly seated within. Their Master gave the boy's face one last caress, and then a hard slap. The sound echoed in the room. "Crawl, my pet," their Master purred, "And someone bring me the whip..."

It would be one long night among countless for Tannusen Surana; just the way their Master preferred it.