"Why," the words were angry snarls and grunts in his ear, "do you," punctuated with spittle and heated breath, "have to be so," drawn out in such a way that made it almost impossible to understand, "fekking nice?"

Why did he have to be so nice? Funny the things he thought of. It was easier than thinking on his current position. Why did he have to listen? He could have said no. If he'd just said no, he wouldn't be there right then. Wouldn't be twisted and contorted beneath the merry dappling of sunlight as it fell through the fluttering breeze.

It was another perfect day in Eversong. The air was just the right temperature, and the bubbling rush of the nearby waterfall verged on tranquil. The sun was shining, the dragonhawks were fluttering, and the muffled sounds of grunts and squeals against a sopping wet gag were light upon the air. If anyone heard, they weren't coming.

It was strange, this sensation. He could think.. sort of. His thoughts kept breaking, fracturing, splintering off on tangents. It made it easier.

Rocking, creaking, his spine was speaking. Whispering things. Warm and welcome. His ass hurt. It hurt, but it felt good. Felt good to feel good. Why did he have to be so nice? He could have turned down the drink.

But now. Now everything felt good. He could smell blood, but it only made him giggle. Blood. Would the cats come after? Would they sniff the grass and wonder? Silvery hair scattered over his face, mixed with the brilliant red cascade of the man atop him. He wanted to push it away, but his hand was so heavy. Heavy.

Heavy like the smacking of the balls against his ass. He counted them. One, two, rocking thrusts. Again and again. They were coming faster. The elf was speaking into his ear. Distant words. They sounded pretty, even if the words themselves were not. He ignored them, just listen to the tone. Like a song.

A love song. His mouth was so very dry, even with the rag sopping wet. The gag was uncomfortable, but then there were kisses. Kisses were nice. Bites. Ow and ow but shivers and moans. Was that the taste of blood? Ah, swelling from the nibbling earlier. How nice. How nice. Everything was nice.

Tight. The red-head said tight? Tight. Not nice? Perhaps tight was nice. He felt nice. So.. full. His cock poked rudely at his belly. Poke and poke and poke with each rock, each forward swing and slam of sac against his skin. Poke and sticky and wet. Streaking. Pulsing.

Was that the sound of drums? Hammering heartbeat, smacking of skin. His thighs cringed. Bruised. His legs were heavy, and his head was spinning. That was the smacking of skin. Smack and thump of heart and smack again. Grunting squealing oh and oh and oh so warm. Hot. Hotter than it should be.

Couldn't they turn the temperature down? Couldn't they make the breeze just right? He shouldn't have had the water. It was too sweet, and it made him too heavy. Too heavy to -move- the way he wanted to move. His back hurt. His neck ached. Ached so well. Sucking at the gag, biting back the pained pleasure of fucking, he turned his stare to the ecstatic grimace above him. Staring. Watching.

Red. A pretty color. Red hair, red cheeks. Flush skin. The smell of blood. The stranger's eyes were so green, so green. So pretty. Nice, it was all so nice. The pounding came harder, and that was nice too. Hammering in his ears and driving through his bones. And then quite suddenly he came. Came in a rush. Splattering skin, sticky on his ribs. Reeling, hot, and he breathed in spit. Coughed and choked and gagged lightly even as the world seemed to melt away. Dissolved in a rush of everything. Everything all at once. Lovely and nice.

It came back again with another smack of skin. Black burned to daylight. The hissing and cursing and grunting of the figure above him. Pounding. Pounding hard. It hurt. Moreso than before even, tho it still felt so wonderfully good. A moan into the fabric, muffled into the gag as the stranger thrust. Thrust again. Swelled and came and rocked. One, two, three. Wet. Wet and trickling. The sharp smell of cum and the metallic tinge of blood. The sun was burning everything at the edges.

Wet inside. Lovely. Lovely and nice, and back again. Back to sleep as the world grew dark and his body grew heavy. Soft steady breaths and drugged happy dreams as the stranger packed up his trousers and threw on his cap. He twisted a little, turned, when the gag was plied from between his teeth. A sweet keening moan of want. Heavy footsteps hit the grass. Away, away. And that was nice too.

All stories are Copyright to Marcus Avenier. 2008-2010