Fan Fiction ❯ Thalien ❯ memory ( Chapter 2 )

In the year since Salthessen had fallen, humans had made themselves the masters of the city. The elves who had not been able to escape or bold enough to commit suicide had fallen into a life of slavery underneath their human masters. More often than not, that slavery was of the most sinful kind. The elves were beautiful to their new masters, and more importantly, their unchanging bodies held that beauty intact. Even the cruelest use of their bodies would recover itself in a manner of days.

Thalien ultimately became the property of the commander of the squadron that initially took him prisoner. His name was Velsgav, and as such things went, he was not a bad master. He gave Thalien charge of the gardens around his keep, which let him move about and work productively during the day. Many other captives had been sequestered in harems or brothels, where boredom could eventually drive them insane.

Velsgav was a strong believer in the old idea that slaves were to be held in common, so that his dependents would learn how to treat them properly, and so that his slaves could be reminded of their proper place by anyone. Because of that, Thalien often found himself in the unpleasant position of having to stop and service any human who sought him out. Sometimes he could retreat into the gardens, but when someone truly wanted his company they could still seek him out. Even after a year, the encounters left Thalien deeply uncomfortable. He would have felt shame, had not every other elf in the city been in a similar or worse position.

But what made Thalien most uncomfortable, was that he had come to enjoy some of his encounters. Not just with any human, of course, but he had begun to enjoy his rare encounters with his master. Velsgav did not take him often, but skill in lovemaking seemed to have come to him with age. He was also a startling physical specimen, tall and broad-shouldered and barrel-chested underneath his cloak and armor. There was nothing crude or unpleasant in his lovemaking, but instead a powerful sense of being taken and mastered.

A session of lovemaking from the night before weighed heavily on Thalien's mind as he went about his daily chores in central rose garden. He scowled at the dirt he was turning for a moment; it wasn't even correct to call it lovemaking. Velsgav had never intimated any sort of actual emotional attachment to Thalien, in public or private. Still, the memory of writhing on his master's great bed the night before was powerful.

Velsgav had taken him aside in his usual, silent matter. Some humans liked to fuck their slaves in public places, to make thier ownership clear, but Velsgav would only take Thalien in private. Usually he would place his hand on Thalien's shoulder and then lead him away, silently. Last night he had seemed more intense than usual, less detached and more needy. He had pulled Thalien from the garden, and pushed him back onto the bed before Thalien had even had time to remove his cloak. Instead it splayed about him, falling in rough folds to frame his body.

He could remember the sound of Velsgav's heavy breathing as his thick fingers had worked with the buttons of Thalien's simple peasant shirt, pulling it open and then yanking it down over his shoulders. Thalien had lay still and silent, merely lifting his hips to help Velsgav remove his rough trousers and toss them aside. Velsgav had not seen fit to strip himself, but he never chose to reveal himself to his slave in that fashion. As usual, he merely removed his gloves and loosened his breeches, letting his meaty cock slip free of the fly. His hands were hot and rough against Thalien's pale thighs, and a shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the way Valsgav had parted his legs.

Usually Valsgav was a master who preferred slow, deliberate lovemaking, but last night he had been more ardent. Thalien's rosebud remained tight even after months of being fucked by human males, but had grown elastic enough that he could be penetrated easily. That night, his master had paused only long enough to slick his cock with lubricating oils before sinking himself into Thalien to the hilt. He could remember the hot, searing feeling of fullness that came after such a fast and needy penetration. Something about Valsgav's refusal to engage in foreplay had always aroused him.

Valsgav had then fucked his slave, deeply and slowly, pulling his hips into the air to allow himself to thrust easier and harder. The whole time he stood above Valsgav, his his chest heaving with the rhythm of his breathing. Valsgav's thrusts were expert enough to awaken the center of pleasure that hid deep within the male body, and soon Thalien could not keep himself from moaning and lifting his hips to meet Valsgav on his own. Normally, Thalien tried to remain silent when a human had him, because some would interpret any unfamiliar sound as some sort of elvish insult.

He had not been able to restrain his feelings of ecstacy the night before, though, and the lilting groans that escaped his lips could be mistaken for nothing but. As sweat beaded on his brow, Valsgav had leaned over Thalien's body, bringing their faces close together. His strokes grew faster and less regular, less controlled. Thalien had not felt true pleasure from a sexual encounter since the first night the humans had him, but now he was being driven wild - and by a human. Valsgav had undeniably senses his enjoyment and did something that seemed impossible to Thalien as he remembered the night. Valsgav had reached down with his hand to stroke Thalien's slim, hardening cock. First the strokes were feather-light, hesitant, but as Valsgav's passion intensified he began to take a firmer grip on Thalien's shaft and stroked it in earnest.

Thalien could not remember exactly what happened after that in much detail. He knew that Valsgav begun to stroke his balls had driven him to orgasm, his first orgasm in over a year, and one so deep and satisfying that it had driven Thalien out of his mind. He had shouted things with true lust in his voice - things in the elvish language, the names of his gods, his master's name. Perhaps he had begged for more, even knowing that his master could hardly understand him. He had felt his own hot seed dripping onto his taut stomach over his master's fingers as the feeling of ecstacy began to subside.

His master's reaction had been much the same - or at least that's how Thalien wanted to remember it. He didn't quite trust himself, since of course he'd like to believe that Valsgav had felt the same depth of pleasure that he had. If Valsgav had not... well, that would have meant something too shaming for Thalien to make himself think. No, instead, he wanted to focus on the hot, sweaty feeling of Valsgav's balls and hips slapping against his buttocks, then jerking wildly, then spasming as Valsgav's orgasm shook him. His seed had flowed thick that night, seeping out of Thalien's stretched rosebud to soak his cloak. For a moment after that, their eyes had met, and remembering it forced Thalien to cease his gardening for a moment. It was beginning to arouse him, and he'd be in trouble if anyone noticed it.

The rest of the encounter had been less intense and more troubling. Valsgav had pulled free of his slave's body and lowered himself to the bed, groaning and muttering words Thalien did not understand. Thalien also remained where he lay, dazed and disbelieving. In time he became aware of cool night air blowing against his skin through the window. Valsgav stood, picked up his trousers, and tossed them at him. Obediently, Thalien rose and dressed himself for the walk back to the keep's steam baths. He hadn't been able to wash his clothes, and so they still lay in his tiny room at the back of the garden, still stained and smelling faintly of sex.

Something had driven his master to bed him that night, some need that Thalien could not begin to name or understand. He wondered if something had happened, either personal or political. Thalien was dimly aware that the humans who now controlled Salthessen were beginning to have squabbles among themselves; the elven slaves whispered about it to each other, on the rare occasions they could speak to one another alone.

Thalien picked up his spade again and went back to turning the earth, looking for signs of weeds and soil that was too dry. He was being a fool and he knew it. Why was he, a slave, worrying about his master's well-being? A good elf would have wished all the suffering on the world on Valsgav, and certainly wouldn't have enjoyed his touch so much. Still, to assume he had enjoyed Valsgav because he was a bad elf was too simple. He'd been a bad elf from the beginning, and still never enjoyed himself so. For that matter, Valsgav had never reached out to pleasure him so.

Elvish culture had risen to its heights of power in ancient times because the elves were by nature a curious race, and had long enough lives to satisfy their restless minds. Once again, in Thalien, that curiosity was awakening. He had the sense that something was happening that was affecting his master, and reasonably, he could expect that it would eventually affect him. Perhaps, when the sun began to go down and he could no longer hide in his gardens, he'd venture into the castle's common rooms and try his luck at learning things from the humans or the other slaves again. Little came of it, usually, but this time he was driven by desire instead of shapeless boredom. It would be easier to learn something when he had some idea of what he wished to know.