These two installments are rated R.

Name: Quen-ri

Experience: He is nothing if not experienced. His previous master had a
large number of friends to be entertained frequently.

Personality: If treated well he is generally cheerful, and friendly but
respectful. Quen-ri is also talkative. He seems to be younger than some of
the other boys, and is a little concerned that he measure up. Likes having
people fuss over him and tell him how cute he is. Has no conception of
sitting still or kneeling with decorum, preferring instead to sprawl on the
floor or put his feet up on the furniture.

Description: Short light brown hair, big dark brown eyes, 5'8". Adorably
cute.

Clothes: Close-fitting black silk jacket and trousers, decorated with red
tassels and trim. He also has pointy slippers.

Room: An oriental-style room. What furniture there is, is black lacquer
with massive red cushions. The walls are covered with gold foil. Gorgeous
peonies, chrysanthemums, and other flowers fill large vases. Paintings on
the wall depict various scenes of boys cavorting together. There is an
attached garden, with a small stream running around a central island. There
is a bed of sorts on the island, set into the ground.

Quen-ri couldn't sit still. He hopped back and forth on the slick, water
rounded stones that were sunk in the ornamental stream in his garden,
playing an impromptu game that resembled the Old Earth children's game
called hop-scotch. The Toad was dead. He grinned and added words to his
efforts.

"Ding-dong, the Toad is dead! Which old Toad? The gross old Toad!
Ding-dong, the nasty Toad is dead!"

He couldn't believe it. Well, he could. The Toad hadn't been in the best of
health for a long time. An eternally long time. But that hadn't stopped him
from trying. Very rarely could he get it up no matter how hard Quen-ri
coaxed, and when he did, it was pathetic. Three thrusts at the most and it
was over. Though Quen-ri didn't mind in the least. Even though The Toad had
smelled old and was bloated and soft and squishy, he was eminently
preferable to Vulture and Cockroach, whom The Toad had given free access to
his room anytime they chose to visit. Quen-ri wrinkled his nose and
shuddered. Another reason to be grateful that The Toad was dead.

Though he would miss the parade of underlings which The Toad had sent. Each
one had brought a new bit of excitement to the tiny world which he
inhabited. Each one, male and female, had fallen to his charm and added a
bit to his scarce knowledge of the worlds outside of the island. Though
Jules and Ryan had promised to rectify that situation when the Toad died.
He grinned with delight as he thought about The Toad's Sons. Handsome and
young and full of vigor. Nothing like the man who had spawned them. They
had told him that one of them would inherit The Toads Key when the old man
croaked. Then he wouldn't have to bend over for anybody but them. And they
had promised that they would take him out into the world and show him off.
That promise had almost made his trials with Vulture and Cockroach worth
it. Almost.

He realized that he had frozen, balanced on his toes. He clucked to himself
and leapt nimbly to the grassy bank of the island. Well, he wouldn't have
to deal with those two nasties ever again! Jules and Ryan had promised that
to him time and again in fierce whispers when they all lay spent in a
contented tangle of sweat slicked bodies.

Today. One or both of them were coming to claim him today! He danced in
place, laughing. The faint snarl of engines drew his gaze and he shaded his
doe brown eyes with one hand to squint up into the hard blue sky. The
vehicle that circled in a smooth arc was not the sleek Vesper that brought
The Toad or his Sons. Quen-ri shrugged and then his gaze fell on the oval
hollow just big enough for three in the shadows of the two big trees that
grew on the island. He grinned mischievously, then bounced back into his
room and called for the majordomo.

* * * * *

"Commander, we're almost there."

Shamus snapped awake as the soft voice whispered next to his ear, every
sense alert and every muscle tense. It took him much longer than it should
to place his surroundings. He relaxed with a scowl and flashed the
'acknowledged' sign at the cabin camera with his left hand, knowing that
Beatrice would be watching, while he willed the fingers on his right to
flex and curl. He ignored the twinge/tingle of the neural net as it
activated and mentally followed the stinging flow of life that fed through
the metal tracery under the long sleeve of his civies. It formed the brace
that covered his right arm like fine silver lace from fingertips up until
it draped over his shoulder front and back.

Once that was done, he stretched both arms over his head and extended his
legs as the dropship tilted hard to starboard. He looked out the porthole
and focused on the beauty outside instead of the protests of his body
inside. He held his stretch for four counts while his mending flesh stabbed
warning and his half healed ribs groaned, then relaxed and smiled. He
wondered how crazy Beatrice was driving the local ATC as she guided the
dropship in a slow circle around the island that was set like a carved
green gem against aquamarine silk. It was beautiful and Beatrice, knowing
his love for beautiful things, was doing her best to show it off to him.

He turned towards the cabin monitor as the ship leveled out and gave a nod,
letting her know that he appreciated it. The red landing light started its
blink over the cockpit door and then they were down without so much as a
bump. The door to the cockpit slid open as he popped the latch for the
storage locker and unstrapped his duffle.

"Have a good R&R, Commander," Beatrice wished him with a wink as she craned
her head around the side of the pilots chair while the lock cycled. "I'll
be back to get you in two weeks, unless...,"

She left that hanging. The Teams never mentioned the word 're-call' when
going on shore leave.

"I've got my pager. I'll be ready if you need me."

He gave her a thumbs up as he settled his duffle over his left shoulder and
ambled down the short ramp into the humid, warm air of Pennycamp's tropics.
He smiled, bemused, as he stepped down onto a narrow red carpet and
followed it with his gaze until he spied the pair flanking the steps that
led up to massive carved doors. He continued his amble, knowing that his
tired and abused body wasn't up to his usual forceful stride. The warm,
greeting smiles of the beautiful woman and equally handsome man didn't
falter in the slightest when he came up to them.

*Well trained,* he thought with savage amusement. Most people flinched
and/or turned their eyes away the first time they got a good look at his
face.

"Shamus Griffith?" the woman asked.

He nodded and pulled on the slender, unbreakable chain around his neck that
held his ID bar, bringing the transparent piece of slender crystal out for
scanning. The man held up the scanner and nodded at his companion as it
confirmed his identity.

"Welcome to The Palace," they said in unison as the doors swung open.

He waved off the little boy that scurried out of the dark interior behind
the doors and offered to take his bag. Like most of the SO troops,
everything he owned was in that bag and no one but himself or someone he
trusted implicitly would carry it.

"This way please," they both gestured in mirror image toward the steps,
then fell in beside him as he started forwards.

A short trek through a fantasy grotto of a hallway carved from the solid
stone walls of the extinct volcano that cradled the grounds of The Palace
in it's hollow brought them to the front desk. He stood docilely and
relaxed while a subtle security beam scanned him, then his bag, as the desk
attendant took care of the details. That over and done with, the desk
attendant (Shamus couldn't decide if it was male or female) brought a plain
wooden box out from under the desk and opened it with a flourish.

"I'm sorry we don't have more of a choice, Mr. Griffith."

The desk attendant sounded like s/he meant it as Shamus studied the
curiosity nestled in the shiny black fabric that lined the box. The old
fashioned thing was made of a black veined, blue stone that sparkled here
and there with a hint of a silver. It was very beautiful.

"The Turquoise Key is the only one available at the moment. There will be
six more keys available in 24 Standards if you would rather wait?"

Shamus shook his head. With the way the Great Houses and Lesser Clans were
bickering at the moment, he could very well be dead in 24 Standards.
Besides, all he really wanted was a little pampering, a real bed instead of
his narrow berth and a real bath with real water instead of the tiny sonic
shower that came with the cramped confines of his quarters.

"No. This one will be fine," he informed the desk attendant as he carefully
picked up the key, uncertain as to how fragile it was.

It had a warm, slick but at the same time dry feel to it as he ran his left
thumb along the slender shaft. The desk attendant flashed him a relieved
smile and presented him with the contract. He read it over, just to make
sure nothing had been added or deleted to the sample they had sent him on
'StarWasp'. Satisfied, he slid his ID into the slot at the bottom of the
pad and stared at the blinking dot while the pad took his RI. The pad
released his ID with a contented bleep and he tucked it back into his shirt
and closed his right hand carefully around his key as he hefted his duffle
back onto his shoulder.

"I hope you will enjoy yourself, Mr. Griffith," the desk attendant wished
as he fell back into step with his escort.

* * * * *

Shamus stood just inside the carved door where the pair had left him and
took in his surroundings. They were opulent and a bit overwhelming as his
ship bred sensibilities flinched at so much wasted space. He frowned
slightly and scolded himself for that reaction and focused on the flowers
that filled the exquisite ceramic vases that were scattered around the
room. He finally placed the style of the decorations and scant furnishings.
Old Earth Oriental. He crossed to the nearest arrangement and reached out
to touch one velvet soft petal with the un-augmented nerves of his left
fingertips. Real flowers, not holos or fauxs. A delighted smile touched his
mouth as he dropped his face into the pom-pom blossoms and took a deep
breath.

A rush of soft footsteps brought him whirling around and into his battle
stance. He appraised the startled face and body of the boy who skidded to a
stop just past the frame of the large opening that led out into the vibrant
colors of a garden behind him. He stood down as he realized this was no
threat, only the Sweetmeat who came with the room. His smile slipped into a
sardonic quirk as the boy paled and swallowed hard as his wide eyes locked
on his face. As often as Shamus had seen this reaction, expected it, right
now he was tired and it annoyed him. He had paid a lot of money for this
luxury and had expected all of the staff to be as well trained as the pair
who had formed his escort. Then the boy tore his gaze away and focused on
the end of his pointed slippers as he offered a low bow.

"I am Quen-ri...Master?"

What remained of Shamus' left eyebrow lifted to join his deepening scowl at
the hesitation and surprise that filled that last, tentative word. Instinct
and habit took over.

"I want food," he barked at Quen-ri in his 'orders' voice.

The boys head came up and he looked a little panicked. Shamus relented a
bit.

"Choose a sampler," he suggested as his gaze raked around the room again.
"And find me a bed. Where is the bathroom?"

The boy pointed toward a round doorway. Shamus nodded and stalked for it.
"Have it done by the time I come out."

Shamus' momentum carried him well into the bathroom. It was a good thing
for otherwise he would have just stood in the doorway and gawked. This room
was easily four times the size of his own quarters. The color scheme of the
main room had been carried into here and he started a slow circle, taking
in the gleaming gold tiles and high polish of the black marble of the
fixtures. Most of the alcoves that ran up and down the walls were filled
with more vases of flowers, though there was one filled with all sorts of
bottles, another with sponges and brushes. His gaze slid past the large,
well lit mirror, knowing full well what it would reflect. He turned his
back on it and stared at the tub instead.

Tub was an understatement. It was a small pond surrounded by short,
delicate greeneries and artfully placed rocks. Wisps of steam rose off the
still surface. He crouched and dipped his fingers into the water, then,
with effort, straightened back up and went to put his duffle up onto one of
the counters. He opened it and pulled out his robe and placed it in easy
reach of the tub, then shed his clothes, putting them into a neatly folded
stack next to duffle. The black eye-patch that hid the hollow that had once
housed his right eye was tossed to land on the robe as he reminded himself
to ask the Sweetmeat about laundry service as he slid into the wet warmth
with a groan.

* * * * *

Quen-ri chewed on his bottom lip and fought back angry tears as he hurried
to put the confining fitted sheet over the four large pillows that could be
made into a bed. He had already put in the order to the kitchen with a
'rush' tag on it.

*Stupid, stupid, STUPID!!!* he raged at himself, shaken and upset. It was
obvious what had happened. HE had assumed when his three grooms had told
him that his new Master would be arriving today that it would be either
Jules or Ryan. He wondered if The Toad was giggling in whatever place he
had ended up in. Quen-ri hoped it was one of the nastier versions of hell.
He glanced at the doorway to the bathroom and groaned to himself. Why did
his new Master have to be so ugly? Even Vulture, with his skeletal body and
bumpy skin, had at least had a whole face. And Quen-ri had noticed that the
slick, waxy sheen of the scarring had gone down Master's neck and
disappeared under his shirt. He swallowed hard again against another wave
of tears as his imagination created a very hideous picture of the rest of
his new Master.

*It doesn't matter!* he told himself. He was a pleasure slave and it was
his job to make sure that the Master who had paid so much money to have him
was contented. He could do it, had done it. It wouldn't be that bad. He
kept telling himself that over and over.

A soft tap on the door informed him that the food had arrived as he was
smoothing the blanket over the "bed". He took the tray from the man and set
the table, then glanced at the bathroom door once again. Master hadn't said
to inform him when the food arrived, just that it should be ready when he
came out. He stood up and programed in a random selection of music and set
it running as a soft background, then flitted around the room, all nerves.
He ended up flopping back down on one of the cushions around the low table
and fiddled with the silverware and rearranged the small platters. He was
just getting ready to go and make sure that his new Master hadn't drowned
when the man made his appearance.

Quen-ri dropped his gaze once more, still unable to look at his new Masters
face without an inward shudder. Master came to the table, the bold black
and white patterned fabric of his robe fluttering softly as he moved. He
eased himself down stiffly, then set to work uncovering the platters.
Quen-ri forced a smile and started up a one sided conversation as the
Master ate. He took note of what food the Master seemed to like as he
listed the other activities available on the island, describing the things
he liked to do best in more glowing terms, of course. He studied the other
attributes of his new Master at the same time.

He decided that Master was about his same height and probably in his late
second or early third decade. It was hard to tell though, because of the
horrible scars and his short cropped hair that came down into a widows peak
on his forehead was pure white. He could be older. Though what Quen-ri
could see of his exposed arms were strong with muscle and the skin of the
arm and hand that wasn't covered by that silver mesh was firm and
unwrinkled. A young mans skin. He steeled himself as he saw that Master was
finishing and eased over. Master put down his fork and took another drink
of wine. That was his cue. He slid closer as he reached and ran one hand up
Masters thigh. He closed his eyes as the Master put down the wine glass and
leaned forwards to kiss the scar touched lips.

He froze, eyes clenched shut as one of Masters hands closed on the hand on
his thigh and stopped it as the other took a hold of his chin in a hard
grip. The grip softened suddenly.

"Quen-ri, open your eyes and look at me."

His eyes opened against his will at the tone of command in Masters voice
and he quailed under the thundercloud grey of the eye that gazed evenly
back. He closed his own quickly again, with another, involuntary shudder of
revulsion and steeled himself for a slap, if not something worse. This was
NOT the appropriate responses for a pleasure slave. It shouldn't matter. It
didn't matter...and he had better get over it fast. He was working on
steeling himself to look his new Master in the eye without the shudder when
harsh words startled his eyes back open.

"Why do you even offer, when you can't even stand to look at me?"

"I...I..." he sputtered as his eyes slid away from the ruin of the face
before him. "Isn't it what you want?"

"No. Not at this moment, and not from you," amusement colored the soft
answer. "I don't enjoy unwilling partners. Perhaps when you can make that
offer without revulsion radiating off of you, I will consider it."

Quen-ri felt himself blush with embarrassment as his new Master pushed him
gently away. He huddled in on himself as the man stood up.

"Now, go away and do whatever it is you do to amuse yourself. I need to
sleep."

Quen-ri watched his new Masters back as he walked away and heard him
grumble something under his breath as he started to lower himself to the
"bed" without so much as another glance in his direction. He leapt to his
feet and fled out into the garden as tears of embarrassment and anger stung
his eyes.

to be continued...

*WARNING*

This is a yaoi Lemon and contains non-consentual sex. If such things offend
you, do not read it.

Quen-ri stood before the pile of pillows and tried to ready his mind and
body for what was coming. In the privacy of his own thoughts he had named
the Master who sat before him Vulture after the Old Earth bird he had seen
on the library holos. It was an apt description for the spindly, bald man
with an ugly beak of a nose and long thin neck that held a protruding
Adam's apple that bobbed up and down every time this Master swallowed. Of
all of the people that The Toad allowed access to his room, this was the
only one he truly feared.

"Undress," Vulture commanded with a sneer in his high, nasal voice.

Quen-ri obeyed, knowing this part of the game well. Vulture had a routine
he followed. One which always started in this way. It was the little
'variations' in the program that Quen-ri had come to dread. He undid the
three buttons that held his jacket closed, from the bottom to the top, then
striped it off slowly and let it fall off his arms behind him. Vulture's
dark eyes glittered in the hard morning sunlight that flooded in from the
doorway to the garden and his long, bony fingers clenched his folded knees
like talons as Quen-ri ran his hands slowly across the hard muscles of his
stomach and closed on the fastening for his pants. He undid it and with a
little push down, sent the soft fabric sliding over his hips and down into
a pile around his feet.

Vulture's dark red tongue darted out and traced his thin lips, the gold
ball that pierced the end of it flashing with the movement, while he
watched the pants float down, revealing the boy's relaxed sex in it's
thatch of dark curls and then his long, perfectly muscled legs. Quen-ri
stepped out of the mound of fabric and pushed it to the side with his
slipper, making sure the fabric didn't hook onto the pointed turn of the
shoe. For some reason, Vulture liked the way he looked in nothing but those
shoes.

He took another deep breath as Vulture reached for the collar and the gag
from the chest beside the pillows as he uncoiled and stood. He kept his
eyes forward, focused on the blue vase and it's riot of chrysanthemums as
Vulture wandered around him slowly. Quen-ri closed his eyes as the padded
interior of the collar slid around his neck from behind.

"Did you practise while I was gone, Boy?" Vulture hissed into his ear as
his fingers brushed against the skin of his neck while he did the buckle
that held the collar closed tight around his throat.

"Yes, Master," Quen-ri answered softly as he swallowed against the pressure
of the collar.

"Really?"

Vulture chuckled after he asked. It was a sneaky, slippery sound that made
Quen-ri's skin crawl. He resisted the urge to yank his arms away as
Vulture's hands closed on his wrists harshly and pulled them up. Quen-ri
laced his fingers together behind his neck as Vulture secured the straps
attached to the back of the collar to his wrists, pinning them there. The
gag came next, lowered into position over his head. He closed his eyes once
more as he let the formed piece of plastic slide between his teeth and over
his tongue. He bit down on it hard, trying to keep a little slack in it as
it pulled at the sides of his mouth as Vulture tied it down under his hair
behind his head.

Quen-ri watched, tense with trepidation, as Vulture came back around and
reached into the chest again. He barely managed to stifle his moan as
Vulture came up with the longest and thickest of the dildos that were in
it. It was the first time Vulture had chosen it. It was the Toad's toy, an
incredibly lifelike thing of impossible proportions. The Toad used it when
he was in one of his moods, when he couldn't get it up no matter what
Quen-ri did. He would tie Quen-ri's hands to the lowest bar of legs of the
chest of drawers and then shove the thing up him dry and pound him with it
until his contortions and blood and cries for mercy would bring the old man
hard. Then he would thrust into Quen-ri with his pathetic little cock and
come so fast that he hardly even knew he was in him.

Quen-ri let out a small sigh of relief as Vulture pulled out and opened the
oil pot and the smell of orange blossoms rose into the air. At least he
wouldn't have to take it dry. Vulture dipped the toy and then turned his
attentions back to Quen-ri. He traced the cruelly distorted lips of the Boy
with the artificial tip, then ran it down his chin and over the collar to
his chest. It went at an angle across his skin until it touched his right
nipple. Quen-ri jerked, surprised as the thing started to vibrate. He never
knew this toy did that. Vulture teased one of the incredibly sensitive bit
of flesh, then the other, and smiled as Quen-ri's organ started to stir and
lengthen.

"On your knees, Boy," Vulture commanded as he drew his hand, and the toy,
away from Quen-ri's body.

Quen-ri lowered himself carefully as Vulture moved behind him. It was very
hard to do gracefully with one's hands behind one's neck. Vultures hand
touched the backbone between his shoulders, then shoved him forwards onto
the pile of pillows. Quen-ri twitched as he felt the tip of the cold,
artificial thing stroke up and down his crack and clenched up in reflex as
it pressed against his entrance. Then he took a deep breath and relaxed,
trying his best to open to the thing that was being forced into him.
Vulture twisted it back and forth as he pushed relentlessly, working it
through the ring of muscle that didn't want to give it egress. A soft groan
escaped Quen-ri's throat as his entrance turned into a burning ache as the
flared tip of the toy continued to twist it's way into him. Then, with a
stab of pain that danced along his spine, it was in.

He pressed his face into the pillows, his body trembling with tension as
the pain combined with the feeling of being
opened...stretched...filled...as Vulture forced the toy in inch by low
inch. Finally, it was all the way in.

"Sit up and make sure you keep it in."

Quen-ri pushed himself up, slow and careful, feeling like any sudden or
abrupt movement would split him open as he settled on his heels, his
interior throbbing around the fake cock that was so deep in him, that
stretched him so wide. As he drew in cautious breaths he became aware of
the pulse of the vibrator and he shuddered. It felt incredibly ...good. He
closed his eyes in despair, knowing that he had already lost the game that
Vulture forced him to play as his penis went from its tentative, semi-rigid
state to full erection in two heartbeats.

Vulture clucked softly and shook his head as he set the timer on his
chrono.

"Seems like you're going to need all the help you can get, Boy!"

Quen-ri watched through barely opened eyes as Vulture settled cross-legged
on the pillows in front of him once more. He bit down hard on the gag to
stifle his groan as Vulture wrapped a black silk ribbon around the base of
his erection three times and then pulled the binding tight and tied it in
an intricate knot. He closed his eye once more and tried to will the
sensations that were coursing through his body to fade.

The man that Quen-ri called Vulture poured himself another glass of wine
and put the bottle back into the ice bucket next to the toy chest and
smiled at the thin frozen fruit treats waiting. He knew The Boy would never
make it past the fifteen unit time frame he had set. Though his endurance
was getting better and better. He glanced at his chrono. Seven units
already! He turned his attention back to the Boy and his pierced tongue
danced along his bottom lip once more. Such a beautiful sight! The Boys
body was taunt with tension, all of his muscles trembling and gleamingly
defined with sweat as his chest heaved as he gulped air. He was chewing on
the bit in his mouth, making little, sweet noises of denied need. His
nipples were hard and out-thrust as the Boy arched his back in his vain
effort of trying to keep the orgasm at bay. It was very hard for Vulture
not to reach out and tweak one as the Boy's hips moved in little twisting,
squirming thrusts in response to the dildo buried deep in his ass, making
his beautiful, bound penis dance in the air. It was a furious shade of red
as it bobbed and twitched with fluid leaking slowly from the tip.

Vulture knew that the release was close. So did Quen-ri. Vulture smiled
ferally, his own sex hard and pulsing against his pants, as Quen-ri shook
his head from side to side, tears sliding from his clenched eyelids.
Quen-ri took one more huge, ragged breath, then became rock still as he
fought his orgasm to the very end. Vulture loved to watch this little
Sweatmeat cum and almost lost it himself as the Boy's penis turned an even
darker shade of red, then shuddered and pulsed as it erupted, spewing its
load onto Quen-ri's stomach and chest as he gave a little muffled scream of
denial and pleasure.

Vulture clucked in mock dismay as Quen-ri slumped in relief, his eyes
glassy and unfocused for the moment as he panted. Vulture pulled Quen-ri
forward across his lap. Quen-ri jerked and gave a choked sob as Vulture's
pulled the toy out of him in one smooth, fast motion, leaving him feeling
strange and empty. Vulture pushed Quen-ri back up to his kneeling position
and then leered at the Boy.

"Eight and a half units. You still have a long way to go, Boy. You
disappoint me."

Vulture reached for one of the thin sticks that held the frozen desserts
and ran his tongue along it in a suggestive motion.

"What should we do to punish you for that?" Vulture asked between licks as
Quen-ri blinked at him, trying to figure out what he was up to.

Vulture reached out and swept the side of the ice bar across his skin,
making him gasp and suck his stomach in as it collected the thickening
strands of his semen. Vulture licked the fluid off of it, then went after
the rest. Quen-ri now had a pretty good idea of what Vulture was up to, but
it was still a shock when Vulture leaned forwards, one hand flicking around
his waist to hold him still as his mouth lunged for Quen-ri's chest.

Quen-ri's eyes widened and he gave a little squeal of surprise and
discomfort and tried to arch away as the chilled ball that pierced
Vulture's tongue dug into the little upthrust of flesh. The squeal turned
into a scream as Vulture pressed the ice bar into the other nipple as he
bit into the flesh around the one under his mouth. Vulture rubbed the ice
against his right nipple as he beat against the other with the ball in his
tongue. It was agony and Quen-ri's body reacted in instinct, just like
Vulture wanted. He twisted in Vulture's arms, trying to get those two
little bits of himself away from Vulture.

Vulture moved, rising as he half dragged/half threw Quen-ri over the pile
of pillows so they were under his stomach, keeping his rear up in the air.
Vulture put his left foot onto Quen-ri's neck, over his interlaced fingers
and pushed his face and chest down onto the carpet. Quen-ri squirmed and
sobbed, knowing what was coming, as the ice bar traced the length of his
spine. The sensation disappeared for a moment, then he screamed and tried
to wiggle forwards, but was pinned under Vultures foot as ice touched his
opening, then was shoved inside him. He started to beg as he bucked, trying
to push the frozen torment out of his body, even though his words were
nothing but grunts and moans around the gag as searing pain ran through
him, radiating from the chilling sheath of his rectum.

"Now, this Boy needs a good whipping."

Quen-ri didn't register the warning words and the sting of the belt across
his ass checks startled another scream out of him. Quen-ri writhed and
sobbed under Vulture's foot as the belt smacked against him again and
again, making the skin of his back and rear throb and burn as much as the
melting ice inside him froze and numbed. He was hanging on the edge of
consciousness, the melted fruit juice a cold trickle that ran over his
balls, when the belt finally stopped. The pressure from Vulture's foot was
lifted since it wasn't needed anymore. Quen-ri barely had the strength to
move and Vulture knew it. Something was drawn out of him, then The
Vulture's hands gripped his ass checks and spread them apart. Quen-ri
shuddered and made a feeble attempt to move forwards and away from the
tongue and the slick, warm metal ball embedded in it.

The tongue only followed, the ball flicking against, then running around,
the tightly closed opening. It lapped against the tender skin below his
hole, licking up the juices. The sensations danced along his spine,
fluttered through his limbs and he went totally hard against his will as
Vultures tongue went back to play around his hole. He moaned as it stabbed,
trying to force its way into his abused interior. It left him alone for a
moment, then he felt the heat of Vultures tip. All he could do was cry and
moan as Vulture shoved into him, his hands digging into his hips as Vulture
pounded into him with controlled movements, warming his frozen insides with
painful friction. Quen-ri's penis was pressed down and being rubbed against
the smooth fabric of the pillow under him with each thrust. The sensation
was added to by his nipples being scraped against the rough texture of the
carpet. It was too much. He lost consciousness as the waves of pleasure
rolled through him once more.

Vulture smiled as Quen-ri went totally limp under him. It had been a long
time since he'd been able to find something that would torture The Boy
enough to make him pass out. It was the last little thing he needed to send
him over the edge. Finished, he pulled out of the Boy's wonderfully chilled
and tightened rear and reminded himself to do this again as he gathered the
trickle of blood and sticky juice that leaked out of the Boy onto his
fingers and licked them clean.

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