Chapter 15: bjs
The murky water of the lake lapped against the broken stairs, a rhythmic, sucking sound that filled the silence between the party’s cautious footsteps. The Sunken Tower wasn’t a single structure, but a cluster of them, their upper halves clinging to a rocky islet, their foundations drowned in black, weed-choked water. The air was cold and carried the smell of stagnant water and rotting stone. It was a miserable place, and the pervasive damp seeped into Alex’s bones, a chill that not even the hum in his blood could entirely dispel.
The hum was a constant now. A baseline. The deep, sated peace from the morning after Urka’s use of him had faded by midday, replaced by a sharper, more familiar need. It was no longer a vague craving; it was a specific, directional pull. Towards her. Towards the salt-musk taste that obliterated thought.
Their first time in the ruins was in a collapsed stairwell, a pocket of darkness off the main path where the sound of dripping water masked all else. She’d grabbed his tunic and yanked him into the shadows as the others moved ahead to check a doorway.
“Quick,” she’d grunted, already unlacing her trousers. “Don’t have long.”
He’d dropped to his knees without a word, the stone cold and gritty through the fabric. His mouth was already watering. This time, there was no grand stand-off, no struggle for submission. His body knew the drill. He opened his mouth, and she fed him her half-hard cock, groaning softly as his eager tongue lapped at the tip, coaxing it to full, daunting rigidity.
“Fuck, you’re learning,” she whispered, her hand fisting in his hair. She fucked his mouth with short, brutal strokes, the head of her cock hitting the back of his throat with each thrust. It was utilitarian, a swift taking of relief. He gagged, tears springing to his eyes, but his hands came up to cradle her heavy balls, feeling them draw up tight. He swallowed convulsively when she came, the warm, bitter flood a direct hit to his empty stomach. She pulled out, wiped the tip on his cheek, and was lacing herself up before the last pulse had finished traveling down his throat.
“Good bitch,” she said, and then she was gone, melting back into the gloom of the passage.
Alex stayed on his knees for a moment, panting, strings of cum and saliva connecting his lips to the floor. The need was banked, not extinguished. A temporary fix. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, the taste a brand on his tongue, and stumbled after the party.
The second time was riskier. They were camped in a vaulted chamber on the upper floor of a less-submerged tower. A small fire struggled against the damp. Everyone was tired, on edge. Kaelen was sharp with his commands, his eyes missing nothing. Alex felt those eyes on him as he prepared a simple stew, his movements clumsy.
Urka volunteered for first watch at the chamber’s single, narrow entrance. As the others settled into bedrolls, she caught Alex’s eye and gave a slight jerk of her head towards a deeper archway leading to a pitch-black antechamber.
His heart hammered against his ribs. This was insanity. Kaelen was right there. Tommen was just rolling onto his side. Seraphina’s quiet breathing was already steady and even.
He waited an eternity, until the fire burned low and the rhythmic breathing of sleep filled the room. Then, moving like a ghost, he rose and slipped into the dark archway.
She was a silhouette against the slightly less-black void of a window slit. She didn’t speak. He sank to his knees before her, the familiar position one of both humiliation and desperate comfort. This time, as he took her into his mouth, her hands didn’t stay in his hair. One stayed, guiding his head, but the other dropped, groping at the back of his trousers. Her blunt fingers found the laces, loosened them, and then her warm, calloused palm was on the bare skin of his backside.
He froze, a muffled moan vibrating around her cock.
Her hand kneaded the flesh, a rough, assessing squeeze. “Hmm,” she grunted, continuing to push slowly into his throat. “Feeling softer.” She squeezed again, then delivered a sharp, stinging slap.
The sound was a crack in the silent dark. Pain bloomed, hot and bright, followed by a shocking surge of pleasure that made his trapped clit jump against its cage. He whimpered, his mouth working helplessly on her.
She spanked him again, on the other cheek, her grip on his hair keeping him from pulling away. “Shh. Quiet now. Just taking what’s mine.” She alternated between rough gropes and sharp slaps, each impact sending a jolt through him, making his throat constrict around her in a way that dragged a low groan from her chest. His ass began to burn, the sensation merging with the deep, filling stretch of his mouth. He was a vessel receiving two kinds of possession at once.
When she came, it was with a series of hard, shallow thrusts, her hand still cupping the warm, throbbing flesh of his ass. He drank her down, the addictive tang flooding his senses, mingling with the pain and the dizzying, shameful arousal she’d stoked. She held him there until he’d swallowed every drop, then pulled him to his feet by his hair, turning him to face the wall. She kept his trousers down around his thighs.
“Look at that,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. She ran a hand over the heated skin. “Starting to shape up nice. Getting ripe.” She gave one final, possessive squeeze, then pushed his trousers back up. “Get back to bed. You’re walking funny tomorrow, that’s your problem.”
He did walk funny the next day. A tender, hidden ache accompanied every step, a constant reminder of her claim. The soreness in his jaw was another. But more than that, he was aware of a new, subtle softness, a roundness to his backside that hadn’t been there before. It made his trousers fit differently, clinging in a way that felt obscenely noticeable. He caught Tommen glancing at him once, the knight’s brow furrowed slightly before he looked away, a faint flush on his own cheeks.
He caught Tommen glancing at him once, the knight’s brow furrowed slightly before he looked away, a faint flush on his own cheeks. The observation was a pinprick of reality in the fog, quickly swallowed by the day’s arduous trek and the ever-present, low-grade need simmering in his gut. By the time they made camp in a higher, drier chamber littered with the shards of ancient pottery, Alex was thrumming with a quiet desperation, his skin feeling two sizes too small.
The fire was built, the meager rations passed around. He ate without tasting, his eyes down, hyper-aware of Urka’s presence across the flames. She was telling a loud, crude story about a basilisk hunt, her laughter booming off the stone. He felt each chuckle resonate in his own chest. When the others began to retire, dragging bedrolls into the deeper shadows of the alcoves, a specific, heavy quiet descended.
Urka stretched, the firelight carving the powerful muscles of her arms and torso. “I’ll bank the fire,” she announced to no one in particular. Her eyes found Alex, who was pretending to meticulously repack his healer’s kit. “Healer. A word. About the numbing salve. My shoulder’s acting up.”
It was flimsy. It was all they needed. A final, sleepy goodnight came from the shadows where Kaelen had bedded down, followed by the sound of him rolling over. Alex’s heart beat a frantic tattoo against his ribs. He stood, legs unsteady, and followed Urka as she moved not towards the supplies, but to a recess formed by a fallen pillar and the curved wall, just out of the direct firelight’s glow.
The moment they were shrouded in deep, flickering shadow, her demeanor shifted. The pretense dropped. She leaned back against the cold stone, a silhouette of pure, casual power. Her gaze travelled over him, from his nervous eyes to the way his hands clutched at his own arms.
“Look at you,” she said, her voice a low, amused rumble. “Twitchy. Needy. You’re practically vibrating.” She didn’t touch him. She just looked. “You clearly need it. Don’t you?”
Heat flooded Alex’s face, a betraying blush he knew was visible even in the dim light. “I don’t… it’s not…” The denial was a whisper, automatic and utterly hollow.
“Your mouth says no,” she interrupted, her tone conversational, almost bored. “But your eyes are begging. Your pretty little ass is probably clenched tight, all sore and hungry from last time.” She finally moved, one hand coming up to cup his jaw, her thumb stroking his bottom lip. “It’s okay to need it. Everyone needs something. This is what you need.”
She let that hang in the air, her thumb pressing, inviting his mouth to open. He did, just a fraction, and she slid her thumb inside, resting it on his tongue. The taste of her skin, salt and earth and her, made his knees weak. His pupils dilated, swallowing the amber firelight, his breath coming in soft, shallow puffs through his nose.
“Good boy,” she purred. She withdrew her thumb and unfastened her trousers with her other hand. She didn’t push them down, just freed her cock, which sprang out already thick and full, a dark, formidable shape in the shadows. The sight of it, the faint, musky scent, made a soft, pathetic sound escape Alex’s throat.
“On your knees. And worship it. Like you mean it.”
He sank down, the cold stone a familiar anchor. This time, there was no hurry, no risk of immediate discovery. This was a ritual. He leaned forward, his face hovering inches from her flesh. He could feel the heat radiating from it. He started as she commanded, not by taking it in, but by pressing his lips to the side of the thick shaft in a slow, open-mouthed kiss.
“Use your tongue,” she instructed, her voice thick. “Show it how much you missed it.”
He obeyed, his tongue sliding out to lick a long, slow stripe from the base to the flared head. He swirled it around the crown, collecting the bead of pre-cum that had welled there. The bitter-salt flavor exploded on his tongue, and a full-body shudder of pure need wracked him. He moaned, the sound muffled against her skin.
“That’s it,” she coaxed, one hand settling gently on the back of his head, not forcing, just guiding. “Get it nice and wet for your mouth. Make it shine for me.”
He lavished attention on every inch, licking and kissing, nuzzling into the coarse hair at the base, breathing her deep, primal scent into his lungs. His world narrowed to the texture of her skin, the weight of her on his tongue, the low, approving groans from above. His own arousal was a painful, ignored throb, secondary, irrelevant. This was his purpose now. His pupils were vast, black pools, all awareness focused on the cock before him.
“Okay,” she sighed, as if deeply satisfied. “Now suck. Nice and easy. Just take it in and make it feel good.”
He opened his mouth, and she guided the broad tip past his lips. There was no choking, no struggle. His throat was relaxed, conditioned, accepting. He took her in slowly, inch by thick inch, until his nose was buried in the wiry hair at her base. He held her there, his mouth a warm, wet, welcoming sheath, his tongue massaging the underside.
“Fuck, that’s perfect,” she breathed, her head tilting back against the stone with a soft thud. Her hand rubbed his scalp. “Just like that. You were made for this, you know? Just a perfect, pretty little cocksleeve.” The filthy words washed over him, amplifying his shame and his pleasure into a single, intoxicating cocktail.
Her other hand drifted down, over his shoulder, his back. It slipped under the hem of his tunic, finding the bare skin of his lower back. He flinched at the touch, a muffled sound of surprise escaping around her girth. Her hand, warm and impossibly broad, cupped one full, sensitive cheek of his ass through his trousers, giving it a slow, appreciative squeeze.
“So soft,” she murmured, her hips giving a barely perceptible rock, sliding her cock slowly back and forth in his skilled mouth. “Getting so fucking soft and round. My cum’s doing good work on you.” Her fingers traced the seam of his trousers, pressing against the cleft. He whimpered, his body tensing.
“Relax,” she soothed, her voice a dark melody. “Just gonna feel.” Her fingers found the laces, loosened them with deft, one-handed tugs. The cool air of the ruins whispered over his exposed skin. Then her hand was on him again, skin to skin, her rough palm caressing the full, plump curve. He jolted, a tremor running through him, but his mouth never stopped its slow, worshipful work.
She explored him with a possessive curiosity, kneading the yielding flesh, tracing the rim of his hole with a blunt, calloused fingertip. The touch was shockingly intimate, more invasive than anything that had come before. It wasn’t about punishment, but ownership. “So receptive,” she whispered, almost to herself. Her finger didn’t push in, just pressed, testing the give. His body, traitorously, softened under the pressure, offering no resistance.
The dual sensations unmoored him completely. The slow, deep fullness of his mouth, the utterly vulnerable, probing touch at his rear. He was filled and exposed, used and cherished, all at once. Pleasure coiled tight in his gut, unrelated to his own untouched flesh. He sucked her with a helpless, passive devotion, his big, blown-out eyes staring up at her shadowed face, seeing only her satisfaction.
Her breathing grew ragged. Her hand on his ass gripped harder, pulling his cheeks apart slightly. “Gonna fill you up,” she promised, her voice guttural. “Gonna pump this sweet mouth full and feel this pretty ass jump for it.”
Her hips began to move with more purpose, a steady, deep rhythm that slid her in and out of his welcoming throat. He took it all, a conduit for her pleasure, his own consciousness narrowing to the point of her cockhead in his throat and the press of her finger against his most private star. The world was scent, taste, and profound, degrading penetration.
When her climax hit, it was a slow, rolling eruption. She thrust deep and held, a low, continuous growl rumbling from her chest. The first hot, bitter pulse hit the back of his throat, and he swallowed instinctively. Then another, and another, a seemingly endless torrent that flooded his stomach with heavy warmth. He drank it down, gulping around her, each swallow a reinforcement of his condition. Her finger pressed insistently against his hole as she came, as if marking the destination for next time.
She slowly softened in his mouth, finally slipping out with a wet, soft pop. He remained on his knees, panting, dazed, strings of saliva and her spend glistening on his chin and lips. Her hand remained on his ass for a moment longer, a final, claiming squeeze.
She tucked herself away, fastening her trousers. She looked down at him, a monument of sated ruin in the dark. “Now you’re fed,” she said, her voice back to that casual rumble. She leaned down and wiped his chin with her thumb, then shoved that thumb back into his mouth. “Clean it off. Then go to sleep.”
He suckled her thumb clean, the final taste of her a promise and a sentence. When she left him there, he took a long, shuddering breath. The fire had burned to embers. The camp was silent. He pulled his trousers up over his now-profoundly sensitized, noticeably fuller backside, the fabric feeling foreign against the well-used flesh.
He crawled back to his bedroll, his body humming with a deep, cellular satisfaction. As he lay in the dark, he tentatively reached a hand back, cupping his own ass. The shape was undeniably different. Softer. Rounder. Weird..
The confused tracing of his own new contours was his last conscious thought before the thick, drugged sleep claimed him again. He woke feeling drained yet restless, the familiar itch already threading its way back into his veins by mid-morning. The tower ruins gave way to a labyrinth of submerged canals, forcing them into single file on precarious, slick walkways. The proximity was agony. He was behind Urka, watching the powerful shift of her hips, the way her pack strained against her broad shoulders. Every so often, she’d glance back, her gaze lingering on his mouth, and he’d nearly stumble.
He tried to focus on Kaelen, who was ahead of Urka, negotiating the path with a scout’s caution. His friend’s posture was rigid, his hand never far from his sword hilt. Alex could feel the distance between them crystallizing, hardening into something permanent and brittle. Kaelen’s earlier warnings felt like artifacts from another life.
They camped at dusk in a dry rotunda, its ceiling a jagged aperture showing the first stars. The chamber had multiple alcoves, offering a semblance of privacy. A tension, different from the usual watchful silence, hung in the air. Kaelen volunteered for the first watch at the perimeter entrance, his voice leaving no room for argument. He took his position with his back to the camp, a stoic silhouette against the deepening blue.
Night deepened, wrapping the ruins in a silence broken only by the distant drip of water. Urka rose from her bedroll, stretching with an audible groan of muscle and tendon. She caught Alex’s eye across the dying fire and tilted her head toward the darkest alcove, a deep pocket of shadow detached from where the others slept. It felt deliberate, this choice of location. Exposed, yet hidden.
His pulse stammered, a frantic bird against his ribs. He waited, counting heartbeats, until Seraphina’s breathing regulated into the shallow rhythm of her trance and Tommen’s snores rumbled. He slipped from his blankets, the stone floor cold on his bare feet, and moved like a ghost toward the waiting dark.
She was already leaning against the wall, her form a slab of deeper black. The faint starlight from the hole above caught the wet gleam of her teeth as she grinned. “Took you long enough,” she breathed, her voice a feather that carried unbelievable weight. Her hand shot out, closing around the back of his neck, and pulled him in. Not to her cock, but into a rough, possessive kiss. Her tongue shoved past his lips, claiming his mouth before any other part of him. It tasted of iron and last night’s rations and her. He melted into it, a soft, surrendering sound escaping his throat.
She broke the kiss, her forehead resting against his. “You’re shaking,” she observed, her thumb stroking the frantic pulse in his throat. “All that need, just boiling under the skin. Poor thing.” Her other hand went to her laces. “Let’s fix that.”
He sank to his knees without instruction. The stone here was gritty, biting into his flesh through the thin linen of his trousers. He didn’t care. His world had already narrowed to the space before her. She freed herself, her cock already thick and full. It looked darker in this gloom, a living, demanding obsidian.
“Go on,” she whispered. “You know how to start.”
He did. He leaned forward, nuzzling the heavy heat of her, pressing apologetic kisses along the shaft. He inhaled her, the musky, gamey scent that was now the anchor of his existence. His tongue flicked out, catching the bead of pre-cum at the tip. The flavor, that addictive tang he craved, exploded across his senses. A helpless, hungry whimper broke from him.
“That’s my boy,” she cooed, her hand settling on his head, fingers threading through his hair. Not gripping, just petting. The tenderness was worse than any brutality. “So good for me. Such a pretty mouth.”
He took her then, sliding his lips over the broad crown, working his tongue underneath. He took her deeper, his jaw stretching, his throat opening in a practiced, willing gulp. She sighed, a contented exhalation that vibrated through her and into him. She began a slow, lazy rhythm, not fucking his face, but allowing him to serve her, to show his devotion with each wet, sucking pull.
“You love this, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice a low thrum. “You need this fat orc cock down your throat.”
He couldn’t answer, his mouth occupied, but he moaned around her, a vowel of pure affirmation. His hands came up to cradle her heavy balls, rolling them gently in their sac.
“I know you do. Your body tells me everything.” Her own hand drifted from his hair, down his cheek, tracing the bulge her shape made there. “Look at you. So perfect. Made for this.” Her tone was dripping with a mocking, affectionate sweetness. “Tell me, Alex. Tell me how much you need it.”
He tried to shake his head, a feeble denial, but she pushed deeper, hitching a sob from his lungs.
“Words, sweet boy. Use your words when you can.” She pulled back, just enough to let the head pop from his lips. A string of saliva connected his mouth to her shining tip. “Tell me.”
He gasped, his lips swollen and wet. “I… I need it,” he whispered, the confession scalding him from the inside.
“Need what?”
“Your… cock.” The word was filthy, final.
“Louder.”
“I need your cock,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please.”
“Good.” She fed it back to him, a reward. He sucked gratefully, desperately. After a few deep, wet strokes, she withdrew again, just as suddenly. “Tell me what it does to you. What’s happening right now, down in your pretty little sissy cage?”
Humiliation burned through the pleasure, a flashfire. He couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Her grip in his hair tightened, not painfully, but with absolute authority. “Tell. Me.”
He was panting, tears of shame welling. “I’m… leaking.” The admission was a mortified whisper. “It’s… I’m leaking in my cage. Just from sucking you.”
A rich, dark chuckle escaped her. “Oh, that’s delicious. You’re getting yourself all messy just from having your mouth full.” She pushed back in, fucking his mouth with three slow, deliberate thrusts. “You’re a natural-born cocksucker. Admit that, too.”
He was sobbing around her now, the pleasure and degradation a feedback loop he couldn’t escape. He nodded frantically, his nose buried in her.
“Say it. ‘I’m a natural-born cocksucker.’”
He choked, the words sticking. She held still, a patient, relentless pressure. “I’m… a natural-born cocksucker,” he gagged out, the sentence obliterating the last fragment of the person he used to be.
“For my cock.”
“For your cock!”
Across the rotunda, hidden in a shallow recess where the wall had crumbled, Kaelen watched. His assigned watch was forgotten. He’d seen Alex slip away, a ghost in the night, and a cold suspicion had drawn him to follow, moving with a knight’s trained silence. Now he stood frozen, one hand braced against the cold stone, the other clenched at his side. The scene in the alcove was a pantomime of shadows and whispers, but the words carried. I’m leaking. I’m a natural-born cocksucker. He saw the shape of Urka, the smaller, kneeling form at her feet. He saw the rhythmic movement.
Disgust rose in his throat, hot and acid. This was Alex. His Alex. Begging for it, debasing himself. A furious, protective anger flared. He should storm over there, tear him away, drive his sword through that green bitch’s heart.
But his feet were rooted. The anger curdled, mixed with something else. A prurient, horrifying fascination. The explicit admissions, the raw need in his friend’ Murmured voice... A treacherous heat pooled in his own gut. His hand, still clenched, relaxed. His gaze was locked on the shadow of Urka’s hand petting Alex’s head, on the obscene mechanical rhythm of the act. He felt a stiff, aching fullness in his own trousers. Revulsion and arousal warred, creating a frantic, static buzz in his skull.
He couldn’t intervene. To do so would be to make this real, to shatter the last pretense. And a darker, more selfish part feared breaking the spell, feared seeing the look in Alex’s eyes if he was exposed in this moment. So he stayed. He watched. His unclenched hand moved, fumbling with the laces of his own trousers. He freed himself, his own hard pale flesh a stark contrast to the darkness. He began to stroke, his movements rough with self-loathing. He kept his eyes on them, on Ulza’s possessiveness, on Alex’s total surrender. Each broken confession from Alex’s lips was a turn of the key in Kaelen’s own lock.
In the alcove, Urka’s eyes lifted from the blissful, ruined face in her lap. She looked directly over Alex’s head, through the darkness, and met Kaelen’s stare. A knowing, triumphant smile spread across her face. She held his gaze, her hips continuing their slow roll into Alex’s eager mouth. She was showing off her handiwork.
“He’s perfect, isn’t he?” she said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. She wasn’t speaking to Alex anymore. Her fingers trailed from Alex’s hair to his crimson cheek. “All broken in. Just needs a firm hand. Someone to show him his place.” She pressed down on Alex’s head, taking him deeper, and Alex gagged beautifully, his hands fluttering on her thighs. “You see how pretty he is like this? How he belongs here?”
Kaelen’s breath hitched. She could see him. She knew. The violation was absolute. His stroking hand faltered, then moved faster, spurred by the sheer audacity. He was a participant now, implicated. His climax built, a tight, shameful coil in his belly, synchronizing with the increasing pace of Urka’s hips.
“Gonna fill up this greedy little throat,” Urka growled, her voice thick, her eyes still locked on Kaelen. “Watch him swallow every drop of what I give him.”
Alex, oblivious, whimpered in anticipation, his tongue working frantically.
Urka’s body tightened. Her hand clenched in Alex’s hair, holding him down as she drove forward, a final, deep push. A guttural, satisfied groan tore from her as she came. Kaelen saw Alex’s throat work, saw the desperate, willing swallows. At the same moment, his own orgasm ripped through him, silent and violent. He bit down on his own forearm to muffle the sound, spilling onto the cold stone floor, his body shaking with waves of immense, degrading release.
Urka held Alex there until she was spent, then finally released him. Alex slumped back, gasping, her essence glazing his lips and chin. She tucked herself away, never breaking eye contact with Kaelen. She gave him a slow, deliberate wink.
Then she looked down at Alex, her voice softening back into its false, affectionate croon. “All done, my perfect boy. You did so well.” She used her thumb to wipe more of her spend from his chin and pushed it gently between his lips. “Clean up. Go to sleep.”
Dazed, drowning in satisfaction, Alex obeyed, sucking her thumb clean. He staggered to his feet and shuffled back toward his bedroll, unaware of the other audience, of the hot, sick shame cooling on the stone in the dark recess across the room.
Kaelen sagged against the wall, his breath coming in ragged, silent heaves. He watched Alex curl into his blankets, a picture of sated oblivion. He looked down at the mess on his hand, on the floor. The reality of what he’d just done—what he’d watched, what he’d participated in—crashed down on him. He had not saved his friend. He had consumed his degradation. And a part of him, a part that now felt monstrously large, had reveled in it. He fastened his trousers with trembling hands, the stain on the stone a black blot in the starlight, a secret he would carry, a new and terrible thread binding the three of them together.