Fan Fiction ❯ Lucifer's Paridise ❯ Empty ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Mushira 
Averill needs to get away for a while...only to return empty as always
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 03.21.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 219 | Status: Completed
Averill needs to get away for a while...only to return empty as always
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 03.21.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 219 | Status: Completed
Chapter Warnings: Masturbation, angst
Averill tossed his hand bag into the corner chair and collapsed onto the bed. He felt exhausted but restless. He was still hard from his master's touches. So he quietly stood, and removed his crop jacket, his corset and his skirt and folded them neatly over the chair.
Averill stared at himself in the wall mirror, clothed only in his provocative undergarments. He was by no means tall young man, his head barley brimming 5'4. His hair was honey blond and cut in a short page boy style so that it framed his delicate porcelain face perfectly. His Face was small and round, his cheeks and full lips we rosy pink. His eyes were deep and long lashed, glittering a pale shade of sapphire. His small body was exceptionally proportioned, the prefect integration of male and female His thin shoulders tapered to well toned arms. His small girlish breasts were light and perky, both his nipples pierced with silver rings. His right breast boasted a rose vine tattoo. The beautiful design began just below his collar bone and looped three times around the mound of flesh, coming to bloom across his pale pink nipple. The boy's abs, thighs, and calves were gracefully muscular. He stared a moment longer to study his attire. A cream colored garter belt and lace thigh highs that matched precisely with the blue satin tanga that coved his most intimate parts. A pair of metallic baby blue pumps toped it all off.
Averill turned, and crawled into his large bed. He lie back against the thick feather pillows and let his hands roam over his half naked body. His knee's bent, his legs spread; he felt the air against that most secret part of himself. The young Frenchman closed his eyes, and liked his lips, ghosting his hands over his breast, his abs, his hips, and lower still. Unlacing both sides of his tanga, he threw it to the floor. He loved the feeling as his body breathed, his erect sex becoming even harder. He ran a long blue finger nail from tip to base, unable to hold back a moan of pleasure. He wrapped his long fingers around himself and began pump his swollen cock in his right hand. He lifted his hips and, sliding his left hand beneath him, and began to probe his anus. He loved the feeling of being inside himself. He thrust down hard, feeling his fingers go deep into his body.
Gasps and moans filled the room. Averill's hand left his cock just long enough to play with his nipples, leaving his finger to thrust inside him. He loped his finger into the rings on his nipples and tugged lightly. God it felt so good! He could feel the pressure in his lower body building. Pre-cum welled at the swollen head of his member. Averill scissored the three digits inside his opening, crying out as he brushed the place of pleasure deep within. Gasping he withdrew his fingers from his orifice. He reached over to the bedside table and removed a box from the top drawer. Flipping open the boxes clasps, the young man drew out an enormous dildo, and promptly shoved it into his ass. God he was close, he was so fucking close! Using one hand to ram the dildo into his ass and the other to stimulate his cock, Averill came hot and sticky in his hand.
He lay for a long moment, breathing hard and trying to gather his senses as he pulled out the dildo.
“How can something that feels so good leave you feeling so empty afterward?” he whispered to himself.
It was true. Averill's body was seething with pleasure, his fingers making little circles in the cum on his belly. However, he felt empty inside, not physically but emotionally. He always felt this way but it was worse after masturbation or, particularly, sex. That empty feeling like something was missing. The love he received from Harlot would numb but never cease the unseen pain. After all, they weren't lovers. The slept together sometimes because, Averill supposed, it eased the pain to fuck with someone who actually gave a shit about you; even if the connection was not romantic.
Regaining his composer, Averill slide of the bed and removed the rest of his soiled clothes, throwing them in hamper. He stepped in to the master bath that conjoined his and Harlot's rooms, washing the sticky substance from his belly, hips and, inner thighs. He slipped on only a pair of satin pajama parts and prepared for bed. As Averill turned off the lights and snuggled into the satin sheets and warm down comforter, he began to weep silently. He didn't make a sound or try to hold the tears back. He didn't even wipe them away. The young Frenchman lay there on his side, letting all his misery and pain and self hatred pour out of his heart and onto his pillow. Finally he fell into fitful sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
`God, that boy and his damn pride,' harlot thought as ascended the steps to his private room.
His sixth sense told him that Averill wasn't as `alright' as he claimed. But harlot didn't press the matter. Averill would tell his friend when he was ready. Harlot could wait till then. He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he and Averill had meet. The poor boy, barley thirteen, had been standing, teary-eyed and half naked, in the middle of Gasper's office. The young French boy had been shivering, he recalled with his arms pulled close; trying to cover his girlish breasts. Harlot couldn't forget the first time he'd looked into those pale, brilliantly blue eyes. They had been filled with fear, practically begging harlot to help him, to take him away. Harlot had loved the boy every since. He held Averill when he wept, cared for him when he was ill. He would give his life for that boy. And most importantly, Averill knew this and returned the brotherly affection. Averill had given to Harlot what he thought he would never have again… someone to love.
Harlot turned the brass knob and opened the door to his private room. All of Gasper's whores had private rooms, except the dominatrix's, who shared the dungeon. Here the reached the pleasure on who ever could pay there price. Each room was finely furnished, but for those who entered it held something more primeval than first assumed. Each of Gasper's whores had there own special style, form completely submissive to completely dominate, voyeurs and exhibitionists, something for every man and women. Harlot, like many others, had a lot of one timers and only a few well paying regulars who enjoyed his play.
As the tall Italian man entered the room he found Gasper and a large, muscular, young black man. Harlot smiled at the new client and closed the door behind him.
Averill tossed his hand bag into the corner chair and collapsed onto the bed. He felt exhausted but restless. He was still hard from his master's touches. So he quietly stood, and removed his crop jacket, his corset and his skirt and folded them neatly over the chair.
Averill stared at himself in the wall mirror, clothed only in his provocative undergarments. He was by no means tall young man, his head barley brimming 5'4. His hair was honey blond and cut in a short page boy style so that it framed his delicate porcelain face perfectly. His Face was small and round, his cheeks and full lips we rosy pink. His eyes were deep and long lashed, glittering a pale shade of sapphire. His small body was exceptionally proportioned, the prefect integration of male and female His thin shoulders tapered to well toned arms. His small girlish breasts were light and perky, both his nipples pierced with silver rings. His right breast boasted a rose vine tattoo. The beautiful design began just below his collar bone and looped three times around the mound of flesh, coming to bloom across his pale pink nipple. The boy's abs, thighs, and calves were gracefully muscular. He stared a moment longer to study his attire. A cream colored garter belt and lace thigh highs that matched precisely with the blue satin tanga that coved his most intimate parts. A pair of metallic baby blue pumps toped it all off.
Averill turned, and crawled into his large bed. He lie back against the thick feather pillows and let his hands roam over his half naked body. His knee's bent, his legs spread; he felt the air against that most secret part of himself. The young Frenchman closed his eyes, and liked his lips, ghosting his hands over his breast, his abs, his hips, and lower still. Unlacing both sides of his tanga, he threw it to the floor. He loved the feeling as his body breathed, his erect sex becoming even harder. He ran a long blue finger nail from tip to base, unable to hold back a moan of pleasure. He wrapped his long fingers around himself and began pump his swollen cock in his right hand. He lifted his hips and, sliding his left hand beneath him, and began to probe his anus. He loved the feeling of being inside himself. He thrust down hard, feeling his fingers go deep into his body.
Gasps and moans filled the room. Averill's hand left his cock just long enough to play with his nipples, leaving his finger to thrust inside him. He loped his finger into the rings on his nipples and tugged lightly. God it felt so good! He could feel the pressure in his lower body building. Pre-cum welled at the swollen head of his member. Averill scissored the three digits inside his opening, crying out as he brushed the place of pleasure deep within. Gasping he withdrew his fingers from his orifice. He reached over to the bedside table and removed a box from the top drawer. Flipping open the boxes clasps, the young man drew out an enormous dildo, and promptly shoved it into his ass. God he was close, he was so fucking close! Using one hand to ram the dildo into his ass and the other to stimulate his cock, Averill came hot and sticky in his hand.
He lay for a long moment, breathing hard and trying to gather his senses as he pulled out the dildo.
“How can something that feels so good leave you feeling so empty afterward?” he whispered to himself.
It was true. Averill's body was seething with pleasure, his fingers making little circles in the cum on his belly. However, he felt empty inside, not physically but emotionally. He always felt this way but it was worse after masturbation or, particularly, sex. That empty feeling like something was missing. The love he received from Harlot would numb but never cease the unseen pain. After all, they weren't lovers. The slept together sometimes because, Averill supposed, it eased the pain to fuck with someone who actually gave a shit about you; even if the connection was not romantic.
Regaining his composer, Averill slide of the bed and removed the rest of his soiled clothes, throwing them in hamper. He stepped in to the master bath that conjoined his and Harlot's rooms, washing the sticky substance from his belly, hips and, inner thighs. He slipped on only a pair of satin pajama parts and prepared for bed. As Averill turned off the lights and snuggled into the satin sheets and warm down comforter, he began to weep silently. He didn't make a sound or try to hold the tears back. He didn't even wipe them away. The young Frenchman lay there on his side, letting all his misery and pain and self hatred pour out of his heart and onto his pillow. Finally he fell into fitful sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
`God, that boy and his damn pride,' harlot thought as ascended the steps to his private room.
His sixth sense told him that Averill wasn't as `alright' as he claimed. But harlot didn't press the matter. Averill would tell his friend when he was ready. Harlot could wait till then. He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he and Averill had meet. The poor boy, barley thirteen, had been standing, teary-eyed and half naked, in the middle of Gasper's office. The young French boy had been shivering, he recalled with his arms pulled close; trying to cover his girlish breasts. Harlot couldn't forget the first time he'd looked into those pale, brilliantly blue eyes. They had been filled with fear, practically begging harlot to help him, to take him away. Harlot had loved the boy every since. He held Averill when he wept, cared for him when he was ill. He would give his life for that boy. And most importantly, Averill knew this and returned the brotherly affection. Averill had given to Harlot what he thought he would never have again… someone to love.
Harlot turned the brass knob and opened the door to his private room. All of Gasper's whores had private rooms, except the dominatrix's, who shared the dungeon. Here the reached the pleasure on who ever could pay there price. Each room was finely furnished, but for those who entered it held something more primeval than first assumed. Each of Gasper's whores had there own special style, form completely submissive to completely dominate, voyeurs and exhibitionists, something for every man and women. Harlot, like many others, had a lot of one timers and only a few well paying regulars who enjoyed his play.
As the tall Italian man entered the room he found Gasper and a large, muscular, young black man. Harlot smiled at the new client and closed the door behind him.