The Foxcatcher Pt. 02

The Foxcatcher - part two

When I came around again my head had cleared. The fog which had been keeping me subdued for the last -- hour, day? There was no way to tell -- period of time was mercilessly lifted. Without it I took stock of my body's condition. I felt delicate, like I had endured a day of hard exercise and was now drifting towards sleep. There were no sensations vibrating through my body, no pulsating, no throbbing. I clenched my muscles in turn, felt the weakness in them. My cunt and my ass bordered on numb, the sensations there even further off, even harder to discern. Nothing felt broken or sore, just... well-trodden, bruised, worn.

Light was streaming in through a high window, drapes obscuring the view beyond but for a vague sense of the time of day. The sun was low, it was afternoon. My hands squeezed about soft, cotton sheets, a far cry from the stone I had woken on the last time I could remember. I sank into a delicate mattress and closed my eyes for a long moment, tempted by sleep. I saw him in the darkness there, the brothel's master. His pointed ears felt like an insult in my memory, like a dirty stain. How had I allowed myself to be so easily captured? How had he done so with such simplicity?

I could recall no poisons from my training at the academy in Silverbloom which would induce the symptoms his toxins had. It was not just the drowsiness, the ability to knock me out for hours at a time with -- I hoped -- no long-term ills, but the way it had made my body feel while I was conscious. I had never been so aware of myself before, so easily aroused, so insatiable and desperate. We foxcatchers are promiscuous by nature, largely young and athletic, bound together on long voyages with no entertainment but for each other. I could list on one hand my colleagues who were married, and they were often far from loyal to their spouses besides. I had spent my last mission before this one with a man some years my senior, whose wife stayed at home whilst he fucked me every night for a month beneath the open sky. And so, I understood desire and thought little of the church's dispute of a woman's capacity for it, but what the elf had done to me was like nothing I had ever even heard of. The academy would have a thorough library of all known potions, poisons, and heilic remedies, and I knew that I would be hard at work once I returned to find it.

Except, I was no closer to returning. I opened my eyes with the realisation that I would be unable to answer in my debrief that I had been drugged, tied to a stone block, and been sexually tortured by an elf. And to boot, upon having gone through said experience, I had not apprehended or killed my captor. I swung my legs over the bed with some effort, having to use my hands to assist them. The floor of cool, polished floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I rose unsteadily. I stumbled as my head swam and my vision blurred, grasping onto the bed-frame for support. I moaned. And then, as if waiting for the first hint of noise from the room, the white door opened swiftly and in entered a young, human woman.

'Who are you?' I hissed. My throat scratched as though nails were being dragged through the flesh.

If the room had been any larger, she'd not have heard me. The woman was of an age with me -- in her early twenties -- and had a bundle of auburn hair framing a delicate, freckled face. She was nude, and as I took stock of this, I became keenly aware of my own uncovered state. She bowed her head and said, 'The master of the house bids you join him to break your fast.'

I scoffed, which caused me to cough. Recovering, I replied, 'Tell him that I've little appetite for his food, not after what happened the last time I partook in his hospitality.'

Still, it was my rumbling stomach which betrayed my stoicism, and so I let the woman lead me out of the room and out into the perfumed corridor beyond. We were on the top floor of the establishment, in a hallway which ran down the west side of the building judging from the low sun visible across the wild grounds. A high stone wall was some way off, the gardens before it all a tangle and a mess but entwined with some improvised beauty. I had not thought to ask after my clothes, though I worried now about my gear which had been left at the inn in the village. There were some 30 kings heads tied up in that equipment, and several irreplaceable trinkets besides.

Despite myself, my blood was still up. The nausea upon first standing had passed, and the shuffle of my thighs highlighted that my sex remained swollen. The sensations were returning in fits and starts, occasional steps sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me. My teeth were grit, and I had to clench my fists together to steady my breathing as the woman led me at last to a tall oaken door.

'Wait here a moment,' she said pleasantly, before ducking inside as a mouse scampers into its hole.

I leant against the wall and opened my legs slightly. I could feel the wetness there, the way it stuck to my lips and ran in a single drop onto the inside of my thigh. Through another door I could hear the tell-tale sounds of a whore at her work; the dull slap of flesh, her false groans, a man's grunting. I slipped from the wall and pressed myself against that second door, closing my eyes and leaning in to better gauge a hint of the scene within. Perhaps it was not foxcatchers who were promiscuous, it may have just been me. There had been scarcely a mission on which I had not fucked somebody, either a fortunate local or the lucky colleague assigned to me. When neither were forthcoming, I would often hire a private guard just to have a cock at my beck and call when the nights became long and the weather chill. Even without the effect of the master's toxin upon me, I would have stooped there to listen at that door, such was the depth of my curiosity. I had a flicker of sympathy for the whore within, who I doubted was enjoying her client but was being paid regardless. As I listened to the slapping of his pubis against hers, I let a shaking hand drop between my legs to run a finger across my womanhood. My wetness was intoxicating, and for a long moment I slumped there against the door and allowed my fingers to explore as the qualms of my own arousal were forgotten. It was not natural, but again that desperate need to orgasm was upon me, and I would stayed there and cum and cum again were it not for the main door from the hall opening.

'Come in,' the woman said, her head appearing from within. 'The master bids it.'

If she took note of my activity, then she kept it from her face. There was a blankness to her expression, an emptiness, which put me in mind of those I had seen injured and drugged into delirium by the academy's heilas. Perhaps she was. I could not disregard the notion that the master's toxins may have such an effect in the long-term. I paused as I took a weak step towards the door, glancing over my shoulder to the other where the whore's noises still emanated. Was this the fate of all this master's whores? Did he take them from local villages, either by purchase or snatch, and turn them into these... dolls? I had heard tale of alchemists who turned villages in their favour, and then used the populace in hideous experiments to test their newest concoctions. Was that it, and with the master an elf to boot? The idea ought to have horrified me and turned the stomach, but alas my body betrayed me, and I felt the tickle of another trail upon my thigh.

I entered the master's sanctum. A long table was arranged, with chairs at only the head and the tail. At the far end, doors set with glass gave out onto a broad balcony which overlooked the grounds, and through them streamed the pleasant light of spring. It was idyllic, but there was an odour on the air which stung my nostrils, and the room stank of stale alcohol and sex. The master himself sat at the head chair facing the door. Seeing him again made my breath catch in my throat, and a weakness came into my legs which almost put me on the polished floor. Again the scent of him was upon my mind, and those feelings he had drawn from me where as clear in the memory of my muscles as walking.

'Sit, foxcatcher,' he said, gesturing to chair opposite him. 'You look tired.'

'Just unsteady,' I managed to croak. I stumbled to the chair and collapsed upon it. 'What have you done to me?'

He smiled. There was no sinister malaise to it, just an amusement bordering on arrogance. Seeing him again was tearing me in two directions, toward fury and intoxication both. My panting betrayed my ill-ease, made it clear that I was struggling to be in his presence. The master's long hair was tied back, showing his pointed ears clearly, almost as though he meant to rub salt in my wounds. His dark eyes, his aquiline nose, his thin mouth... all at once I was tied back to that stone slab, his cock on my lips, his words filling my mind. I had to catch myself from dropping a hand to my lap, such was the sudden desire to touch myself before him.

'It's ingenious, isn't it?' He said, lacing his hands together. 'A simple potion, a touch of what I am sure you would call elven depravity. Our magic is unique...'

'It's witchcraft,' I choked out. 'Witchcraft and blasphemy.'

'Another gaiaphobic, bigoted belief driven into you by your academy. Consider this revenge, foxcatcher.'

'My name is...'

'I do not care,' he said so sternly my lips shut as if sealed. 'While you are here you are "slut", or "whore", or whatever I care to call you. I am sure that you want to pick up that knife...'

I glanced down at the table before me, and there laid out was a knife with a wicked tip beside the empty plate. It was little more than cutlery, but with enough force it would puncture the skin. I had an eye for improvised weapons as all foxcatchers did.

I returned my attention to the master. '...and run me through with it. Tell me, do you believe that the only way to kill an elf is choke him with elfsbane, or to cut his head off? No? Good, at least they teach you against some misconceptions. And you can take up that knife if you wish, slut, but I will punish you for doing so, do you understand? While if you are good and you sit patiently, I will reward you.'

I should not have said it, I should have seized that blade and thrown it through his heart or his eye, but I could not stop myself once the carrot was so enticingly dangled. And so I said, 'What is the reward?'

The master smiled triumphantly and snapped his fingers. The girl who had led me in emerged from the corner in which she hid and went immediately to her hands and knees. Before I had a moment to ask, she crawled beneath the table and placed her warm hands on my knees. I stiffened as she drew them apart, and I felt her breath against the inside of my thighs. Years at the academy in the presence of girls had taught me to appreciate my gender's talent for drawing out pleasure, and I made no argument as she placed her lips against my dripping pussy.

Her tongue snaked in a long, agonising drag from my lips to my clit, and there she swirled its tip about my aching flesh. I gripped the edge of the table and shut my eyes tight as a wave of pleasure bellowed through my bones. The gasp which escaped me was primal and relayed the desperate need of my sex clearly. I was barely aware of the master rising and coming around the table towards me, but I could not have stopped the girl so expertly teasing my pussy if all the gold in the world had depended upon it. Her lips pursed, she sucked my clit into her mouth and flicked the end of her tongue against it, each minute stroke sending spasms through my muscles. The orgasm I had been so cruelly denied came on in waves, building and building with each flicker of that tongue. I grasped her head with one hand and rose the other to instinctively pinch one nipple, the combined sensation drawing me ever closer to an exquisite edge.

And then a hand came down on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to see the master stood over me. He looked down with an expression I took to be pride, triumphant in his taming of me. How I hated him, but how much I needed him then. My hand left my hard nipple and grasped at the front of his breeches, but he swatted it away.

'Stand up,' he said.

I groaned, desperate to stay there with that girl's mouth extracting my pleasure from me, but I obeyed. I had to use the chair to aid me, but I rose. The master took up a cloth napkin from the table and with strong hands swung me about, with a graceful movement he blindfolded me with the fabric. A sliver of light still showed through, but I could see nothing, the sensations in my body heightening further. Usually a foxcatcher can hear and smell more clearly in the dark, such is our talent, but the throbbing in my sex overruled all.

'Bend over,' the master said. 'I trust you enough to neither pin nor bind you this time, but you remember the rules, don't you?'

'Not to touch myself,' I whispered. I leant forward with my hands out until I found the table, and then laid my chest down upon it. The wood was chill against my breasts, and it left me exposed from behind as I spread my legs and left my holes vulnerable. The stripping of power, the ease of commanding me. I had never known such simplicity, in which I was but a plaything to be used and punished or treated as a man saw fit.

'That's right,' the master said softly. There was a shuffling as the girl got out from beneath the table. I whimpered, so close had I been to orgasming against her soft mouth. There were more noises then, footsteps on both sides of the table, the creaking of something being opened. I tilted my head this way and that, ears prickling, desperate for a hint of what sensation may be next. The anticipation built and built the longer I was left there exposed, while my wetness trickled down my legs and my pussy continued its dull ache. I grit my teeth to stop from begging, from whimpering. I was bouncing on my feet lightly, urging whoever still stood behind me to come forward and do what they must before the waiting became unbearable.

And then a hand slapped against the flesh of my ass with crack. I cried out and jumped to my tiptoes, the sting of the palm clenching me tight. And then another, on the other cheek. I had a healthy ass, neither thin and bony nor heavy, it was cushioned enough for the blows, but still they stung. I felt my milky flesh turning pink as another came, and then another, and then another. In the pauses between each I let out a breath and let my pussy relax, feeling inherently how it became wetter with impact. The pauses became intermittent, some long, some short. Without being able to see them coming I was left on edge, my mouth hanging open, each new strike eliciting a gasp from my lips.

'Good,' the master said after two dozen spanks had passed. 'You're marking nicely, slut. Do you think you've done enough to sit comfortably in my house? Or do you want your ass so sore that you must always stand, ready to serve as a good whore should?'

'I...I... I deserve whatever you choose to give me master.'

'20 more, and then we will see.'

I bore them out in silence but for a gasp after each. How they stung. Men have struck me on the ass before, usually while taking me from behind, but never like this. Each new strike was a new agony, but that pain lasted but a moment before the inescapable pleasure pumped through me. The last few he made closer to my pussy, the impacts there sending vibrations through my flesh. And the last, the very last, he made attempt on my ass at all, and slapped me with his full palm right on my lips. I screamed and almost jumped from the table. The wet sound of his slap against my pussy was enough to buckle my knees, the lightning strike of pleasure sending my eyes rolling and tongue flopping from my mouth.

'Please...' I stammered, breathlessly. 'Please.'

'Please what?' His voice came.

'I need it.'

'What do you need?'

Cock, I needed cock. I needed that incomparable feeling of being filled, of being stretched out against every inch of my pussy. I needed the way that pleasure came in volleys with each thrust, how each one felt deeper and more intense until an orgasm crashed through me and rattled every fibre of my being. I needed that last moment, the last hard thrust, even deeper than the rest, when a man rested his balls against me as his seed poured into my pulsating cunt.

'Cock,' was all I managed to articulate of that feeling.

There was the rustling of breeches untying and my heart skipped a beat. I could just imagine it, his heavy erect manhood springing forth. If I could have chosen I would have been on my knees before him, watching eagerly as he revealed that beautiful shaft. I would have taken in my hand and wrapped my lips around the head, looked up into his eyes as I ran my throat down his length. Alas, I remained obediently where I was, awaiting, unsure. I felt hands take my hips, smooth fingers digging into me. I raised my hips and stood on tiptoes, spread my legs. The heat in my centre rose and rose, and I could not help but to thrust back, desperate to find that head and let it slip into me.

And then, I felt it. I groaned, low and shuddering, as the warm tip of his cock laid against my ass. He drew it down slowly, agonisingly. The shaft felt like a warm poker between my cheeks, the tip brushing temptingly against the puckered skin of my asshole. I dug my nails into the table to prevent the instinct coming over me to reach back and spread my cheeks for him, I dared not make any move now which would see him change his mind from finally, finally fucking me. I felt as though it had been years, as though I had never been touched. The tip of cock moved past my eager, leaking hole, and the firm tip rubbed against my swollen clit. The moan which escaped me was low and clear in its intent, it was borne of frustration and imminent sating. He tapped that firm, hot tip against me a dozen times, masterfully building back up the pulsating desire which had for the briefest of moments abated. I bucked my hips wildly, back and forth, back and forth, but he kept me at bay. When I did so with too much force he slapped my ass and sent a crash of pain from my welted skin back through me. I panted as loud and as wantonly as a hound, his bitch in heat.

When it came, it came suddenly. His teasing and patience seemed at once to break, and with a single, powerful thrust he entered me. I arched my back and cried out as my pussy stretched to accommodate him. His balls slapped once against my clit, and then he began to fuck me. He started slowly, drawing out every inch of his thick cock, right to the head, before pushing all of the way back in with terrible slowness. I felt every part of him, my lack of sight only adding to the power of the sensation as his cock drove into me. A hand about my neck, and he drew me back so that I was against him, my ass out, my back bent.

'Oh, gods,' I moaned. 'It's so fucking big.'

'You will have to repay me for this kindness,' he said sternly, driving his cock to the hilt again. I threw back a hand and gripped his hip, digging my nails into his flesh.

'Anything,' I moaned, 'anything.'

'Tell me what you are, and I will fuck you until you cum so hard your legs buckle.'

'I'm a whore,' I gasped, 'your whore. Just a dumb,' I grunted with another thrust, 'stupid little whore.'

'Yes,' he replied, throwing me back down on the table. 'You are.'

And then he began to pound me. Any control he once had evaporated in that moment, as though he had been struggling to maintain his stoicism too. He placed a hand on the back of my neck, driving my cheek against the table, and threw his weight into every thrust. His cock stretched my pussy, each movement, every inch of him sending new pleasure into me. My wetness was soaking him, making him harder and faster with each passing moment. His hips struck mine, loud slaps emanating from us. Idly I wondered where the girl was, and whether she watched still. A part of me hoped that she was, that I was putting on a good show for her. The master took a handful of my hair and pulled my head back, my throat tightened as I groaned, as the orgasm building in me spiralled towards inevitable release. He clapped his other hand against my ass again, and this time the pain was lost amongst the waves, only adding to the desperate, longing need I now had. Again and again his cock pounded into me, harder, faster, I felt it swell as his strokes became shorter. He was hitting parts of me I had forgotten I had, some secret place which made my pussy clench like a fist about that throbbing manhood. My orgasm came snowballing, like an unstoppable force. My legs shook and my nails dug into my own palms, and I screamed out as at last I came. I fell limp, his fist about my hair holding my head up as my mouth fell agape, my noises only the unstoppable, formless grunts of a need being finally sated. He drove his cock deep inside me once more and held it there, let me contract and flex about the instrument I had been so desperate for. I felt his balls against my clit, the fire which lanced there like a blade. Short, sharp agonising pleasure, almost too much too bare. A few more deep thrusts, and I collapsed stunned to the table as, with a great satisfaction, I felt the warm spurt of his cum shooting deep into me, filling me, rewarding me.