In His Arena 1: Slave Eternal (3 page)

As though drawn toward it, Alession leaned forward, his lips parting to take it in—every hard, stiff inch. His hands got there first, wrapping round Lucan’s thick meat, his calloused palms rough against its heavy, veined surface. Lucan moaned, his cock fairly leaping at the touch, droplets of precum spattering to the dirt floor, wasted.

“Now, now.” Alession chuckled darkly. “We can’t have that, can we?” He moved enticingly closer, mouth opening wide.

The barest tip of Lucan’s straining cock pierced Alession’s wet hole, and without warning, he thrust forward, hoping to spear Alession’s mouth. His rod penetrated halfway before the slaver jerked back, the thick member slipping from his lips. A shuddering gasp of disappointment, and Lucan hung, bereft. A smack to his buttocks sharpened his cry and his arousal. He looked down to find Alession’s expression cold.

Severity cut through the lust in Alession’s eyes. “You don’t fuck me, bitch-boy. I am the consul, second only to the Empress herself. I fuck you.” Bending his head, he teased, describing light, tormenting patterns on Lucan’s shaft with tongue and fingers, dancing along its length and then trailing up the sensitive underside. “Beg me.”

“I…won’t.” Lucan’s voice was strong, but his body was weak, racked with arousal.

Alession left off teasing and captured Lucan in a firm hand, bringing him back to full and sudden hardness, stroking him long and lusty.

Lucan’s moans came, throaty and shameless, his voice hoarse. “Please…please.” His begging echoed like the beats of a battle drum in the dim cell. He nearly sobbed as Alession brought his straining shaft once more to those beautiful lips, a warning look in his ice-blue eyes.

Fighting for control, Lucan waited patiently, every fiber of his being burning with need. He writhed at the end of his chains as Alession tongued his cock tip, licking the salty, smutty sweat from the head, prodding the swollen slit. Gripping Lucan’s erection, he slowly began to drive it into his mouth, inch by turgid inch.

Saliva slicked Lucan’s hard cock, Alession’s teeth grazing that shaft, the velvet tongue teasing Lucan’s scrotum. Lucan fought hard to be still, patience drenching him in sweat. Alession was almost there, his mouth nearly filled. Lucan held on as long as he could. His balls tightened. So close… A guttural groan, and he thrust hard.

His shaft burned down Alession’s throat, the pleasure so intense that Lucan nearly blacked out. He fought the chains, blood breaking across his wrists, taunted by the wanton craving to grab the man’s head and force him to deep throat his aching cock until he came, spilling his seed down the slaver’s gullet.

Choked by the thickness of Lucan’s member, Alession pulled back, gasping, his face contorted in pleasure, in pain. He paused to catch his breath and then dared in once more. He placed his lips over the swollen head and waited. With a groan, Lucan shafted him again, shoving his hard cock in deep.

This time, the slaver drove forward, impaling his own mouth on Lucan’s pole. Gasping, he slipped his tongue free and lapped at the root of Lucan’s penis. With strong hands, he cupped Lucan’s balls, squeezing gently before seizing a firm grip on his tight ass.

In one hard stroke, Alession pulled him all the way in.

The chamber echoed with the wet, slurping sounds, and Lucan’s wanton begging. Enraptured, he could not look away from the spectacle of Alession’s sordid fellatio. The consul of all Arena, his mouth stretched over Lucan’s hard cock, fingers digging into his ass cheeks, saliva slicking his lips. Taken by the ecstasy of Alession’s sucking, Lucan lost control for a moment, a jet of hot cum surging into the slaver’s eager mouth. Panting, straining at his chains, he struggled to master himself.

But he could feel his release building up in him, unbridled and wild—a torrent he could not, he dared not, hold back. He wanted to grab Alession’s head, to force himself deeper into that hot, greedy mouth. He lunged in the chains. Screaming hoarsely, he came, his seed spurting down the slaver’s throat. Again and again, he thrust, each time spilling more of his steamy jism.

Choking with the effort of drinking down the sweltering brew, Alession pulled back, sticky cum dripping from his mouth, spattering on his chest. Dizzily, he stood, gripping Lucan’s shoulders to steady himself.

Spent, Lucan hung, sweaty and in disarray, breathing hard from exertion. Alession’s hand was on his chin, lifting his face. Before Lucan could protest, the slaver’s lips captured his own, opening wide, spilling cum into Lucan’s mouth. The taste of his own seed thrilled through him, his body tensing in pleasure as he shared a sticky kiss, sampling the tang of his cum from Alession’s lips.

“Do you like your own taste?” Alession pulled away. “Now you’ll taste me…but not with your mouth.”

The only warning was a tightening of his grip on Lucan’s shoulder. And then the slaver-consul spun him roughly. The rusty chains shrieked as Lucan slammed chest-first against the wall, the wind rushing out of him. Alession’s hand was at the back of Lucan’s neck, holding him against the stone, his lips kissing wet and greedy across his slave’s shoulder, his tongue licking down the muscles of his back to the base of his spine.

Grabbing Lucan’s firm ass, Alession parted his cheeks and delved in with his tongue, rolling his wetness over Lucan’s tight hole, moaning deep into his cleft. Manfully, Lucan struggled, squirming, the hot saliva between his cheeks making him hard again. Alession tongued deeper, flicking over the tight hole, prodding at it, teasing.

Lucan spread his legs, his buttocks tense, his cock straining even as he felt Alession rise behind him. The slaver stepped in, his bare chest rubbing against Lucan’s bare back, his rigid phallus nudging Lucan’s ass.

Moaning, Alession pumped, the fine linen of his tunic the only thing keeping him from plunging in deep. Panting, Lucan yearned back, thrusting his buttocks against the hard shaft. A creak of well-worn leather. Alession was loosening his belt…and then his tunic fell in a puddle between them, his bare thighs against Lucan’s bare ass.

And then his hand was there. It was slick—oil? Cream? Lucan did not care. He moaned as Alession worked his hole, opening him, stretching him, lubing him up. He urged back, rolling his hips, crying out softly when Alession penetrated and retreated, penetrated and retreated.

By the time Alession withdrew his oil-slick fingers, Lucan was begging for release. “Please,” he panted, twisting in his chains. The metal rubbed his wrists raw, but he didn’t care. He pulled, trying to get closer to Alession, trying to rub his ass against the slaver’s stiff cock.

“Ah.” Alession laughed softly. “Now you understand how it will be between us. You will beg. I will decide when you receive your reward.” Taking his own thick member in his hand, Alession prodded Lucan’s sodden hole. Lucan moaned like a whore, nearly sobbing. He strained back, needing, wanting Alession to penetrate him.

He barely felt the kiss of the blade upon his chest.

“And you will be my slave. My slave eternal.” Alession gave a short thrust, and the swollen head of his cock breached Lucan’s tight hole.

Lucan cried out at the sudden penetration, but Alession only waited, angling his hips and the position of his cock as Lucan squirmed at the end of it. Would the slaver simply toy with him, or would he finally shove his way in? Lucan yearned for the deep plunge of Alession’s cock tunneling into him, using him the way he wanted to be used.

“Please.” Lucan hung his head, sweat dripping from his golden hair onto his chest.

Alession pushed farther in, past the tight ring of muscle, Lucan opening up beneath his stiff invasion. “That’s a good boy, take it. Take it all!” The slaver thrust hard, splitting Lucan’s ass with his stiff cock. A breathy scream escaped Lucan as Alession’s hot shaft speared him to the hilt.

Seconds later, the ebon blade pierced his chest.

Lucan’s screams of ecstasy mingled with cries of pain as Alession began to fuck him, to carve into him, cock and blade penetrating his flesh with equal force. Lucan struggled, the chains enslaving his wrists, Alession’s ruthless cock enslaving his body, the spell of the ebon blade enslaving his soul.

Alession’s hands were on Lucan’s hips, pulling him back as he drove forward, fucking him rough and hard, pounding deeper and deeper into his slave’s quivering hole. The sound and slap of the slaver’s balls against Lucan’s ass made his moans rise. He could not help it. He wanted it. Damn the consequences. Damn dark magicks and enslavements.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” he grunted, shoving his ass onto Alession’s ravaging cock. The chains twisted mercilessly, cutting into Lucan’s hands, rattling wildly in time with the bestial rutting and the sounds of guttural groans, sweaty flesh slapping together, Alession’s thighs smacking against Lucan’s hot ass.

Alession’s moans were triumphant in Lucan’s ear. “Take my cock, bitch-boy. Take my blade.”

Dark-red blood slipped from Lucan’s chest as Alession’s ebon blade carved into him. He bucked as Alession shot his first load, spilling himself deep into Lucan’s body. Impaled twice by the slaver, Lucan could only ride him like a bitch, forced against the stone wall with every thrust, pulled back by every twist of the blade, pleasure searing through the agony. Cum trickled down his thighs.

The blade turned, completing its bloody, circular path across Lucan’s left pectoral. Alession slashed once, cutting into the circle as he plunged forcefully into Lucan’s hole.

Lucan moaned, the tip of Alession’s cock nudging his sweet spot deep inside.

With a lusty grunt, Alession tightened his grip on Lucan’s nape, pressing him against the wall, his shaft riding to the root in Lucan’s ass. “I’m so deep. When I come again, you’ll taste it.”

Alession slashed once more, lunging so fiercely he cried out, and trails of glowing black burst up from the bloody pattern. Smoke rose at the searing of Lucan’s skin, and white-hot agony scorched through him, lighting every nerve ending on sudden, jolting fire. Screaming himself breathless, Lucan began to collapse against the wall, but the slaver held him, using him, completing the dark ritual of cock and blade.

Lucan had never felt such pain, such pleasure. He could not keep himself from begging for more, begging for his own ruination. “Take me. By the Doomsayer’s Abyss, use me.”

Alession continued to fuck him, his dick still hard, pumping load after sweltering load into Lucan’s willing ass. The torrid gush deep in his hole, running hot down his thighs, was too much for Lucan to bear. Gritting his teeth, he came hard, his jism spurting against the wall.

Spent, shamed, he leaned his forehead against the stone, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m not your slave.” Though a part of him wanted to be. After all that glorious fucking, dark Doomsayer in UnderRealm, how could he not?

Still, Alession was fucking him, using him. And still, Lucan reveled in it.

Alession’s hands tightened on his shoulders, his cock tunneling impossibly deeper. He shot one more hot, shuddering load deep into Lucan’s ass, a guttural moan turning to a low, ominous laugh. “That is where you’re wrong, Lucan.”

And then the slaver withdrew, leaving Lucan bereft, his soul as fettered as his body. Trickles of hot cum sluiced down Lucan’s thighs. Beads of blood welled from split skin, the arcane pattern carved into his flesh.

“You are mine. My eternal slave.”

* * * *

Alession stepped out of the cell and closed the door quietly, leaving Lucan to writhe in his chains. The dusty catacombs beneath the Ludus Magnii were blissfully quiet. The novices had been kept from the courtyard by their trainers, likely put through their paces at the minor schools scattered amid the houses’ holdings.

Yes, Alession had to admit. Stratos had done his part well.

He spared a moment to adjust his tunic. No need to give the appearance of impropriety. He was the consul to the Empress, after all.

A soft footfall announced the presence of another. Alession gestured sparingly. Instantly, the shadows came at his call, and he beckoned them to part before the figure he knew was approaching. “Stratos,” he called.

“I am here.” The quaestor stepped from the gloom. As always, he was impeccably dressed, and though his robes were not as rich as Alession’s, Stratos wore them proudly, without blemish or wrinkle. His dirty-blond hair was fastidious, his face fresh. But his pristine look was spoiled by his surly expression, the overly arrogant sway of his shoulders, the darkness of vengeance in his eyes.

Alession had long ago learned to recognize such hunger in men—to recognize and exploit it. He did so now. He held the ebon blade out to Stratos, so the man could grasp the hilt. Droplets of blood fell to hiss on the stones.

A willing slave, an easy fuck.

Would Stratos take the bait?

From the skepticism in his eyes, it was evident Stratos did not fail to see the aftereffects of the slavecraft fading away onto stone and sand. He had held a similar blade only three years ago. Alession remembered how Stratos had reveled in controlling that man, a
provocator
gladiator who had risen to the prestigious title of primus palus, the greatest gladiator in all Arena.

Yes, Hektor of House Actaeon had risen, and then Stratos had made him fall.

Alession knew Stratos had exulted in every moment. It was why Alession had chosen Lucan to bait his trap. The boy’s golden hair and eyes, his fair skin, and fresh face. His naïveté. Stratos would not be able to resist breaking him.

The quaestor’s years in the lower levels of the magistracy had done nothing to quell his acquisitive nature. Still, his wariness was evident. “It is done, then?”

“I have been promising you a new plaything.”

“Yes. For three years.” Stratos’s look was shrewd. “Why now?”

“Her Imperial Majesty has seen fit to grant it.” Alession kept his voice light. Stratos loathed any mention of Alession’s involvement with the Empress. “She says the Spectacles have become boring.” It was at least partially true. Just last week, the plebes had rioted when their favorite retiarii fighter had taken the iron at the hands of a lesser man. Glorian of House Priassin had been handsome, even for a retiarii.