Date: Sun, 29 Jan 2012 05:40:04 -0500 From: Embrey Grey Subject: The Vessel, Chapter 1 Special thanks to R. Keith Peck, a long-time inspiration in the annals of nifty.org; and to every other font of gorgeous depravity who's made me orgasm by letting me into their imaginations. The following chapter (though intended to be a bit of a teaser for the story to follow) contains elements of magic, adult/youth, bestiality, anal penetration, urination, as well as bondage and quasi-medical play verging on the unpleasant. This is quite obviously fantasy, and should not be confused with the huge complexities that reality brings to any fantasy. The exploration and depiction of the events and characters herein is not intended to encourage or condone any type of illegal or unsafe behavior. Consider yourself warned. For Drew. The Vessel, Chapter I. Amsel woke with a start, the sounds of a loud bang of metal on wood, a bolt unlatched and heavy doors swinging open. Daylight flooded the chilly interior. It smelled like a barn or a stable; muddy straw stuck to the boy's skin and robe. The fair-haired boy leaped in a convulsive effort to flee; he had no idea how he got here, it couldn't be safe. Daylight streaming in was blinding, he covered his face in the hood of his too-big, scratchy brown cassock. Men were entering the stable, struggling at something. Men's voices in a language he couldn't understand, were shouting. "Whoaah!" Atenta! Bun baiat! Fii un cal frumos... Bun baiat!... Whoa, cal!" Then, the shriek of something like a horse, hooves striking stone like swords. It kicked the oak door which almost deafened Amsel like a cannonshot. The boy ducked involuntarily. As his eyes adjusted, a sudden chill ran through the boy. The light dusting of invisible hair on Amsel's body stood on end when the creature first came into view. He could make out at least four men-at-arms struggling to lead a magnificent strange beast inside. The thing was shaped like a tall, slender horse, but its eyes glimmered pink-gold like an owl's in the shade of the musty barn. For a moment he thought he saw its head wreathed by a bull's horns, a ram's horns, antlers, then nothing but a horse's profile. Its fur was a luminous pale gold. The color of my hair... The boy barely managed to finish the thought when the creature shrieked and bucked again. Sparks flew up from its silvery hooves, and it kicked one of the soldiers, a solid, armored man of at least twelve stone, square in the chest and sent him flying back out the stable door like a Pulchinella puppet. The other two guards cursed and scrambled to hold the thick hawser leads like children playing tug-o'-war against a giant, their iron-shod boots scraping against the cobbles as the monstrous thing dragged them effortlessly. One of the men tripped and fell, the muddy hay sticking to his blood-red, woolen cloak. The beast drew nearer. "La dracu 'asta!" "Acest cal este nebun! O sa-l omoare!" The boy, now on his feet, scrambled away from the melee. He ran less than four paces when he felt a sharp jolt, the limber bones of his spine almost popping as he fell abruptly, face first into the hay of the stall. It was as if someone grabbed him from his waist and snapped him backwards. Recovering, he felt it- a heavy leather belt around his waist attached to a lead fixed to a ring in the wall. Amsel began pulling hard on the cord, trying in vain to break it free from the wall. The heavy, knife-sharp clack of hooves grew nearer. One of the men-at-arms, picking himself up from the dirty straw waved to the boy frantically, shouting in his strange tongue, "Boy! scoala-te! Pleaca de langa ea!" Amsel stopped pulling at his tether and looked back at the looming shadow that approached him. His small heart pounded against his ribcage. The beast was staring directly at him with those owl's eyes, taller than any horse he had ever seen and now only a few paces away. Something had changed. His heart pounded, yes, but the din of the struggle now seemed to fade away. The flailing of the soldiers seemed to slow down as if they were swimming in honey. The captive child could see the terror in these burly soldiers' bruised faces as they yelled and tried to pull the beast away with the lead ropes. But for all their strength, these brave might have been feeble, old invalids. He did not know why, but Amsel could feel his terror leaving, to be replaced by great awe and wonderment. His heartbeat and breathing drowned out all other noise. The boy, quite abruptly, realized that he and this bewitched horse-thing were breathing exactly together in time, and it was as if he knew they were sharing a heartbeat. The beast snorted and sniffed the air, and suddenly the boy could smell everything so perfectly: not just the dung and piss and stale straw of the stall, but also the panicked fear-sweat pouring from the men, the surprisingly clean, fresh-milk scent of his own boyhood and, of course, the strange musk of the horse-thing. The only memory Amsel could compare its scent to was the heady spice of the Christmas mead his uncles and aunts drank all night as they roamed the town, blessing thatch-roofs and orchards; he could recall this from his earliest winters on that distant isle where he had been born. The spices that emanated from this strange animal's sweat-damp coat were not the scents of his childhood, certainly, though their effect on Amsel was immediate and profound. He quickly felt as if he had downed an entire skin of that wassail from his childhood, his eyes flickered and rolled back, and a stupid smile began to form on his hairless face... He fell back onto his ass, his legs spread themselves open in the hay; he found himself wondering, in something like drunkenly misguided false-modesty if the monster could see up his robes... Why would it care? It's a dumb beast, thought the boy, but ohhhhh there it is... I must have that! For the first time, he saw the animal's penis, as it snaked down from the sheath, an ivory white monstrous adder, slipping out from its hiding-place. It dripped clear liquid as it extended...In his hyperaware state, Amsel could hear each drop splash and sizzle as it hit the ground...the spice-scent blossomed forth from each drop of the beast's nectar, and somewhere in the back of his barely functioning mind, he knew this was the source of its power over him... It was still a monster, but now undeniably a stallion. Amsel, no longer clutching the cord, found his hands involuntarily wandering down under the hems of his robe, searching to free his rapidly hardening boycock. With one hand, he felt his nearly hairless, small, firm bollocks as they began to pull against his body; with the other hand he pulled his delicate foreskin back... His anus twitched and pulsed in perfect rhythm with the beast-stud's swelling penis... Amsel could barely take his eyes away from this massive, pale shaft and velvet, laden scrotum; they were suddenly his axis mundi, the column at the center of the that supported the canopy of the heavens This was witchcraft, certainly, but he was powerless to stop it. Then again, Amsel knew he had been unable to make himself fight the amorous advances of the monks back at the abbey...his abbey... where he had been a novice before all this... Memories of the cathedral school and its depravities came flooding back... He saw himself, a postulant, having been caught pleasuring himself in the hedgerow that first summer week by two older novices, and what they made him do. Word got around quickly, and by summer's end, Amsel had been used by the entire school and neighboring monastery. He had developed a ravenous taste for men's seed, and by autumn there wasn't a cucumber in the garden that the older monks couldn't manage to fit inside the young boy's rectum. He was too young to make seed then as now, but the pain had quickly become pleasure, and he realized he was earning a strange kind of left-handed affirmation by his brothers in the holy order through his continued abasement. In the throes of this magical creature's ensorcellment, these memories, rather than just appearing as faint shadows and glimmers of past experience, now felt as real as life. Amsel could feel each caress, kiss, lick, bite, slap or wild penetration as if that mob of so-called holy men from the cathedral school were there in the stable, gang-fucking him. He could taste the varieties of spit and seed pumped into his throat, and feel the different textures and weight of hairy flesh slapping against his small form. He knew that this was somehow impossible, but he felt many places and times all happening at once. The boy began to writhe and spasm, as overlapping memories of dozens of men all seemed to be fucking him at once. The beast advanced, closing the distance between them, his gargantuan erection now pulsating, rising nearly parallel to the ground. Its eyes now glowed like bloody gold, its nostrils flared wide. The guards were stiff-frozen in time; the only world that that need be measured was the space between the swollen head of the monster's impossibly large shaft and the hairless lips of the young boy's anus; lips which which quivered and gasped like the mouth of a thirsting fish. The boy wanted it. Amsel realized the stallion somehow could sense the his memories, was feeling it all with him, forcing the boy to dig deeper into his past and dredge up more and more of his experiences at the monastery, even the ones he was ashamed to have participated in. Even the ones that went too far. Amsel's mind conjured the spacious cell of the Abbot, on that night the Inquisitor passed through on his way to investigate some heresy... his little body shivered, realizing he would once again feel the wicked devices that strange little man used on the boy's body... He could smell the sweat of the score or more of monks who would, at first be content to watch as the boy's bound limbs were pulled and stretched and held into almost impossible, painful positions. Then they would leer, lean in and peek inside as his mouth and anus were dilated with steel contraptions... Amsel could feel the greased steel tongues pulling both his orifices open as if the inquisitor were there in the barn... he knew what would come next, his unholy "baptism" in the piss and seed of more than twenty men as the inquisitor would continue to stretch, and stretch him, the boy prayed to Christ that he could endure such pain and the monks just laughed....and still they pulled his limbs, his balls, his penis further, opened him wider, threatened to reach deep inside him..... The horse-thing's massive cock began to swell, the blunt head flared wider and wider as he could imagine the tiny boy's anus stretching impossibly wide, though it knew that foolish old man, that inquisitor, lacked any device that could allow such a small boy to accept this gargantuan cock. But the beast knew without a doubt this boy was the right one. The boy had not yet made his first seed, but was filled with such perfect desire. The child must surely know he could not survive such a breeding. Even so... The stallion had never been denied any urge or desire. That was not in its nature. It would fuck this boy. It would impale him on a cock longer than the boy's own full height. The stallion's seed would come, and then... At the mere anticipation of breaching the boy's innards, the beast sprayed a fountain of clear liquid, pints and pints of pre-ejaculate all over the boy's spasming body,, the hay, the wall of the stable behind the boy. Mere contact with the potent seed sent the boy into a seizure of continuous dry orgasms. The stallion's seed would come, and fill him... "ENOUGH!" A voice boomed from the stable door, echoing and reverberating in the linked minds of the horse and boy. The horse turned, the boy looked up, gasping, his mouth spilling the creature's enchanted pre-ejaculate. Both erections quickly subsided as a tall, red-robed man entered, followed by a youth in similar garb. The man's eyes burned with intent and pure will, his gaze fixed to the beast's. The creature seemed to have changed again... it now resembled a normal horse. It kept the unearthly pale white-gold fur, tail and mane, but no longer the demonlover it was moments ago. The tall man spoke again to the stallion. "Ehrevan! Lunar Steed and Thrall of the Sidhe Prince Coerdracath of the Briar Marches. You will halt!" Amsel could feel power in these words, something invisible but tangible. "We only agreed that you would determine if this human would be suitable to you. I didn't permit you to have your way with him outside of the ritual." The man spoke a strangely accented Latin, though one which Amsel could follow. *It wouldn't matter, Magus. You couldn't stop me without my consent.* Ehrevan's voice filled the boy's head, and he realized the tall man heard it too. It was not language or speech, merely thought. One knew what the horse-thing meant. Magus? the boy wondered at that, still trying to piece his thoughts together after this strange assault on his mind. "Your prince made a bargain, you swore you would uphold it if I found you the right vessel. Answer me: is he the right vessel?" *My... prince, as you call him, overstates his authority. I am here only because I wish it. As for the child...oh, he will more than suffice. He is perfect. I suspect he may even enjoy what I'm going to do to him, but he will not survive.* "Leave that to me. Upon my oath, he will live." The magus turned to the youth next to him; a lean, doe-eyed, dark haired boy a few years older than Amsel. "Tadzio, collect what you can of Ehrevan's seed, don't let it go to waste. Put it in the main receptacle." Ehrevan, calmly entered a nearby stall as if he were any ordinary horse. The magus ordered the guards out, and then approached Amsel, lifting the dazed, sperm-soaked boy to his feet. The thick leather fetter which had anchored Amsel to the stable wall broke in seven places as the magus touched it. "Amsel, I am Venatus Tytalus Verrochio Secundus. You will call me Verrochio, or master. And this is Tadzio, my primary apprentice. You are to go with him for now. He'll get you sorted out and cleaned up. There will be a ceremony later, where you are to become my second apprentice. I know this is all confusing, but do not speak now. You may not remember everything after what happened to you when I arrived at the monastery. We will talk about that when I see you again, and I will allow you to ask me questions. " For now, know this: you have a powerful gift, boy, and I will teach you to wield it properly. I will induct you into the Houses of Mercury, a great and ancient order of magi stretching back to the glorious days of Rome. In exchange, you will obey my commands to the fullest extent possible, and for the time being, my apprentice. Tadzio, swear to me no harm comes to the boy. I want him returned to me by dawn." "Aye, master. I swear it." Amsel could sense that even such a simple oath was somehow binding. A smiling Tadzio gently took Amsel by the hand and led him towards the yawning stable doors. Amsel could not tell if it was a kind smile or not. At the very least, Amsel could see by the large bulge under his red wool tunic, that Tadzio was excited by the prospect. ***** To be continued in Chapter 2. Constructive comments are encouraged, flames ignored. svadilfarivessel@gmail.com