黑暗激情

The streets of Dagraaz, one of the many dark elven underground cities, which even its inhabitants themselves could not call picturesque, for in the Underdark beauty is a very relative concept, have never (which is understandable) known the rays of the sun. And now, when the roofs of houses in surface cities were flooded with the soft pinkish light of the setting sun, and passersby hurried to their homes before darkness fell, here in the Underdark it was as dark as always. However, an attentive observer, who also has night vision, would not fail to note that artisans and merchants are closing their shops, and, just like their land-based colleagues, they are sedately leaving

some to go home and some to a nearby tavern for a glass or two of hot wine.

There was nothing surprising in this, for the dark elves also measured their time in days, and the burning column in the center of the city served as the sun for them. Just now the column was three-quarters burned, which corresponded to the evening on the ground. And when the column burns out completely, midnight will come, a time when peaceful citizens are at home, but in the taverns life is in full swing.

The Blade's Edge tavern was a little different from the others. Its owner, the 350-year-old dark elf RaHyeor, which meant “Breath of Death” in Dark Elven, was famous throughout the underground for his dizzying adventures and adventures both underground and on the surface, and for his no less dizzying disregard for the rules, whatever they were. Wherever his insatiable curiosity took him, there was no place in the whole world where his dark nose would not poke. And unlike many other adventurers, RaKhieor not only remained safe and sound, but even managed to accumulate a considerable amount of money, and a whole collection of artifacts, which magicians from all over the world were now licking their lips at.

An excellent swordsman, in his youth he was known as an assassin (a very honorable profession among the dark elves), and his quick reaction, coupled with his honed skill, saved him more than once in difficult times. However, no matter how strong the craving for adventure is, sooner or later everything gets boring. RaKhieor gave 300 years of his life to adventures, and feeling that he was no longer young, he decided to settle down and settle down. 350 years for a dark elf is a period of maturity and the prime of life, but he was thoroughly tired of the wandering life, and adventures no longer stirred his blood. And so he returned to his hometown in the Underdark, restored the house, turning it into a well-protected mansion, and lived quietly for a whole year, successfully ignoring the attempts of various elves to fool him. During this year, he managed to earn a reputation as a gloomy, intelligent and therefore very dangerous type. He was respected, and some were openly afraid of him.

However, RaHyeor quickly became overwhelmed with melancholy from doing nothing, and then the decision came to him to open a tavern. But not an ordinary one, because the company of traders would have become boring to him on the very first day. Fans of gambling gathered at “At the Edge of the Blade,” and every evening here someone gained wealth, and someone, on the contrary, lost it. Rahior religiously respected the reputation of the establishment, and for 5 years there was not a single case of cheating, which fact, coupled with free drinks for players and smiling busty waitresses, attracted a lot of people here.

The RaHyeora Tavern was considered elite, here in the evenings one could find very famous personalities in the city, and there were never any riots here, because one calm look from the owner was enough for even an inveterate bully to suddenly remember his reputation and instantly sober up. Pickpockets haven't come here since RaHyeor personally cut off the fingers of those caught red-handed. The entry of girls of easy virtue here was also prohibited, so as not to distract from the game. But there were really a lot of people here, young and not so city dwellers who dreamed of getting rich in an instant.

Mienal was one of these, a thin young man in a shabby doublet, whom no girl would approach, for these people see right through the client’s wallet, and this young man’s wallet usually contained an amount barely enough to drink tea before bed. However, today was a significant day for Mienal, and he would have had enough money for dinner in a good establishment, and maybe even with fruits, which are fabulously expensive in the Underdark. And the reason was that Mienal took all his savings with him. And today he intended to use them to get rich.

Like all low-born elves, Mienal was forced to work in order to feed himself. The path of a warrior or magician was not for him, because for a warrior his reaction was too slow, and he had no ability for magic at all. And he also did not have a calling to other respected professions - murderer, executioner, bard, blacksmith, artist. And all that remained was to work as a clerk in the shop of an evil, greedy merchant, who paid him pitiful crumbs, which were barely enough to live from hand to mouth. And one evening, sitting in a cramped closet over a glass of cheap sour wine, Mienal suddenly thought that he could try his hand at cards. He had seen enough examples when, by the will of luck, wealth came to the same rootless, unremarkable elves like himself. This idea was firmly ingrained in his mind. And having saved up a modest sum of 35 crowns, which seemed like a fortune to him, he dressed in his best clothes and came to “At the Edge of the Blade,” hoping, if not to leave here a rich man, then at least to double this amount and make acquaintances in the highest circles of society.

The excitement that gripped him at the sight of those with whom he was to sit at the same table was more intoxicating than wine. A second-level mage, a guy from the assassin's guild, a woman in rich clothes, maybe even a noble one, the head of a famous gang of mercenaries - this is not a complete list of those who came to At the Edge of the Blade to drink, chat and play.

He ​​was terribly embarrassed at the first deal, his weak hands did not want to obey him, and the only thing in his head was that, unlike other players, he had never played for money before, and in general, he was not a pro at cards, although he had occasion to beat not the weakest opponents. To his relief, although the game ended against him and the money went to the magician, his result was far from the worst.

Mienal perceived what happened next as if through a fog: now his money goes to the assassin, but luck smiles on him too, and he receives more than 300 crowns, but there are already more than a thousand at stake and he wants to get them... And the winnings float away to the magician, and a feeling of hot resentment makes him again ask to borrow money from Rahieor... And then again. And again, and then again...

the pile of gold lying on the table migrated to the mercenary, and he, grinning, said that he had had enough and got up, getting ready to leave. Then Mienal, out of resentment, drank half the bottle in one fell swoop and lost consciousness.

- How much do I owe? - He asked RaHyeor in a weak voice.

He ​​glanced at him casually.

— A lot,” he said indifferently.

- How many? - Mienal asked. The hop began to leave him, and he realized that he had borrowed from RaHyeor himself, and that everything he had borrowed would have to be returned.

— Very much,” RaKhieor said slowly, assessing the young man with his eyes.

He ​​stood up easily, walked around the tables, approaching the young man, and placed the promissory notes on the table in front of him. With cold hands, Mienal leafed through them. 70 gold, then 200, then 500, then one and a half thousand... In total, more than 3 thousand. Three thousand gold, in the name of all the gods, Mienal will not earn that much in his entire life... Moreover, RaHyeor is not one of those who will wait long, it suddenly occurred to him. Mienal went cold and swallowed convulsively.

RaKhieor, meanwhile, walked up to the counter, fished out some good wine from behind it, and sat down on the table, sipping from the bottle with pleasure. “Tamika”, more than 18 years old, the young man automatically noted. 200 crowns per gallon.

— Where will I get so much money...” Mienal muttered in confusion, more for himself than for anyone else.

— And that’s not my concern anymore,” RaKhieor responded mockingly.

Mienal immediately remembered his reputation and finally realized the extent of the disaster. He owes an astronomical amount to the elf, famous for his tough character and complete lack of mercy, which was generally characteristic of the dark ones. However, RaKhieor has enough strength and ability to carry out any threat.

My knees trembled treacherously. Mienal took a deep breath several times, gathered his courage and, in a voice breaking with fear, turned to RaHyeor:

- Mr. RaHyeor, at the moment I cannot return that amount to you, - he raised one eyebrow, and the young man’s heart sank somewhere even below his heels, but he found the strength to finish, - perhaps it’s possible to work it off somehow?

- Perhaps.

Mienal immediately perked up, and when RaHyeor went deeper into the tavern, ordering him to follow him, he obeyed with relief, glad that they were not going to kill him.

RaHyeor left the tavern through the back door, crossed a small courtyard and entered his mansion. Mienal did not lag behind a single step, fearing to incur the wrath of his creditor. And so, RaKhieor went up to the second floor and with a nod ordered the guy to go into the room in front of him.

The walls of the room were decorated with outlandish weapons, rare books were crowded on the shelves, and in the middle of the room there was a huge bed covered with an intricately embroidered bedspread. Mienal modestly walked away to the wall, wondering what he would have to do here. Well, they won’t force him to wipe off the dust. Moreover, it’s so clean here.

RaHyeor locked the bedroom door from the inside and turned to the young man with a smile.

— You can take off your clothes,” he said calmly.

This turn of events made Mienal’s head spin. He looked at RaKhieor in bewilderment, thinking that he was joking. RaKhieor, seeing the young man’s surprise, considered it necessary to explain:

-You don’t know how to do anything useful, right? In any case, I won’t get three thousand even if I sell you to magicians for experiments. You'll have to work it out, baby. You're cute, and I don't suffer from the prejudice that you can only sleep with women.

Mienal finally understood exactly how he would have to work off the ill-fated three thousand. Horror squeezed his throat and forced him to press into the wall, but he found the strength to squeeze out:

- I... I don’t want... I’ve never done this before... I don’t know how... I won’t... I don’t want...

RaKhieor in one movement was next to him, forcing him to press into the wall even more. Mienal realized in horror that if this elf decided to take him by force, then it would not be difficult for him. He's taller, stronger, faster... resistance is useless in any case. Mienal glanced at the door, trying to judge by eye whether he would have time to get to it. The touch of a cold blade to his chin brought him out of his thoughts.

- If you don’t want to work like this, then you’ll work like a zombie cleaner. I didn't force you to borrow money. And no one stopped you from stopping on time. So you will pay for your stupidity. You will spend your entire joyless existence scrubbing tavern floors until the meat flakes off and I decide to sell your bones to magicians for their magic trinkets.

And this will only be fair. — RaHyeor’s icy voice made him tremble as if in a fever. There was nothing to object to.

Mienal tried to imagine that he would be killed, then zombified, and his soul and remains would forever belong to this gloomy elf. This prospect frightened him so much that uninvited tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. His terrified gaze met the cold gaze of RaHyeor, and he realized that there would be no mercy. RaKhieor already makes him an indulgence, allowing him to work off the money with his body. I didn't want to die. And Mienal chose the lesser of two evils. Looking down, he quietly said “I agree” and reached for the ties on the collar of his camisole.

He ​​felt RaHyeor remove the blade. By the time the last piece of clothing fell to the floor and he dared to look up, RaHyeor was already sitting on the bed. The only clothing he had on was an open robe, which in no way hid his strong, flexible body. Mienal thought with some shame that he himself had the physique of a teenager.

And next to RaHyeor he is completely nondescript. RaKhieor, not suspecting what thoughts were overwhelming the young elf, paused, looking him up and down and watching with a grin as he was filled with a blush of embarrassment, noticeable even through his ashen skin. I beckoned him with my finger, and he approached, lowering his gaze again. And RaKhieor sharply grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards himself, forcing him to fall onto the bed next to him.

Mienal felt with horror how hot lips were imperiously digging into his mouth, how strong fingers were stroking his body, playing with his nipples, gently caressing his hips, until they finally lay on his ass. The young man reflexively shrank and received a light slap on the buttocks. He forced himself to relax, and RaHyeor's palm resumed its caresses. It seemed like an eternity passed before RaKhieor, having had enough of the pressure, suddenly stood up, leaned on the headboard, and in a hoarse voice ordered Mienal to caress him with his mouth.

The young man reluctantly knelt in front of him and looked at the ashen flesh before his eyes. He hesitated, not daring to take action, looked up and saw RaHyeor’s relaxed gaze give way to an irritated one. Swallowing, he decided to touch with his lips what he had previously seen only as his own and only in a secluded place, suitable for thinking about the eternal. To his surprise, it was not so unpleasant, at least the skin was soft, silky and smelled good. He decided to involve his tongue in the matter, fearing that he had dragged out the foreplay too long and RaKhieor would get angry. A hand rested on the back of his head, urging him to take the hardening flesh into his mouth completely. Mienal obeyed, and without stopping the caress with his tongue, began to move his head back and forth. RaKhieor's breathing became heavier, he patted the young man's hair approvingly with his hand, and the latter, feeling that under his caresses the flesh in his mouth had hardened to the state of stone, doomedly thought that everything was just beginning.

RaHyeor suddenly pulled away, lifted the young man from his knees and laid him on the bed. Mienal felt cold inside when his legs suddenly found themselves on the shoulders of his master, who, hanging over him, easily supported his weight on one hand, and with the other, free, gently caressed his crotch, lubricating it with some ointment with a pleasant smell. Mienal felt something hot and wet enter him, forcing him to open wider and arch in an attempt to avoid this invasion. He was afraid that it would hurt, but to his surprise, RaHyeor acted very gently, entering him gradually, and increasing the pace very slowly. The position was not very comfortable for both of them, and RaKhieor soon ordered Mienal to get on all fours and spread his buttocks with his hands, which he did. The second invasion of hot flesh was much less gentle. RaHyeor squeezed Mienal's buttocks, not so much moving himself as impaling the young elf on his stake.

He ​​sped up and began to enter harder and harder until he heard muffled sobs and realized that he was hurting the young man. However, the juicy, elastic ass in front of his eyes forced him to squeeze the young man harder and harder, until finally RaHyeor jerked convulsively for the last time, pressing the young man’s hips to himself, and spraying his seed into him. Mienal fell exhausted, completely humiliated and exhausted. He felt the warm seed leak out of him, running down his thighs, and distantly wondered if RaHyeor would be angry for ruining the blanket. However, something wet passed over his buttocks, and he realized that RaHyeor was wiping him with a napkin. There was no strength left for anything, and he simply closed his eyes. He felt himself being picked up and then laid down again, this time on a sheet.

A strong, hot body lay down next to him. Mienal trembled as if in a fever, trying in vain to control the unbidden tears of pain and humiliation, fearing that RaKhieor, who was not known for his meek disposition, would misinterpret these tears. He clearly understood that the former murderer did not know compassion, especially in the current situation, because the law of the Underdark states that the creditor can freely dispose of the life and property of the debtor if the debtor is unable to pay the debt. Whatever one may say, Mienal himself is to blame. The young man felt so unhappy and lonely that he could not hold back a sorrowful sob, and immediately fell silent in fear, fearing his master’s reaction.

RaHyeor was always annoyed by sobbing and crying, but now he was in such a satisfied and relaxed state that he even wanted to console the young man. He hugged his new concubine and pressed him to him, gently stroking his trembling body. Для расстроенного Миэналя эта ласка была настолько неожиданна, что он потерял способность здраво рассуждать, и только крепче прижимался к груди РаХьеора, ища то ли защиты, то ли утешения, то ли того и другого сразу. В полной тишине, уже не нарушаемой всхлипами юноши, их обоих сморил сон.

Пы. Сы. Сие первый псевдолитературный потуг моего воспаленного мозга. Отзывы, при наличии оных, плиз на мыло ktulhu_fhtаgn＠ i. uа