For a Song Pt. 03

I kiss down his shaft, trailing his veins long and slow, I like his size, good enough for a bit of a stretch, bit of a pull, bit of everything really, without going into either extreme. His sack hangs tight and heavy and taught, shivering with the rest of him in anticipation. My hair falls down my shoulders as he rakes his nails and seeks reprieve. He is pushing me away while his legs move over my shoulders, pulling me in. Such a terrible bit of communication we have here. Mixed messages. I just pick the one I want to hear.

I take his sack in mouth, moving my lips and tongue over him. He shivers again. He twitches. He is making so many more noises for me. New ones, ones that I don't think he's ever made. I am the only one who's ever heard them. I sit before a virgin choir, slowly dragging it down into new ranges beyond the simple chaste hymns. We are delving down together in something much darker, much more sinful.

His thighs twitch on my shoulders. They clamp down in surprise, keeping me there as if I wanted to be anywhere else. I have a vast snow field laid before me, burned down to pale ash.

I move us both a bit more. Pushing him down and letting me ride up with him until he is sprawled and surprised. He gets more kisses on him. Every part of his body is working towards this, working towards something incredible that he can't quite comprehend. I move back up to the tip. Hard and long and angry, throbbing red in desperation. It gets one more little peck and it twitches. I think it likes me. Gawain is a little angrier with me. I think he's getting impatient with the way he's getting. Pouting, his lips look so good in a whiny pout, right along with his teeth.

"You've heard about this right," I hum, "I bet you have. Thought about it too. Saw someone on the trail, maybe in a tavern. Maybe at the service. Maybe they were doing it to you. Maybe you were doing it to them. But well, here we are."

"Please," he whines in tones pure enough to shatter crystal. He gets another kiss. That's what he wanted. That's what please means.

"More," he moans in golden church bells announcing a new day. My snow ash plan of softness gets one more.

"If you keep giving me just one word," I sigh, "Then I'm not sure what you want. You can talk. That's part of the fun. I know you can at least say 'fuck.' So, say something else. Anything else."

He moans and hums and whines again in such a delicious harmony. A deep breath through the nose to line the soul, get everything calmed down and he lets it out.

"Suck my cock, you little slut," he moans.

I laugh. It's not the right thing to do, but I do it anyway. Those words simply don't work for a number of reasons. One, he's on the verge of tears. Not angry tears, frustrated tears that come with something so close and so far away. Two, I'm a good head taller than him and a bit broader. Plus, the other part of me that is rather sizable, although he doesn't know that quite yet, and three, well, his voice just doesn't match those words. Please, more, harder, I love you, all of those are something to be rendered from him. He grabs my hair a bit harder and pulls me down. I let him think that he is winning.

It's been a good long while since I've done this particular act and it is a bit more uncomfortable than I remember. But then Gawain sings for me and that is certainly worth it. And as I am remembering the sensations, it is something that I desperately ached to perform. I am devouring him, holding his entire being within me and all the mean words he can scrape together can't give him power over me. The hair might, a little bit, but not nearly enough. The horn, if he goes for the horn though, he is going to be in for an incredibly bad time.

My tongue plays on him and those harsh words that come from him seem to fall flat. There are no words from him anymore, just that sweet meandering song that I pull from him. I keep the pressure on with tongue and lips, pulling and licking and pulling on the sensitive length. My hands are on his thighs again. I dig into the muscle and the strong and all the wonderful sensations that come back into my grip. I keep him in my mouth, bobbing my head and moving my lips and keeping him squirming.

His movements work well with the noises he makes. I take him in my cheek, moving him against my teeth for the bit of texture. I keep working him down, keep working through the length and the spread and the growing ache in my jaw. Really out of practice, it seems. I will have time to get better. And he doesn't seem to mind. I find his beads of bitter salt coming from his tip and filling my head with an even deeper haze. It feels amazing to have this wonderful gift swimming in my head. I have all of him in me now.

He mewls and I think I hear something that sounds like 'slut' again maybe. 'Suck' and 'cock' and 'fuck' are in there as well. They still don't work with the noises. He's trying though. And I imagine once he's used to it then we can have more fun with the words. He's pulling my hair a bit too hard, trying to keep all of him in me. He's not going anywhere though. I just have to mind the horn.

Ignoring the pull of my reigns, I bob in my own tempo. Fighting against the will of the squirming mess. He is easy to move and fight and push. So much of him has lost control, from his throat to his stomach to his legs. Everything is tensing and releasing and loud for me and me alone. His smoky gray aura swirls with that lovely tinge of rose pink and my grin over him widens.

I hum a meandering song, putting more and more sensation into him. Gawain joins in harmony without naming any of them. Awe of She, Blue Water Blue Sky, Simple Life, anything I can think of with a decent hook and refrain. Anything that goes well with repeated motions and administrating pleasure to someone who is obviously overwhelmed. Each beat brings more and more of the color into him. His back arches. I can't' see his eyes from down here. He's so smooth and soft. I can't stop touching every part of him that I can. His grip tightens and I finally feel true pain. It's rapturous, that sharp needle feeling pricking my skull.

It all collapses with a moan pf pure delight from him. A crystal glass rings, a mirror shatters, a tuning fork strikes a stand. It is perfect and drawn out as his seed comes in sputtering twitches. My grin widens even more, a serpent devouring his world and I am here to take it all. Such a pent-up thing, gasping and writhing underneath me. My hands go to his stomach and hold him down, refusing him any freedom. He has his throne on top of the world with all the shackles clasping and swords hanging on his throat.

I slowly pull away with the release slowly filling my mouth. Heavy, fulling, warm, hazy and slipping. It's wonderful. The noises he makes are gone, lost to an incoherent mumbling when all of his power gone. A wonderful puddle of everlasting joy, letting the last dregs hang heavy on my face. I lick my lips and taste him one last time before pulling away in earnest. He's red and panting, so overwhelmed, trying to form one last sentence to put him back on top. Nothing comes out, other than ragged breaths.

"I assume you liked that," I sigh. There's a cloth around here somewhere to clean me up. There has to be. I spy his robes and consider it. A bit too mean for right now, but maybe later. Depends on how he responds.

"Mmhmm," he hums, still panting. It's hard to catch breath, just in general. Its air and that is a tricky thing to bottle, up there with time and lightning. He does have a hanky stashed away in the folds nice and deep. That works. I am clean and clear and moving in the shadows. A low rumble of thunder rolls through the window as the lighting shows my form for the briefest of moments. I imagine I look intimidating.

"Now, here's a fun question," I say as I stretch. My shoulders are a little tight, and something gives in my back.

"Do you want to keep going," I ask. The words hang in the air for a moment while he tries to think. This is all me being polite, for the most part. I want to keep going, so I'm going to try and keep going.

He mumbles something else, and I walk over. His legs are shaking, streaked with the lines of his release. Delicious. My steps are heavy, my breath is hot, and I am hard enough to tear my pants if I don't get out of them soon. That's fine. I am of the opinion that pants are overrated, causing more problems than they solve. Like right now. I want it free and shoved somewhere tight and wet and warm. I see something that fights all of those things. It even has these two little teeth that would feel wonderful on the sides. Something to test and push against for added pleasure.

"One more question," I say, "And I think it's a fun one. Do you believe in fairness?"

He's a bit more coherent now. He's smug, pleased, completely at ease. I would be too. It's hard to be anything else other than that when you just had your cock sucked. But he nods. He'll give it a go. Do the same to me. Leave me a completely melted mess on the floor. That's where this all goes in the end.

I'm glad for the long time spent together. Every other little session I've had in the past while has felt rushed, tinged with the knowledge of a complete and utter end. Not this. It's raining outside. We have no pressing work to do. We have the room for as long as we need.

My steps are heavy as I walk along the path of flickering light and long shadows to the bed. I have one last lingering gaze over all of him and he is still that ashen snow pale, bending and stretching his form in an enticing writhe. I stand before him and that smug little face of his, teeth biting his lip and waiting for the next move. He will take me down, melt me into incoherent slag. That is what the mouth does, and his inexperience will not be a factor.

I sigh as I free myself, letting my pants fall to the floor. I don't take in the sight, just yet. His startled gasp is enough to send a shiver up my spine. Looking down at him, I reach his chin, cover a good have of his face. I look to his swan neck and wonder how it will feel when it is stretched. He swallows. His breath is still hot.

"I think you know what to do right?" I purr, "I mean, I showed you. Just when you get around to it. I can be patient."

His eyes are wide again, drawing me with the gap between stars and sliding through my won. They catch the light again and turn ember and glinting. He starts with a soft kiss and that is heavenly. As a start. I did much the same. He will get to it in his own time.

"Um," he stammers, "I think I know what to do. But will you tell me if I don't do it right?"

"You will be fine. And where was that dirty talk from a minute ago? That was fun."

"Kind of hard to think of what to say right now. I thought it was when I was the above you."

"Anytime, that can come anytime. So, give me something. I like it."

He smiles and it is still pure, although it is certainly not quite as smug as it used to be. He thinks a bit more, planting another gentle kiss. I love the contrast of our skin. Dark and light, such a sharp line over us.

"I'm going to suck your soul out through your fat cock," he says. And I laugh again, a good hearty chuckle. The words tickle through his lips and make my knees shake just a bit. Still standing strong and tall and terribly wide. He will make good on his word.

In a moment. I did not except a whirlwind of tongue and lips from the get-go, but there was a part of me that still hoped I would be surprised. He takes it slow, motioning me to move a handful of steps back to get a better angle. I do and he is on me softly. Testing the waters, so to speak. Something cracks a little in him and he laughs too. There is only so much seriousness we can have together before the absurdity comes to call. I am moved over his lips, my head on his cheeks. Still soft and pinchable and slappable. His hands come to help the alignment. And hitting his face with my length. Little shocks of impact race up my spine. He has some ideas on what to do, if only though his hands. I have a feeling that's going to be one of the better parts of him in the long run.

I shiver again as the tusks graze me. Opening wide, he takes me in and I am in heaven. Warm and wet with a friendly tongue to play with. It's all I wanted. I take a step forward and that's an adjustment for him. He gets there, fulling taking my head, swirling his tongue, humming notes in an endless drone. Mimicking what I did, I assume, but without the experience. He will get there. Of that, I have no doubt.

There is more of me in there and now I am doing something sublime. His teeth feel amazing grazing me. Everything he does is soft, except for that one little part of him. I throw my head back and sing for him as well. Low, I go into the bass range of my voice, letting it echo and bounce like a chorus of the dammed. The shadows grow longer and darker still. They creep up the walls.

I watch us in the shadows, our forms mixing together. I'm a little impatient and now I take one more step forward. Gawain makes a choked little noise that is my signal to step back. And I do. After savoring the sensation and committing it to my fantasies.

He takes over once everything is aligned again. The size is something known now and all the boundaries are in place. I let him figure it out, letting him know what I like, what I don't, what I didn't expect. People like it when I sing for them, weaving the colors from the world into something else. The light shines on me and it is deep sapphire blue. I sink into the deepest parts of what I am through it. The tusks dig in a bit harder and bring a new note from me. That's nice. He can go even more in that direction, if he wants. I wouldn't mind it. I think he should do more. He better do more.

But I think he's at his limit. First time getting used to it all and I don't blame him. He's been wonderful to play with but I need a bit more. My hands go to his throat, and I feel myself through him. Such an immense stretch and I'm surprised that he can still breathe. His nose keeps ticking my sack with his breath and it is enough for the shivers. That's all I can get from him, shivers and tremors, but nothing clenching and pulsing.

"You can tap out if this is too much," I hum.

There's a flash from his eyes and that's the wrong thing to say. He can take it. He can take it all. I'm the pussy for caring about him so much. So, I guess that means I can be cruel. I don't necessarily want to be, but I can be rough. I'll be rough. That seems fun.

I take a step forward and go a bit deeper into him. He panics and flinches a bit, keeps his brave face on. Then, I move. Simple motions back and forth, back and forth, gently getting used to the differences that movements all ow. I lose myself in the rhyme of my creation. It's calming, in a way, taking control and setting the pace. I keep moving and slipping down his throat, feeling me change his shape so effortlessly. It's always the best part, the impact I make. I watch his bulge and swell as I softly thrust.

Gawain handles it well after a short movement of adjustment. He is certainly adaptable, even as I keep the pressure and turn it up a bit. I feel it starting, as a kernel of an idea in the back of my mind. I can get there soon, just keep the current texture and it will be glorious. Gawain starts humming again in his droning cathedral hymns. So much of him resonates with it, down to his toes. Despite his newly acquired state, he is a natural. I hope I get to see what he learns. I go a bit harder with the motions, going a bit deeper. Gawain tenses for a moment, getting used to it and then it comes down to a soft relaxation over the tune we make.

A thunder peal pulls me a bit out of it, casting sharp shadows up the wall. We look incredibly joined like this, moving like this. I sing for him again in the way of demons and earthquakes and low marching drum from the hellish battlefields. The darkness grows sharper, almost taking a life of its own and I watch the dance as I make my own. The shapes morph and change, and I keep going faster.

"Get ready," I growl.

To my surprise, his hands go to my legs, pulling me in even deeper. Still not enough for all of me, but past halfway at least. Good for him, I am certainly impressed. I also seem to like the way his fingers dig into my ass. Even more when an open palm strikes me. He's a fighter, despite his first impression. And he is ready.

It stars in my stomach and goes down to my tomes, locking the muscles to bone, stiffening my knees and holding my body in place with inescapable tension. It rocks through my whole body as the sky opens up one last time. I look to the shadows, and they are dancing, waltzing together in pagan ecstasy. My entire body quakes through his throat, filling his soul with my seed. Heavy, heavy strands built up for far too long. A day is too long. An hour is too long. I deserve a constant state of bestial rapture taken from the ivory towers that say I am something more. My first shot is long, wider than the river flooding its bank. The deluge pales the rain with its rage. I pour into him, not even caring. He slaps my ass again, begging for more. I think.

He gets more, and there is nothing he can say to get out of it anymore. I flood him and fill him and keep spraying his prize into him. He keeps slapping me and I think that's him tapping out. He should have done that sooner. His fault, not mine. The second one is just as long as the first, scouring my mind into delirium.

Its end brings enough consciousness back to me and I start pulling free, trailing long strands between us. One more, one more in him, pull from me by that lolling tongue before I am fully out in the open again.

We work our hands together for me. I paint his body with the rest of it, reaching down to his own twitching aching length as it contributes its own additions to the sea of my creation. I Cover his stomach. As my release weakens, it covers his chest. As my release fades it falls on his face. It ends with a few final pumps to clean it out, falling onto his tongue one last time.

I stagger away and Gawain starts coughing. My mind is coming back to me, and I feel bad about the distress I can cause. At least, until he breaks out into a broad smile.

"Ow," he rasps before another coughing fit takes him.

"You doing alright?" I huff,

"No fucking clue. Gods, what are you, Dumile? That was insane. You've ruined me. But tell me, that was your soul, right? No way it wasn't."

I snort a harsh laugh and let him refocus on me standing against the candle flame and the lighting strikes, my dark form's aura blending in with the deep shadows. I am still painfully hard.

"The problem with that is," I hum, "I don't think I have a soul at all."

He swallows hard and looks down at himself. Soft, all of him is soft and aching and red. I stalk towards him one last time, steps melding into the thunderclouds. He stiffens and makes a small, choked noise that definitely hurts his poor throat. No need to be.

"It's ok Gawain," I murmur, "I think you're done."

I kiss him on the forehead and get the same noise again. Something tries to reassert his big talk, but all I get is one last beautiful little noise.

---

When we get up in the morning, the rain is still there. I didn't expect anything different. I did not expect this place to serve coffee and biscuits in the morning. I expected to get a little warning from the tavern keeper to be quieter in the future, which I also received. I also expected Gawain to still be asleep when I come back, which I was wrong about. He's sleepy, though, rubbing his eyes as I push open the door. He yawns and his little fangs send a flutter through my stomach. They look good. They feel good.

"Morning," he yawns again, "Did Blake and Gerardine get in last night?"