91 - Quivering On the Edge

Ahrimaz couldn’t make himself move.  His eyes followed the razor, then blinked shut as Yolend’s hands began kneading the insides of his thighs.  He was so hard he ached.  He felt the edge of the razor and the sliding, almost melting sensation as Pelahir drew it gently over his chest.  He couldn’t look, desperately wanting the stinging of hair-fine cuts. 

Then there was a burning smack across his chest, across one of his nipples and he caught his breath.  Had Pel actually cut him?  He couldn’t look.  He had to look… no, just smacked him with the flat or the back of the blade. He clenched his eyes shut again.

He sank into the sensation and Yolend ran her lotion covered hands over his whole groin, her touch hot as fire and he could feel Aeono’s spark roaring up in him, and with it… with it… behind it, under it… Her flood.

He caught his lip in his teeth and clamped down on his feelings.  He could come… he needed to.  He had to.  He couldn’t. 

As he tightened up, quivering, another slashing near-pain and he yelped and relaxed.  Pel had swiped the back of the razor hard over one of his nipples.  “Let us do as we will, you,” Pel said again and Yolend started humming.

The damned Yhom were always singing, humming, whistling, clicking their fingers or lips or teeth.  Something.  It seemed as though they were never, ever still.  But this hum was so deep he could feel it in her fingers, her palms her fingertips… like the sound the elephants made.

He couldn’t help it, he relaxed a little more, the sound shaking him loose from his clinging.  His whole chest was shaved and Pel gently set the razor into the foam on his abdomen, the line of hair he had, like a fawn, down his centre.

“P…p….p… oh Gods!  Please!”  He nearly screamed the word, hating himself for begging, his plea an echo of what he did in hatred to the man in the other world.  As Pelahir slowly, carefully began shaving down toward his navel he felt the hot tracks of tears on his face and it just added to his confusion.  Was this enough pain?  Would they allow him to come?  No, they would insist on it.

He was so confused.

She had his penis in her hands, the razor threat on his skin, like a predator’s teeth lightly scratching.  He moaned when she began to suck on him and then the flash of cold air when she let him go, lotion, hot hands

RazorlotionmouthohG..g...gods...

Pel kissed him, holding the blade against the pulse of his neck as Yolend… my Gods had she filled her mouth with fire?  …pulled him deep into her mouth and

His confusion tumbled him into Aeono’s Fire and Lyrian’s Flood, full, free, as he and Pel clicked teeth and he tore his face away, screaming and it went on, and on.  There was no more pain in it.  It just was.  It burned through the rotten chains his father had scorched into his soul and the skin of his back burned as if he were being flogged.

His screams became tears and sobbing.  “I’ve always loved you,” he stammered.  “I’ve always loved you both.  I’m sorry I’m sorry I loved you, I hurt you… I hated you… I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Ahrimaz kept repeating those words even as they devolved into an incoherent mumble and the Cylak and the Yhom woman wiped him clean with warm towels and bundled him up and took him up to the humble bed he’d first woken up in, wrapped in their arms.