Rude Awakening

By TurkeyVulture
published November 2, 2020
3362 words
Summary

A warrior finds himself the plaything of a twisted human mage and learns he cannot trust even his own body.

A burst of pain, blackness, and then Tareq’s eyes were open wide. He had a moment to witness the stars- even in this panicked state he knew they had shifted slightly from where they should be- before he realized his wrists were bound. He attempted to cry out to find his teeth clenched, unable to elicited any sound but a deep snarl. The cool night air wicked at his body slick with sweat. Before even looking down he could feel he was entirely nude, his copper muscles and dusting of wine-dark hair chilling in the wind. What in the Pit had happened to him?

A light crackling alerted him the campfire a few yards away. Warming his hands at the edge was a valley walker, a Reman judging by the dingy strips of wool he had wrapped over his rusty tunic. He was a small man, though the tightness in his muscles made him appear far from timid. A red twinkle flashed as he passed his left hand over the fire, indicating a gem embedded in his leather bracer. ‘Of course,’ Tareq reasoned, ‘a mage.’ A quick glance to his wide chest confirmed his suspicion of a sigil, drawn in black ink but tinted with a harsh red light. His mute and lame state were explained now- he’d been cursed.

The Reman glanced his way and smiled. He pushed himself to his feet and strode over. Tareq watched him closely, his breath getting quicker as he approached. His movements were feline, each step deceptively causal though calculatedly purposeful to a trained warrior’s eye. This was the jaunt of not some overfed mage but a man who fought with his body as well as his learning. No, this Reman was not to be underestimated.

“<Finally awake, my bronze friend.>” the Reman said, in surprisingly fluent Quarnak. Tareq may have been impressed had he not reached out and started stroking his crest like only a parent or lover should. He continued in Reman, “I was worried I had overcooked the trance. Your will was so much stronger than you companions I had to pull out all the stops.”

Tareq darted his eyes, straining to see around the shadowed form of the Reman. Qrat and Kamix, his brothers-at-arms! They had been on border excursion to determine the extent of Reman defenses in the arboreal north, in hopes of eventually opening a new front to the war and distract the invaders from the populated south. They had to be stashed somewhere nearby, likely bound as he was.

Strong fingers pulled him by the chin to stare into the Reman’s eyes. Another shock, they shone as bright red as his own. He’d never seen a valley walker with such coloration. “You need not strain those gorgeous rubies.” He gestured with his gloved hand to the flame, brighten it briefly to illuminate the entire campsite. A simple lean-to tent, a riding cock with his beak tucked into his wing, and a brass astrolabe on a stand were the only occupants clearing.

Tareq furrowed his brow, drawing down the ridge of his crest in a battle posture. He growled through his fangs to drive the message in.

The Reman’s smile drew wide from hungry to bemused. “Your companions are unscathed, you lovely beast.” he said, running his hand up his bearded face to stroke his crest again, “From battle, at least. I hear the VI Legion doesn’t waste time branding their acquisitions.”

Tareq yelped. Acquisitions! Dare he mean-

“The gods blessed my family with an innate talent for hypnotic induction, but even two dimwits like those hunks were bound to break free eventually, especially with my attention focused on keeping you under.” He slapped Tareq softly and kneeled down, his knee brushed up against his cock. “Best to dump them on the beetles than waste my time trying to tame them. Don’t worry though,” He leant forward so his knee just pressed against Tareq’s balls. “I made sure to test the merchandise.”

The phrase triggered a rush of memories. Tareq watched as the Reman mounted Kamix while Qrat stuffed his long cock, the envy of many in their squad, down his throat. He heard himself moaning as if half-asleep as Qrat thrusted into his fellow warrior’s mouth, his lean abs rolling with the effort. The Reman, his own lithe, hairy body twitching with excitement, mirrored his movements from behind. Kamix took his dual assaults with vigor, slobbering over Qrat’s cock so much his drool dripped from his goatee. Only their eyes betrayed that this was not an orgy, staring blankly into space as a statues.

A sharp pain brought him back to the present. The Reman, shaking his open palm, had his hungry smile back. “Just a little taste of the last few days, since you missed so much of them.” (A few days! By the War Father!) “You should have seen their faces when I released them to the legion. Their shame was so deep they were nearly orange!”

Such insolence! Tareq raged against the sigil keeping him bound. His pectorals bounced brilliantly but did not disturb the carefully drawn magics. He cared not- this Reman pig would pay with blood if he had to tear his own arms off to see that he did.

The Reman grasped Tareq’s flexing chest, squeezing with the taut muscle. “Once I dumped those dead weights I could focus on my real prize.” He straddled Tareq and closed his fingers on his onyx nipples. He twisted them counter each other, forcing a whine to break Tareq’s struggle. “With just the two of us I had plenty of time to teach you some tricks.”

He need not wait long to discover what that meant. To Tareq’s abject disgust the more the Reman assaulted his nipples the warmer his crotch became. This couldn’t be- he was a disciplined warrior, and much less beside no gold-blooded Quarnak man would come erect at the touch of another man! And yet each twist jolted his cock until it was turgid as if in his wife’s cunt. He pleaded with his eyes to his captor. What had he done to him?

“Fun little trick, isn’t it?” The Reman giggled, almost girlishly. “Just a twist of a knob and, well, you want to twist your knob.”

He rubbed his own hard rod, bound by his undercloth, against Tareq. Each brush of the fabric, though he knew it to be a rough cotton, felt like thrusting into velvet. Tareq shivered as the Reman pulled his hot cock out to glide alongside his own. Damn him to the Pit, his touch was lightning!

The Reman nuzzled against Tareq’s beard. Tareq’s vision was blurred by the auburn corona of his captor’s scruffy hair backlit by the campfire. He could hardly focus regardless, the friction of his cock against his enemy’s galvanizing his spine. The Reman half-whispered, half-kissed his ear. “The problem with hypnosis,” he said in a husky tone, “is that verbal commands erode without enforcement. You can have a lot of fun until then, but it isn’t tenable for more prolonged relationships.” He nibbled Tareq’s lobe and a new sensation shot straight down his back. His asshole tingled with want, gaping as if asking beckoning entrance. Tareq could barely muster the will to feel ashamed.

The Reman leaned forward until Tareq was on his back, his arms trapped beneath him. He pulled another object from his satchel- a small pot of something fragrant, almost fruity- while positioning Tareq’s legs onto his shoulders. Struggling against the intense feeling in his ass Tareq found his ankles bound in their position by phantasmal red chains almost visible in the moonlight. That damned sigil!

“If you want lasting control you need to instill commands that can’t be reasoned out of by a sharp mind.” The Reman winked at him puckishly. He dipped the hand bearing the ruby into the pot and pulled out the fingers slick with a yellowish oil. “Fortunately,” He circled Tareq’s tight hole, running his oily fingers over the puckering lips. “the body is without reason.” He plunged a finger into his ass.

By the fucking War Father! Tareq moaned as the invader pumped slowly in and out, twisting like a corkscrew. On a conscious, shameful level Tareq could feel the sharp pain of having his virgin ass fingered, but the enthralling sensations overpowered the ache. The Reman tapped a second finger besides the first. “Teach the body triggers and the results are much more enduring.” The second finger joined the first, two cool snakes burrowing in his warm glen. Tareq hated the Reman for how good he’d made this feel. Surely it must be his damned magic!

With his free hand his captor stroked his own cock, coating it with slick oil. “The thrall, no matter how strong willed, begins to accept the triggers as his own natural responses. He knows what’s happening to him yet he can’t resist his body’s desires.” The Reman flicked his rod, slapping it against Tareq’s balls. Another new sensation- a jolt of pleasure despite the direct assault on his precious berries. If his ancestors were watching they must be retching by now.

Tareq felt bile roil in his stomach as the Reman pulled his fingers from his hole and slowly stroked his cock down his taint. Even through the haze of hypnotic sensations he knew what was imminent. He tried to sit up, to beg the Reman as a warrior not to fuck him like a whore, like a slave, but he couldn’t lift his back. His face looked up to the stars, the constellations the only witness to his hot blush. He wondered if from their vantage he looked ashamed or lustful. He couldn’t tell himself.

The Reman pushed into him slowly, each inch agonizing yet wildly pleasurable. The short man leaned forward as far as he could given the rolling muscle of his captive and his own stature. “I have to admit, I’m being generous tonight.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Tareq’s legs and began to pull out just as slow. “I wanted your first time to be as painless,” he grunted, “as possible.” He thrust in again, quicker now, pulling back before he spoke again. “And, of course,” He thrust, and Tareq moaned as his cock- so much warmer than his fingers- struck something. Another trigger hidden away in his ass? The Reman’s deviance knew no bounds! “for enduring trance you have to chip down rather than build up!”

The Reman spoke no more after his arrogant pronouncement. An observer would think he too had been muted as he clenched his jaw, grunting in rhythm with his ramming rod. Tareq’s moan became a whine, and then nearly squeal as the hammer struck that trigger deep within him again and again. His tongue trashed wildly at his unmoving fangs. He wanted to shout to the War Father, his shame be damned! The Reman’s tempo continued to build until he hit a gallop, slamming against the bronze bubble butt that was now his property.

After what seemed like an age Tareq felt the familiar tension in his cock. His balls bunched against his rod as he came harder than his own wedding night, his seed splashing against his chest. The sigil’s glow turned a bashful pink as he bathed himself in his own seed like a bull at stud. He shook despite the spell binding him as the last rope erupted from his cock. As he lay empty the full gravity of his debasement hit him. He was a Reman’s whore, and by the splatter across his torso he’d seem willing. The wetness in his eyes turned salty as the last of his orgasm washed out of him.

The Reman unsheathed himself from his captive, breathing hot sighs against the Quarnak cock. He pulled himself up over the mound of muscle so that his rod, almost violently red, prodded Tareq’s lips. With wailing moan he released his seed on Tareq’s face. Tareq begged the Pit to swallow him.

Despite his searing shame Tareq began to feel relaxed. His vision blurred until only the red eyes of the Reman shone through the night’s shade. “Sweet dreams, handsome. Your real work starts tomorrow.”


The low suns glistening through the dew-soaked leaves cast a golden light over the campsite. Birds long awake continued their eclectic choir in the branches above while the first distinctive chirps of breeding bugs foretold the imminent summer. On such mornings Tareq would have enjoyed an early breakfast deep in the wood to appreciate the true sovereign of the planet, nature herself. If he imagined himself clothed and his wrists not bound by magic chains he almost still could.

The Reman hand feeding him bread and smoked meat like he was some kind of pet ruined the illusion. He grudgingly accepted the meal, glad his mouth was finally his own to move. Better to keep his strength up on the meager rations than waste escape potential on toothless oaths.

“There’s a good boy.” The Reman smiled, pushing his palm firmly against Tareq’s lips so not a crumb was wasted. He scratched his captive’s chin and leaned back to his own meal. “You’ll need your strength for the journey ahead.”

Tareq furiously gulped and spat, “I’ll journey nowhere with you, Reman pig.” He puffed out his chest. “When your magic fails you I’ll tear your head from your shoulders.”

Rolled eyes and attention diverted to jerky was not the reaction he’d hoped for. “You’re smart enough to know I could keep you so deeply tranced you’d do anything I wanted, so you can shelve the posturing.” The Reman bit into his thin sandwich and spoke through his food. “It’d be an awful headache for me and frankly even a prize as pretty as you isn’t worth the trouble.” He swallowed and tore another bite, crumbs now spraying from his lips. “Fortunately, turns out the beetles barter well for Quarnaks.”

The Reman reached into his satchel and pulled out a crude ring of iron. The only distinguishing feature was a clasp with a dirty ruby embedded in a gold frame. He pushed himself up and strode behind Tareq. “Took me three days to attune because of the damn rain, but these are more than worth the wait.”

Before Tareq could even turn to protest he’d snapped the ring around his neck. “Damn you to the Pit!” The collar was just tight enough not to be restricting while making him constantly aware of its presence. Decorating him like a concubine- would the indignities ever cease?

After squeezing his chest the Reman headed to the lean-to. The weight binding his wrists dissipated and Tareq leapt to his feet. Ah, typical Reman magic! As fallible as the mages are arrogant. He saw the Reman’s back was turned and, after wiping his hand through the sigil to break it for certain, he charged with a roar. He raised his arm, claws splayed, rearing back to slash his tormentor’s spine out.

Before Tareq would even swing every bulging muscle in his body erupted into painful spasms. He writhed on the ground in agony so deep his screams caught in his throat as sputtering gasps. The Reman’s hungry smile appeared over him, even more satisfied than he’d been yesterday. “You’re really trying to disabuse me of thinking you smart, aren’t you?”

As quickly as the pain began it dissipated, leaving Tareq soaked with sweat and heaving in the ground. The Reman extended a hand to him, which he batted away as he pushed himself up. The arrogance! Bashfully covering his manhood, he bitterly demanded, “What magic is this?”

The Reman tapped his own neck. “Thrall collar, you bronze beauty. Whoever wears it cannot harm or flee from whomever it is attuned to.” He grasped the collar, eyes lit up appraisingly. “Difficult as hell to craft a curse like that, even for military smiths. The gods must have smiled on me to see me acquire such a boon.”

Tareq continued to sweat rivets, now from fear. If the Reman spoke truth he was in a far tighter net than he thought. Escape from hypnosis and sigils took only patience and diligence, but curses were beyond his experience. He’d need a boon of his own to slip out of the tricky man’s clutches.

“You know where you stand now, then.” The Reman dropped his hand to cup Tareq’s chest. No doubt intentionally he brushed against his nipple, sending a swift tinge to his cock. He pushed the traitorous member down and shook off the Reman with a back-step.

To his surprise the Reman raised his forearm to clasp. “I am Petrus.” He looked up at the much taller man’s face, his grin almost friendly save for those blazing eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself.”

Tareq squared his shoulders and shouted defiantly, “I am Tareq of the Stonebreaker Clan.” He raised a beat his breast with a clenched fist, punctuating each name. “I am First Eyes of the Deep Wood Armada, Hero of the Battle of Parqatai Gultch, and no Reman’s slave!”

“Oh, I know.” Petrus dropped his arm. He headed back to the lean-to. “I got everything I needed to know about you and your pals when I first tranced you. Your names, clans, ranks, your adorably misguided mission. By Nyx, even the first time you got girly action!”

Tareq’s shame flared anew. He’d never broken before, even under Reman torture. Petrus need only make eye contact and he’d spun him his entire tapestry. With power that great was need was curses and sigils?

“Ah, here we go.” Petrus turned back to him, his arms laden with Tareq’s armor, sandals, and sword. What was left of them, anyway- all the remained of his armor was the wide cloth strap and cragiron codpiece that had once cinched his leather trousers and his shoulder guards. He’d look more fit for a play than a battle in such garb. He took it from Petrus regardless. “I sold off the rest of your gear. You didn’t have any complaints at the time, so no moaning now.” His captor winked.

After a soft crackle from his collar warned him from trying to turn away Tareq dressed quickly. Something covering him was better than nothing, though without the trousers most of his ass was left exposed. Petrus ran his hand over the exposed copper flesh.

“You are a vision. Just one last accessory.” Tareq yelped when a searing pain erupted on his left ass cheek. Petrus pulled back his hand, a burning red symbol- a rooster’s head- glowing on his palm. “Now you’re officially property of Gens Rubegallus.”

Tareq fumed. Marking of the body! In defiance of the honor of battle-won scars! He would not let this blasphemy stand! He raised his sword, bracing himself to ride the collar’s pain.

Petrus looked amused. “Polished mirror, never clearer.”

His body locked up and, to his anger, took the lazy stance of Petrus before him. The smiling cat of a Reman grabbed his crotch, forcing Tareq’s body to do the same. “Vocal commands might erode, but they are so fun while they’re active, aren’t they?”

“Fuck you, Reman.”

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Petrus stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled them up. Tareq did the same, sputtering impotently over his fangs. “Turn that frown upside down!”

As his captor stood there laughing at his own ridiculous joke Tareq could only broil. With every father of Stonebreaker Clan as his witness, he vowed to strike this arrogant man down.

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