First Day of Breaking a Warlord

23rd day of the 9th moon, 1103 HC

Damion is led through the Water Sanctum's war camp. Abrasive rope binds his wrists and wings, tearing feathers and rubbing skin raw. A collar has been tightened on his neck. Its embedded talisman has ripped his wings into the material realm, a painful process, just so they can be bound. Just so he can be grounded.

The collar's buckle isn't metal. Of course it isn't. This is the Water Sanctum. They know how to control the Emberai. They wouldn't be foolish enough to bind a talisman empowered Emberai Windborne with metal that they could simply melt away. He sure wishes they were dumb enough to use a metal buckle, though.

One guard was dumb enough to pull a metal sword on him. A sword! Against an Emberai with nothing to lose? Damion dissolved the sword into ruin and snapped the guard’s neck faster than he could blink. A guard dumb enough to wield metal against an Emberai doesn't deserve life as a Sky-Touched from the Water Sanctum.

They've now got him surrounded with guards armed with wooden clubs, obsidian axes, and stone tipped arrows. I am the Harbinger of the Flood. I deserve no less than such an armed escort to keep me contained.

His chin is held high. He did well today. Yesterday. The whole damn civil war. He fought with every drop of his heart. It may be ending with his surrender. It may be ending with his execution. But he fought well. And now, he will die as an Emberai warrior worthy of songs. He couldn't hope for a better conclusion to his life.

This war camp is filled with his enemies who glare at him as they pass. His reputation has always preceded him. He is Scaldmere's pride and joy, the greatest warrior in living memory. He is the Harbinger of the Flood. And they all know it.

They lead him into a tent, raise his arms and secure him to the roof supports. He tugs and yanks at it to see how secure it is. This is a sturdy tent. He closes his eyes and senses for metal connection pieces. None. He expected as much. But he had to be sure. He heard reports from scouts that infiltrating their war camps to try to collapse their structures was useless since they cleverly avoid metal on anything important. Of course. This is the Water Sanctum. They know how to control the Emberai. They were designed for it.

They use metal shears to cut off his armor. He melts them for the pure joy of it. A backhanded blow splits his lip on his teeth. A bloody smile grows across his face. Worth it.

They take obsidian axes and begin to saw through the leather straps and fabrics. His armor, his most prized possession, once flowed around him like water, its scaled surface flickering like flame. Now it falls away piece by piece, sluicing like cold water dousing his fire.

They toss the pieces into a careless heap. They'll be destroyed. His breath hitches. This armor was his closest companion. His second skin. His flame-forged friend. But he's dying soon and he can't take his armor with him to the great beyond. He straightens and raises his chin to pay his proper respects. He stares at the pile and says his goodbyes to both the armor and his life.

He was born with a name, lovingly given by his mother. It was taken when they ascended him, renamed him Damion to mark the start of his new life. They called it an honor. And maybe it was. He was five. Too young to understand what it meant to be powerful, but old enough to remember the way his mother held him as she wept. Her face, her voice, her name, though, have been swallowed by the tide of becoming.

She loved him. He knows that. She wanted him. But the caste they lived in couldn't keep him. His powers outstripped hers, and so the Emberai came for him. The Hearthhold he was born to has turned cold, emptied, dissolved, scattered, and resettled like floodwaters through brittle reeds. His mother is lost to that tide.

He wonders, not for the first time, if she still lives. He's sure she would know of the warlord called the Harbinger of the Flood. Everyone does. Is she proud of the Harbinger? Does she tell stories about him to children who aren’t her own? Does she feel anything when she hears that name? And will she grieve his death? Never realizing this Harbinger was her beloved son, taken from her by the cruel rituals of caste.

He breathes in slow and exhales as his farewells settle into his bones. Farewell to the name they gave him. Farewell to the fire he became. Farewell to the life he made.

He lived well. More than well. He became everything they hoped he would be and more. He's ready. He'll die with his head held high.

A guard turns away with the fabric of his shorn clothes bundled in his arms. Then suddenly Damion's nude body is splashed with soapy water. A servant comes with a brush of coarse bristles and scrubs him down like a horse. His blood runs cold. This is not normal. There must be a reason he's being washed. A reason to erase the sweat, the grime, the blood he earned from this morning's battle.

His heart beats a little harder. Someone intends to use him. To use his body. To humiliate him. A man fucking a man is a great taboo in Emberai society. If discovered, the bottom is ostracized. Forgotten. Erased.

They intend to try to erase the memory of him. To sully his name. Taint his accomplishments and make his victories taste like shame.

And it's a humiliation he's going to have to endure. He's going to have to feel it. Experience it. Be here as it happens. Something he hasn't felt before creeps along his skin.

The servant kneels before him and washes his genitals with a rough cloth. Around his cock. Around his balls. Through all the crevices between his legs. He's never been touched here by a man before. Damion looks to the ceiling. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want this to be happening.

The servant takes that rough cloth and cleans harshly in the cleft of his ass. Doubt is removed from Damion's mind. They are preparing him to be fucked.

But not by the soldiers. They wouldn't bother to clean him for their comfort. They're preparing him for a higher ranking official. The commander maybe? There is a small relief he isn't going to be bent over and passed from soldier to soldier for days on end.

At least... not yet. What if the commander just wants first dibs before releasing his ass to the masses. The anger those soldiers will have for him. He personally killed so many of their friends. His people started this war, and they'll use him to release their rage and grief.

They will tear him apart from the inside out.

That creeping feeling on his skin grips tighter. What is this feeling? What is this sensation?

The servant leaves. The guards throw knowing smirks at him before they depart. He's left alone to stand there, naked, in the center of the tent with his arms tied above his head.

He looks around the room. To his right, there is a brazier with a crackling fire. His left is a trunk. And from what he saw behind him, there is a table with leather straps for a six point restraint. To restrain a person to the table. There is a smaller table between the large table and the trunk.

He listens to the crackling fire while trying to figure out what this sensation is that is crawling along his skin. It's skipping up his spine and he feels he's on the urge of trembling.

The feeling is familiar. A distant memory. He tries to place it. He was young. Very young. Too young. He remembers now, standing somewhere frozen in place with this same dance skipping on his spine. What was he doing? He was looking. He was looking at... Kindlepoint. He was seeing the Hearthhold Kindlepoint for the very first time. He had just been painfully ripped from his mother and transported to Kindlepoint and he was looking at that place for the first time. Alone. His first time alone. He was feeling...

... afraid.

Damion is afraid right now. His heart clenches and simultaneously almost chuckles at the absurdity. He'd forgotten what fear felt like. But then he sobers. He is afraid. He doesn't want his body to be used. He doesn't want to be fucked. He doesn't want to feel it. He doesn't want the shame associated with it.

He pulls on the rope holding his hands to the ceiling rafters. He'd like to just walk away right now. He can't. He tries to ruffle his wings in frustration, but they're bound in rope and the movement just painfully disrupts his feathers even further. He closes his eyes and concentrates on dismissing his wings. But it's no use. The collar is forcing them to be manifested in this plane.

He tries to soothe the creeping sensation of fear by meditating. This is part of his training. Close the eyes. Center the breath. Dissolve the body into flame, memory, sky.

But memory is louder than breath. His mind shifts to this morning when he surrendered.

The battlefield was quiet. The wind and the slow crunch of his boots as he took his final steps as a free man. The Water Sanctum commander had kept her weapon lowered. Just watched, eyes wary, as Damion knelt before her.

He’d felt every gaze on him. His soldiers, the dead, the Emberai ancestors watching through fire and spirit. He had laid his sword on the ground, and with it, the final ember of this long-smoldering civil war. He had chosen survival for those still breathing behind him. He gave himself for them.

He had expected pain. Shame. Maybe the peace of death. But what came was silence. And then they bound him.

He tries to banish the memory, no use thinking on it now. Focus on his fire discipline. Emotional containment. But the fear gnaws, and the stillness feeds it.

He tries casting his mind outwards. He senses two guards outside the tent. They're afraid of him. They're afraid he'll escape and hurt him. He smiles. He imagines breaking out of these ropes and breaking their necks.

He focuses in on the blood flowing in the veins of the one on the right. Then he takes a deep breath and pushes. The guard stumbles forward and falls to his knees. His fear spikes high, sharp and hot, and the crash of it slams into Damion without even trying to reach for it.

The guard lurches to his feet and bursts into the tent, "Do that again and we'll beat you senseless!" Damion smiles devilishly and winks at him. The guard freezes, then backs out of the tent without another word. He knows. He knows if Damion focused closely enough, he could push the very blood out of his heart again and again until he died.

But Damion won't do that. He's just a soldier following orders and this isn't a battlefield. He's not going to just senselessly kill him.

He casts his mind further. He senses people walking past. Some are afraid. Some are aroused, hoping Damion will be released to the soldiers. Some are proud to have defeated him.

Time passes, though, and the entertainment of sensing people walking by wears thin. His knees ache. His raw wrists sting. His thoughts blur at the edges.

He drifts in and out of focus, not quite sleeping, not quite conscious. A sort of meditative daze that is anything but peaceful.

Time crawls ever forward. Then collapses.

Someone with great emotional stillness approaches the tent. The kind of stillness that lies at the bottom of an ocean. Pressure. Weight. Depth. This person's still emotions don't just ripple towards Damion. He is being surrounded.

They turn towards the tent. Whoever this is isn't afraid of him. He's approaching the tent's entrance in cool calm either because he is very ignorant, or very powerful. Not even the commander of this camp is this emotionally controlled.

The person enters. He wears a black tunic with a wide dark blue belt with cresting waves tooled on it. He has inky black hair that shines and cut short. And he just strolls in casually with his hands in his pockets. Damion breathes in and can feel the humidity of the air has risen. This can be only one person.

Water Master Mulsae. The highest authority of the Water Sanctum.

Damion doesn't move but tracks Mulsae as he circles, examining his prize. Mulsae lets his hand caress across Damion's ass as he passes by. So this is the one who is going to fuck him, then. Maybe he should be honored that he'll be sullied by one of the seven most powerful people in Harmura. It somewhat reflects how much he achieved in his life and the true meaning of being the Harbinger of the Flood.

Mulsae rounds to Damion's front again and looks him in the eyes. A smile warms across Mulsae's face.

"Harbinger of the Flood," Mulsae says calmly like a man who knows he has no need to raise his voice, "You have been a thorn in my side for the past six moons."

He reaches out a hand and caresses down Damion's cheek before grasping his chin, "You've personally killed countless good men and women. People with spouses. Children. Parents. Siblings."

He lowers his hand and puts it back in his pocket. He stands with a casual grace. "Did you think of that before you started this war? About who would be hurt?"

Damion doesn't answer. Mulsae cocks his head to the side. "Of course you didn't. You expected to die. You expected a warrior's grand funeral for honoring death in battle. You expected mothers to feel pride for their fallen sons."

He narrows his eyes, "But not every culture is like the Emberai. We don't all long to die in the flames of battle. There are other dreams, and the Emberai's warmongering has snuffed countless dreams."

He holds his chin up, "I believe your death cult has made it so your people no longer understand the consequences of loss. I aim to change that."

He levels a stern gaze at Damion, "I intend to make you a lesson to the Emberai. A lesson to understand the true concept of loss."

He unsheathes an obsidian dagger. Of course it's obsidian. He gets close and brings the tip towards Damion's talisman embedded under his collarbone.

No. Damion's eyes widen. The tip of the dagger touches his skin and Damion hops back the little bit that he can. Mulsae wordlessly grasps his back in one hand and digs his dagger into his skin. He slices across the talisman and digs it out.

Damion is grimacing from both pain and horror. You just do not take a Windborne's talisman. Even in death, the Windborne is to die and be cremated with their talisman.

The talisman pops out into Mulsae's hand, and he steps back, closely watching Damion. He's deflating. His powers winked out the moment the talisman left his body. He no longer senses the metal rivets on the trunk. He no longer senses the guards and the passersby.

He feels suddenly blinded. He's disoriented. He didn't even realize how much he depended upon those extra senses to orient him in space. He feels the world has crashed in on him and enveloped him.

Mulsae puts the talisman in his pocket. "I'll destroy it later," he says. Damion tries to suppress his expression of sorrow. He's going to die without it. He's going to be cremated without it. He's already being tortured with this blindness without it.

Mulsae snaps his fingers and a servant comes in and hands him a box then departs.

"I found the plans for this while doing some research on how to solve Emberai warmongering problem." He opens the box and drifts his fingers across what is inside.

"I added my own touch. I had to search high and low for a Sky-Touched crafter from the Mountain Sanctum willing to work with someone of Water Sanctum descent," he says wistfully, "But I found them and they enchanted this so that when it closes it will never open again."

He lifts the object. It's made of thin wires and shaped like a cylinder that's domed on one side. "I'm locking you."

Locking what? What can be locked with that?

Mulsae's smile twitches then widens. He kneels down in front of Damion.

No...

"Yes," Mulsae says.

He swaps objects in the box and removes a ring. He grasps and manipulates Damion's cock and balls to thread them through the ring so it is seated surrounding him at the base.

Locking me... Never open again...

Mulsae takes the wired object and looks at it closely. "I hear you are quite a ladies man. They flock to you. They sing your praises and ask for seconds."

He looks up at Damion, "Never again. You will never feel the warmth of wet pussy enveloping you ever again."

He slides the cage-like object around his cock. The size seems to fit perfectly. His flaccid cock gently shrinks into itself to fit inside the cage.

He looks up at Damion. "Once a latch snaps closed, it can never be opened again."

It's okay, it's okay, I'm just dying soon anyway.

Mulsae stands up, keeping the cage in place as he does so. He's so close to Damion's face. Too close.

"I'm not killing you," he says lowly, "I'm transforming you." He snaps a latch shut. Damion's breath hitches.

"You are to teach the Emberai about the meaning of loss." The second latch snaps closed. Damion shifts uncomfortably.

"You are going to become a symbol." The third latch snaps. Damion swallows.

"You are now my pet." The fourth and final latch snaps into place. Damion breathes shallowly.

My cock is caged permanently. And I'm not dying. I have to live like this. Permanently. He can't believe it's true. He makes plans to try to yank it off when he has his hands back.

None of this feels like it is really happening. He is simultaneously here and not here. There is not a cage permanently attached to his cock. He feels like this is all temporary and he'll be back to his regular life soon.

Then the word 'pet' sinks into his consciousness. The horror of being permanently emasculated is over written at the horror of being referred to as a pet.

What does he mean by pet?

Mulsae steps back and looks Damion up and down with lust glazed eyes.

"I mean," Mulsae starts, "That you are going to be a good boy for me, kneel at my side, and do everything I command you to."

Damion is incredulous. There is no way he would ever kneel as a pet. He narrows his eyes. He can try, but I will be nothing but trouble.

Mulsae smiles devilishly. "We'll see," is all he says.

Damion takes another look up at the rafters to analyze yet again if he can get free. He tugs again at the rope. No, he's trapped. He looks back at Mulsae. Besides, this is the Water Master. An Emberai talisman may grant the ability to push someone through their blood, but the Water Master can freeze someone still. He closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again. He's stuck here.

He's stuck with whatever plans Mulsae has for him. He has no options. He simply is observing his fate unfold before his eyes.

"Welcome to your new life, my pet," Mulsae purrs. He takes off his tunic and folds it over the small table. Then he removes his belt. He approaches Damion while undoing the ties of his pants.

"Your cock is mine now, Damion," he takes himself out of his pants. He's already long and hard. "As my pet," he presses up behind Damion and runs his cock between his cheeks, "The only cock you will concern yourself with for the rest of your days is mine."

Damion stands still as Mulsae continues to rut against him. He can't escape this. He shifts his gaze to the fire and tries to get lost in its flickering patterns. To forget how helpless he is to the shame he's about to endure.

Mulsae backs away and opens the trunk. He pulls out a bottle and returns to Damion while pouring some of the contents on his fingers.

Damion flinches when Mulsae's finger slide into his cleft and touches his hole. He glides his finger around the entrance. Damion's never been touched there. Dread fills his bones. He swallows and stares at the fire again, trying to become lost within it.

"You're so tight," Mulsae says softly, "You won't be for long. I'm going to gradually stretch you with larger and larger anal plugs. Until your hole is just perfect for my cock."

Mulsae whispers into Damion's ear, "I'm going to make you a fuckable cunt." Damion's body shudders. None of this is happening. None of that is going to happen. But he shudders because his body knows that's a lie. This is happening. And he has no power to prevent Mulsae from doing whatever he wants to him.

Mulsae presses his finger firmly to breach Damion's entrance. Damion grimaces and stares into the fire. The light is burning black spots into his retinas. Mulsae starts thrusting his finger in and out. Oh gods, this feels so weird. He squeezes his eyes shut, but that just traps him alone with these sensations so he focuses again on the dancing fire.

Mulsae pulls against the rim to stretch it further and Damion's lips part as his face folds into a crumpled grimace. He doesn't care about the faces he's making. Caring about his image just isn't important right now. He's alone with Mulsae, and he isn't even able to see his face right now. So he doesn't care and just does what he needs to in order to cope.

And right now that involves rolling his neck as Mulsae inserts a second finger and thrusts. Damion assesses his situation again. The rope holding his hands is secure. He pulls it again anyway. Mulsae can hold him still by his blood. He's trapped. He takes a half step forward anyway.

Mulsae uses his other hand to pull his hip back and whispers, "You're not going anywhere. This is happening. Now." Mulsae opens his fingers like scissors and Damion feels the stretch. He screws his eyes shut.

Mulsae increases the speed of his fingering. The soft squelching sounds seem loud in this silent tent. A blush warms across Damion's cheeks. He lets his chin fall to his chest as he tries to manage his breathing. Slow inhale, slow exhale.

Damion grunts and shuffles his feet when Mulsae inserts a third finger. He looks up at the ceiling. He imagines his consciousness just floating up and away out of this tent. Out of this experience.

Mulsae takes out his fingers and bends over for the bottle of oil. He oils his cock and drops the bottle.

"Pay attention," Mulsae purrs. He positions the head of his cock at Damion's entrance. Damion's breath hitches. Gods, I can't believe this is happening.

"I want you to feel every inch of me as I fill you," he says as he presses himself forward slowly. His cock penetrates his entrance. This is it. I'm ruined now. His heart sinks. If news of this spreads widely his legacy will be erased.

"As time goes on," Mulsae says as he continues slowly forward. "Your cunt will be molded to fit me perfectly. Even when I’m not inside you, you’ll always feel the shape of me." Damion gasps at the thought of this continuing on. Tomorrow. The day after. Next week.

What Mulsae is doing doesn't hurt. He's been slow. Cautious. Sensitive. These new sensations are overwhelming, though. His neck and chest warms. But to do this again and again? Day after day? How is he going to cope?

He shouldn't worry about the future. His fate is sealed. He should just focus on how to cope through right now. And right now Mulsae has fully seated himself inside. He pulls Damion's hips with both hands to emphasize just how joined they are at this moment. His ass has swallowed every inch of Mulsae's cock. He can feel his hole throb as it clenches and unclenches, familiarizing itself with the shape of Mulsae.

"Your cock is gone. The only cock in your life now is mine."

Mulsae begins slow shallow languid thrusts. He changes angle a few times. And then Damion lets out an involuntary moan when a sensation he's never felt before washes over his body. It... it feels amazing. What is that?

"That is what's called a 'prostate'. It's very sensitive. And very pleasurable to caress," he thrusts his cock over that spot again. And again. That feeling washes over him again and again. This is too much. "You'll become very familiar with this feeling, because this is how you'll cum from now on." He rests his forehead on Damion's back pants as he grinds his cock into him, "And you will cum. Every time. I'll make sure of it."

No, no, no. He shouldn't be feeling good. He looks up at the rafters and pulls on the ropes again. Please, brain, please figure out a way out of here. It's hard to think with these sensations building up.

"There is no way out. You're mine now," he snaps his hips for emphasis and Damion grunts. "I'm going to fuck you morning, noon, and night for the rest of your long, long life. And you're going to cum every time." His thrusting pace is consistent. Relentless. Damion didn't even realize he has been panting.

The pleasure grows and Damion tries to suppress it. This is worse than being fucked. This is worse than his legacy being erased. This is his body betraying him, being directly used against him. Stop it! He growls. Stop feeling good! He feels his cock try to grow and instead press against the bars of the cock cage.

"Don't resist," Mulsae coos into his ear, "Just let go. Just let yourself feel and let your body do its thing."

No no no no no! Damion clenches by mistake and feels the entire length of Mulsae's cock moving inside him. Mulsae moans, "I wish you'd do that again." Damion furiously shakes his head. Never again. Stay loose. Stay relaxed.

"You're such a good boy, Damion," Mulsae gently pants into his ear, "You take me so well." He moans, "The Harbinger of the Flood taking cock like a champ."

Damion blushes further. His Harbinger legacy will be erased. Replaced with this new legacy of being a sex toy.

Mulsae speeds up. Clapping of skin on skin fills the quiet as he moves to a pace to brutally fuck Damion's ass. He's keeping the angle. Keeping up the stimulation of his prostate. With every thrust something grows within Damion.

As his pleasure increases, the border between himself and sorrow decreases. His legacy is ruined. But should he even care? What is legacy anyway. Legacy won't help him to cope. It isn't going to help him get through this. If anything, that creeping sorrow of its loss is making this more difficult to endure.

Mulsae snakes an arm around Damion's chest and grasps him by the throat to tilt his head and arch his back. He pants into his ear, "I'm going to mark you as mine. I'm going to pierce you. Your nipples are mine. Your mouth is mine. You tongue is mine to pierce."

Damion's eyes widens. My mouth? Fuck. He intends to fuck my mouth. Fear creeps across his skin, and instead of deadening his nerves it heightens them. He gasps. The swirling sensations compliment each other. Oh gods, I really can cum from this.

Mulsae shoves in deep and pauses, "Oh yes, you will be worshiping my cock with your mouth." He restarts the languid thrusting. The fear and shame blend in with the orgasmic sensations building inside Damion. A whimper escapes him before he can suppress it. There's nothing he can do. The Sanctum Master that can grasp him by his very blood has embedded his claws and is promising to never let him go.

This is his life now? Back arched, ass out, being fucked by Mulsae. Again and again.

The helplessness sinks into his bones and bolsters the pleasure tenfold. Before he can even realize what is happening his body wracks with convulsions as pleasure explodes with wave after wave. He barely knows what is happening. He is barely present, instead caught up in the riptide of pleasure yanking him back and forth.

"That's it," Mulsae purrs, "That's it. Let yourself go. Good boy. Such a good boy." He continues his thrusting, never altering his pace or angle in order to fully milk out every last drop from Damion. Cum dribbles out of Damion and slides down his balls.

Damion's body tries to go limp as soon as his body is spent. He leans his weight to hang by his wrists. Mulsae grabs his hips and thrusts rapidly. "You're mine," he growls, "This is your life now. I'm taming you. Breaking you in." His hips stutter then he thrusts forcefully one last time and cum spurts into Damion.

That cum is like the end of his hope that none of this has been actually happening. He closes his eyes and whimpers quietly.

"It's okay," Mulsae caresses down Damion's face, "Good boys are treated well. All you have to do is be a good boy and everything will be okay."

Mulsae pulls out, and a soft pattering on the floor can be heard. Mulsae's cum. Dripping out of Damio6. He tries to clench his hole shut, but he can't. His cheeks burn hot with humiliation.

Mulsae loosens the rope holding Damion to the rafters and catches him as he collapses. His arms ache. His legs ache. He is physically exhausted. But what is really draining him is his emotional exhaustion. So many emotions and sensations have bombarded him so fiercely and so quickly. He is braindead tired.

Mulsae gives a possessive kiss to Damion's temple. "You're mine," he purrs.

Mulsae gently lowers Damion to the floor in front of the fire. Damion is still in recovery from the new type of prostate-based orgasm he had experienced moments before and the deep shame that roils through his body from having gotten lost in the pleasure of it. He sits with his legs crossed, his head hung low and hunched over his bound hands that are resting on his lap.

While Damion is in this delirious fucked-out haze, Mulsae leaves his side, rummages through the trunk, and brings back a chain, a box, and a bag. He sits down in front of Damion and gently pushes him back by the shoulder, "Sit up and raise your hands to your chest." Damion doesn't react. Mulsae gently puts his hand under Damion's hands and pushes them up. Damion allows his hands to be pushed up against his chest and holds them in place.

Mulsae takes the chain and attaches one end to the cock cage. The other end of the chain holds a long loop of leather which Mulsae slings over his head to rest on his shoulder and cross over his chest. A long length of the chain lays coiled between the two men.

Damion is motionless. He doesn't lift his head to watch what Mulsae is doing, let alone look up at him. Damion is processing this turn of events. He thought he was going to die, but now his future holds countless humiliations. His ass aches; will this be a new normal for him? His wrists and wings burn from struggling with the rough ropes. But worst of all is the whole body fucked-out haze he is experiencing. His body betrayed him. He feels good and relaxed, and filled with such shame for feeling that way that he is nauseous. His shame continues to build up and he starts to lightly sway with every breath he takes.

"I don't suspect you'll try to run while leashed," Mulsae purrs, then punctuates his point by gently tugging the leash so the cock cage pulls the base ring against Damion's cock and balls. Damion's swaying becomes unmistakable and then he quickly bends over to the side and vomits.

Damion stays bent over as his shame-triggered nausea continues to roil within him. That tug on the leash was what spilled him over to vomiting. The tug was light and almost gentle and in his fucked-out sensitive state, that tug was borderline pleasurable. His shame boils over once again. He dry heaves and stays bent over his pile of vomit.

Mulsae waves a hand and water materializes and washes the vomit away. He then brings his hand up to gently caress the top of Damion's head and pull back the front of his long hair and hold it in place at the nape of Damion's neck. Damion stills, he even stops breathing. Mulsae's nails had deliciously scraped along his scalp, sending a pleasurable wave across his scalp and down his spine. What is happening?

"It's okay," Mulsae coos, "You have an adjustment to make within yourself. Episodes like this are to be expected. It's just your body reacting to the adjustment."

While Mulsae continues to hold up Damion's hair with one hand, he snakes his free hand to grasp Damion's fingers. Damion maintains his deathly still state while holding his breath. Mulsae gently rubs his thumb across Damion's fingers.

"I'm pleased, actually," Mulsae says softly, "This means you're breaking. That makes me very happy. You're being such a good boy."

Damion gradually lets out his held breath and ever so slowly turns his eyes towards Mulsae then cocks his head slightly to face him. Anger begins to boil up and intermingle with his shame. Am I furious with Mulsae for trying to break me? Or am I furious with myself for having started to break? The shame and anger dance with each other while Damion takes quick shallow breaths.

Mulsae releases Damion's hand and hair, then tucks one side of Damion's hair back behind an ear. Damion suppresses a groan as Mulsae's nail scraping along his scalp sends another pleasurable wave skittering down his spine.

"Sit up," Mulsae orders while pressing against Damion's shoulder to guide him back to an upright position. Damion acquiesces and lazily turns his head and eyes to face Mulsae.

Mulsae unsheathes his dagger and cuts the rope binding Damion's wrists then resheathes the dagger. He takes one of Damion's hands and gently passes his hand over his skin. Water pools beneath the Water Master's hand and washes his skin clean. He repeats the process with Damion's other hand.

He then takes a container out of the bag and unscrews the top. It holds some sort of cream. Mulsae takes a healthy scoop then takes one of Damion's hands and presses the cool soothing cream onto the rope burn on Damion's wrist.

Mulsae's fingers deftly stroke and massage the cream around Damion's entire wrist. This isn't merely slathering on a cream; he is expertly massaging the joint. Damion tries to separate himself from the pleasurable sensation snaking its way up his arm. Stop fucking feeling good, he commands himself.

Mulsae repeats the process on the other wrist. Halfway through, Damion breaks the silence with a hoarsely whispered, "Why?"

"Because you're being a good boy."

Damion's stomach lurches and turns on itself. His body starts vibrating. I don't want to be a good fucking boy. Damion wants to snatch back his wrist, damn the consequences. He'd prove he isn't a good fucking boy. But helplessness stills him. Helplessness and... comfort. Yes, a part of him feels helpless at how trapped he is with the Water Master as his captor, but there is also this nagging reluctance to leave this comfortable moment.

Damion is experiencing the last dregs of that fucked-out haze. The fire is warming him. His scalp still tingles where Mulsae had touched him. And now he is experiencing a hand massage. This is the first moment of comfort he's experienced since... he can't remember. Has he ever been comforted? He's been fighting for months straight. His body still feels the exhaustion from fighting for his life a mere few hours ago. He's been tense and on edge.

Whenever he's taken lovers, he's always been the one taking care of them, comforting them. None has ever given him a massage. He's the one who gives, not receives. And he had to take care of himself after he was removed from his mother. He has had to deal with everything by himself for centuries without ever being comforted.

And now this allure of comfort, the apprehension of losing it, the desire to just simply be present in the here and now is stilling his hand, allowing the massage to continue. I'm exhausted... I can just stay still... in this moment... for just a little while.

Mulsae finishes working on Damion's wrists and follows it up by reaching into the box and pulling out padded leather cuffs. Damion limply allows Mulsae to move his arms while putting the cuffs onto his wrists.

"You'll need to be restrained, but there is no need for unnecessary pain," Mulsae comments while standing up. He walks behind Damion, causing the length of the leash to drag along the floor, "I'm going to do the same treatment to your wings."

Damion's instincts have his head and torso rapidly twist around to face Mulsae behind him. No one touches my wings. Damion's eyes burn with fury.

"Your wings are mine to do with as I please," Mulsae states plainly, "Just as the rest of your body."

With the grace of a skilled fighter, Damion simultaneously stands up and spins around to face Mulsae, moving his wings away from him and entering a defensive stance.

Mulsae scoffs, "I just fucked your ass and left you in a pleasing fucked-out state, but you'll object to me treating the rope burns on your wings just so you can be a bad boy?" He drags out the last words in emphasis.

Damion stares him down, and Mulsae remains silent to allow time for Damion to realize his lack of choice in the matter. Damion is naked, with cuffed hands and bound wings. He has on a cock cage which itself is leashed to a chain looped around Mulsae's shoulder. Even if he could manage to escape the leash, Mulsae is the most powerful Master of Harmuran Sanctums, and as the Water Master he can just freeze Damion in place by his very blood. And if he did manage to escape the tent, he is in the center of a war camp of the army which had defeated Damion's army.

Damion's bound wings uselessly swing back and forth as evidence of his irritation. His mind swirls with thoughts and emotions. Ultimately one thought rises to the surface and becomes increasingly louder: I can't let him take any more dignity from me!

Mulsae sees that Damion's breath turns rapid and shallow. "I could force you, but that would make you a bad boy."

I can hold on to some dignity if I am forced to acquiesce. Through gritted teeth, Damion growls out, "You'll have to force me." Consequences be damned.

As soon as he finishes the sentence, Damion is forced to slam down onto the floor on his knees with such force he's surprised his knees didn't shatter. The pain of being gripped by his blood is excruciating. Pain, Damion thinks, I can handle pain. He is being held stone still with Mulsae's Water Sanctum powers.

"I know you think being forced will allow you to preserve some dignity." Damion narrows his eyes at Mulsae. Fuck, he's reading my mind.

Mulsae sighs, "Yes, I've been reading your mind."

Fuck fuck fuck, Damion chants to himself as his mind explodes with thoughts calculating all of the problems that brings to his hope of eventually escaping.

Mulsae waits for the chattering to wind down in Damion's mind then says, "You can shield your mind from telepaths. Well, not my telepathy, but you can make it so that it requires work on my part to actually read your thoughts. Right now you might as well be saying everything you think." Mulsae puts his hands in his pockets, "But I'm not going to tell you how to shield. You'll have to figure that out on your own."

With that said, Damion slams down onto his elbows, bending over ass up and forearms down.

"You will not hold on to your dignity nor hope," Mulsae says while circling Damion, "I will erase the very concepts from you. Bit by bit, day by day, your dignity and hope will erode away until there is nothing left."

Mulsae gestures and more water appears. The air is growing drier from all the water he is pulling out of it. Highly dense bands of water wrap around his elbows and knees, securing him to the floor. The pain from the grip on his blood releases and he breathes a sigh of relief. He tries moving his arms, but they're secured fast by the hyper dense water bands.

Mulsae crouches down to Damion's side and unties the rope on his wing. He stretches out the wing to its full length and gently caresses along its top edge. Damion's entire body shudders.

"I know you objected so strongly to my caring for your wings because you're afraid of more pleasure eroding your dignity," Mulsae speaks while caressing Damion's wing with one hand and his back with the other, "You think if you're a bad boy that I'll punish you with pain. But enduring pain builds dignity." Damion's breathing quickens. "Submission is what scrapes away at dignity. Submission to being pleasured from whom you hate the most."

"Damion," Mulsae bends over and breathes into his ear, "I am going to make this the most pleasurable experience you've had in your life. I am going to make you cum no less than three times, each more powerful than the last." He straightens back up and resumes caressing Damion's wing and back, "Your body will submit to me, and your mind will follow."

Mulsae slowly picks through the feathers on the wing. He gently snaps off the broken and bent pieces and straightens them. He takes up the jar and begins the process of massaging the cream into the rope burns on the delicate skin beneath the feathers. Damion clenches his jaw and growls to mask his moan. Once the rope burns are treated, Mulsae begins massaging the entire wing with expertise, combing the feathers and loosening the joints.

Damion has never in his life experienced anything like this. No one has ever touched his wings before. A euphoria settles into his body from the entirely new sensations warming through him and exciting his caged cock. He continues to clench his jaw but starts twisting his head this way and that as he tries to take control of his body to not enjoy this. He tries to leave his body but each achingly pleasurable ministration in his wing sucks him back in.

After Mulsae completes massaging the entire wing, he switches to caressing the wing with one hand, and circling Damion's asshole with the other. "Relax and give in," he purrs, "You will cum, so there is no point fighting it." He inserts two fingers into his hole, Damion's still loose. He searches for the prostate and caresses it. Damion's head whips back as he gasps out his breath and lets out a long throaty groan.

Damion has lost the effort to separate from his body and slams back in with a full body force of pleasure. He feels lost in a storm of sensations, as if fighting a hurricane. His endurance to struggle wanes as the winds of sensation whip along him. With each breath his fortitude weakens until finally he gets swept away with the winds of pleasure.

Damion pants and moans and groans as Mulsae massages the top of his wing near his back while caressing his prostate. "Good boy," Mulsae purrs, "You're being such a good boy." Damion's pants quicken. "Be a good boy and cum for me, Damion. Let go and cum for me."

Damion lets out a loud growling groan as his vision whites out and pleasurable waves pound across his body. Mulsae continues to help him through each wave. Once Damion's head falls limply and his breathing returns to normal, Mulsae stops his ministrations and moves to gently scratch Damion's scalp and massage the nape of his neck.

"Such a good boy," Mulsae coos. The scratching on his scalp is grounding Damion as he comes back down from his orgasmic high.

A whimper escapes Damion's throat. Mulsae moves to sit in front of Damion's head. He uses both hands now to scratch and massage his scalp. After a moment he places a finger under Damion's jaw to lift his head to see his face. Damion's gaze is downward, and Mulsae sees the tear that escaped.

"You're such a good boy," Mulsae whispers like a lover. "Your crying is a good thing. It means more of your dignity has scraped away."

A sob wracks through Damion and tears stream down his face. I'm breaking, Damion's inner voice laments, I'm losing. He sobs again.

Mulsae keeps Damion's head tilted to face him and returns his other hand to scratch along his scalp once more. "You are being such a good boy. You're being so good for me." Damion wracks out another sob. His face has completely fallen into the weeping, his cheeks and nose turning red and snot spilling freely.

Mulsae places both hands on Damion's cheeks and wipes away the tears with his thumbs. "I should put kohl on your eyes so that when you cry again in the future I, and everyone else, can see the black streaks wind their way down your pretty little face."

Damion whimpers. He feels such shame for crying, no, weeping, in front of this man. The humiliation of the idea of having his tears on display for anyone else to see eats away further at his sense of dignity. The Harbinger of the Flood is crying.

Mulsae gently removes his hands and Damion lets his head fall forward once again. Mulsae returns to the extended wing and gingerly pushes it halfway closed.

"I am not going to clip your wings," Mulsae says, "I am not going to take flight away from you. I love to fly and one day, when you're ready, we'll fly together." Mulsae snickers to himself as he stands up, "I may have taken your cock, but I won't take away your flight."

A different type of pleasure rolls through Damion's body. It's... it's relief. Relief and a dream of touching the sky once again. There is something in this new life he could possibly look forward to. Yes, he'd be flying with Mulsae, but at least he would fly. But then dread rolls its way through. He'd only be able to fly if he is 'ready' for it, which means he'd only be able to fly if he breaks even further.

"Yes," Mulsae replies to Damion's thoughts, "Good boys get to fly. Bad boys stay grounded. You want to be a good boy for me."

Relief and dread war within him and Damion releases another whimper.

Mulsae moves to Damion's other side and repeats the process with the other wing. He unties it, stretches it out, clips off the broken pieces of feathers, and massages cream into the rope burns under the feathers. Damion's resistance has disappeared, and he groans and moans quietly to himself. Mulsae repeatedly coos how much of a good boy Damion is being.

Mulsae performs the full wing massage. As he nears completion, drops patter to the floor as Damion's thick tears fall off his face. He knows what's next. Mulsae will make him cum and he won't be able to do anything to stop it.

Mulsae caresses the wing and circles Damion's hole with the other hand, "Just allow yourself to cum this time. Let go and relax and fall into the sensations." Damion wracks with a sob. "Be a good boy and cum," Mulsae says as he inserts two fingers into his hole.

Damion is emotionally and physically exhausted and still in a fucked-out state from the last orgasm. I might as well just fall into the sensations, he thinks to himself. As Mulsae caresses his prostate he tries to give up and let go, let in to the exhaustion and fight another day. As he tries to relax, he struggles with another part of himself pulling back saying No no no. The two sides have a tug of war, the side saying to let go gradually wins and Damion slips into the oily blackness of... of submission. Depression warms through him. This is submission.

Mulsae leans in and whispers in Damion's ear, "Cum for me, be a good boy." Damion's body wracks with orgasmic waves. Tears return to patter on the floor again as Damion grapples with the concept of having had submitted.

Mulsae closes the wing halfway. He moves to Damion's backside and settles down to massage the cheeks of Damion's ass.

"Good boys get to have their wings unbound," Mulsae states while he continues the massage, "Unbound wings are quite a pleasure. I am going to demonstrate to you what our sex life could be like if you're a good boy and earn the privilege to have unbound wings."

Mulsae unbinds his pants and releases his hard cock. He leans over Damion so that each hand is on the top of a wing near where they connect to the back, and his cock fits into the cleft of Damion's ass. Mulsae ruts while slowly, but firmly, massaging both wings.

The sensations cause Damion to release a low groan. Submission, submission, submission, chants in his head while depression curls and writhes like a snake within his gut and head. He opens his eyes and sees the puddle of his tears on the floor, and a little beyond that is the ooze of his cum on the floor. His unbidden cum. The firelight flickering against the silver of the cock cage catches his attention.

Hope sparks as Damion's mind wanders to the concept that he can try again tomorrow. This isn't a permanent loss of dignity, he can fight again tomorrow and claw back his dignity. It's just... right now... he's tired. No, he is exhausted. He'll just let go... just for right now. Just for tonight.

Mulsae has been reading his mind, and once he senses that Damion has released his final shred of resistance he takes out the bottle of oil from the bag and slathers it onto his cock and Damion's hole. He lines up his cock and gently, carefully penetrates him. The goal is to make this as pleasurable as possible. To blow Damion's mind with pleasure. To make him understand the joy of being a good boy.

Mulsae slowly seats the head of his cock into Damion then returns his hands to his wings. He massages both of them simultaneously while he gently pushes himself inside. Damion releases a low deep moan. Mulsae's hips meet Damion's ass then slowly swirls his hips while his focus is on massaging the joints on the top edge of his wings.

Damion is openly panting, and his throat is just releasing a continuous drone of noises in response to each and every sensation. Damion has no tether left. He's been swept away in the hurricane of sensations. His mind is blank, his focus completely on simply what his body feels.

Mulsae begins a gentle thrust, focusing on each sound Damion releases. He tilts his hips in different directions while gauging which elicits more from Damion. He finds the spot and doubles down on it. Damion's moans grow louder. Mulsae now adjusts his speed to find Damion's sweet spot. He speeds up and slows down, he tests languid thrusts and sharp ones all while carefully listening to Damion's pants and moans.

Mulsae finds the sweet spot and perfect speed. He focuses on repeating that movement while expanding the area of massage on Damion's wings.

"You're being such a good boy, Damion," Mulsae coos. "This is what good boys get to experience." He combs through his feathers for emphasis. Damion releases a gasping moan and pants loudly.

Mulsae pulls his hands down the top edge of the wings, "Cum for me, my good boy." Damion's body complies, and the orgasm wracks its way through Damion's body. Damion's face collapses onto the floor into the puddle of tears while his back undulates with the waves of orgasm.

Mulsae maintains his thrusts and ministrations until he's wrung out the last orgasmic wave. He moves his hands to Damion's hips and continues thrusting. It's now Mulsae's turn. And he likes it faster, rougher.

Mulsae pounds into Damion, focusing solely on what feels good to himself. Damion's fucked-out state has his entire body loose and limp, so he wriggles like a doll in response to each pound into his ass. Mulsae moves his hands back to the wings to use as leverage and pull Damion onto his cock as he thrusts in.

"I know you can cum like this, Damion," Mulsae pants, "You're loving this, too," a whimpering groan falls from Damion's mouth, "Be a good boy and let's cum together."

Damion releases a squealing whine. It's too much, he's going to explode, he's going to melt. It's just too much. But nevertheless, he finds his body approaching the precipice. It feels euphoric. It feels painfully overwhelming.

"Damion, cum for me!" Mulsae exclaims as his thrusts become erratic. When Mulsae lets out a roaring groan Damion snaps and falls over that precipice into yet another orgasm. His body writhes and contorts, vision turning white and then black. And then... nothing.

=*=

Damion is floating in nothingness but then begins to feel a gentle soothing caress along his spine. What's happening? Where am I? Why do I feel this way? He is bent over his knees and they ache. The side of his face is pressed against a wet floor with his hands bound in front of him. His asshole aches. His wings can't open, but moving them doesn't hurt. His entire body feels so relaxed, feels so... good. Worry and confusion float through him.

Damion dares to open his eyes and sees Mulsae gazing at him! His entire body jolts as the memories of the whole day slam into him. He tries to jump up, but manages only to fall over. He weakly pushes his legs and arms to scoot away from Mulsae.

Mulsae lets out soothing shushes while reaching out and taking Damion's hand. "Everything is alright. You're alright," he rubs his thumb across Damion's fingers, "You're a good boy."

Damion blanches at the term. Good boy? I am no fucking thing. But deep within him he feels a sense of safety and security in response. Being a good boy means... comfort. Pleasure. The conflict causes him to blink back tears.

Mulsae lets go of his hand and moves forward by Damion's head so that he can run his fingers through his hair.

"Good boy," Mulsae purrs, "You're being such a good boy. It's a good thing to cry." He continues to run his fingers soothingly through Damion's hair in silence.

Once he can feel that Damion's panic has subsided Mulsae lowers his voice into a demonic tone and softly says, "It means you're breaking. Your dignity and hope are eroding away." Damion lets loose a sob, "You're such a good boy."

Damion weeps once more. It's just supposed to be for tonight. Just tonight, while he's exhausted. He feels the emptiness where part of his dignity is missing. He hopes it can be grown back tomorrow.

Mulsae leans down and kisses Damion's temple, "You have no hope," he whispers in his ear. Damion whimpers and continues to weep.

Mulsae gets comfortable as he continues to caress Damion's hair. He waits for Damion to finish his weeping and ease out of his fucked-out state.

"We're next going to eat dinner and go to bed, Damion," Mulsae stops caressing Damion's hair and gently pats his shoulder, "Stand."

Damion works to obey. His body is extremely heavy and sluggish. He groggily pushes himself up so he's sitting up. He pants from the exertion. Physical exertion? No, there is a heaping dose of mental exhaustion causing him to be so slow.

Mulsae effortlessly stands and offers his hand to assist. Damion pauses as he looks at the offered hand. He wants to stand up on his own but doesn't think he can.

Mulsae patiently waits for Damion to make a decision. Finally, Damion accepts that he is a good boy and places his bound hands in Mulsae's so he can be pulled up.

Mulsae keeps holding Damion's hand and pulls him tight chest to chest, "Such a good boy." Damion's entire body shudders. Mulsae's face lights up in a smile.

"Before we go, this needs to go in," Mulsae says while bending over to grab something from the box. He holds up an anal plug for Damion to see. A rather large anal plug. "You'll start off with this smaller one and work up to the larger sizes every few days." Damion blanches. "This will keep you loose and make it easier for me to fuck you whenever I want." Mulsae smiles.

He grabs the oil and pours it on the plug then walks around to Damion's back. He lines up the plug and slowly inserts it. Damion groans but stays still. He's exhausted. Helpless. He can't stop this from happening.

"Good boy, Damion, you're taking this so well." Mulsae completes inserting the plug and gives it a test wiggle to ensure it is secure. It feels so weird to have something in there. He shifts on his feet and feels it just sitting there. In there. In... his ass.

"We're going to my tent," Mulsae heads to exit the tent. Damion is still dazed and remains still, but then suddenly feels a pull on his crotch and stumbles forward. Mulsae stops and turns when the leash grows taut, "Better keep up," he encourages with a wry smile. Damion walks over to him, and once he is close enough Mulsae ducks out of the tent.

The brisk cold air rakes its way down Damion's bare skin. The wind is blowing and stinging. Mulsae keeps walking at a steady pace and Damion concentrates on keeping up so the leash doesn't pull on him again. His feet squish in the mud and rocks bite at his soles.

"This is the heeling position," Mulsae starts, "You will walk within two feet of my left side." He wraps the leash around his hand a few times so that there is only a little slack between them. "The leash will... encourage you to maintain proper position. While leashed, you'll need to pay close attention to my movements to ensure you don't hurt yourself," he gently tugs on the leash for a reminder.

They're walking while Mulsae instructs. Damion is trying to pay close attention to what Mulsae is saying while blocking out everything else. Because he is being humiliated. He hears gasps, laughter, and snickering. Intermixed he hears people exclaim.

"Look at the Harbinger of the Flood!"

"Is that a cock cage?"

"Look look, he has an anal plug in!"

"Hope Mulsae will allow us a turn!"

"Has he been crying?"

"He's leashed by his cock!"

Every comment and laugh raises his humiliation level and scrapes away at his dignity.

Mulsae ignores the commentary and keeps up with his instruction. "When you aren't leashed you will be expected to move only when I tell you to. When I tell you to heel I expect you to maintain this position whether we're standing or walking," Mulsae glances to Damion behind him, "Do you understand?"

Damion croaks out a yes.

Mulsae's instruction is completed and they walk in silence. Damion doesn't know where they are going, but he feels like they're aimlessly wandering through the camp. He wishes they would just get to Mulsae's tent already so he can get some relief from this humiliation. Each laugh, taunt, and jeer is wearing him thin.

Oh. Damion blanches. We are aimlessly wandering through the camp. To humiliate me.

Mulsae turns to him and beams, "You're right! I am showing you off."

They continue his walk of shame in silence.

They approach the officers' latrines and Mulsae enters his private latrine. Damion stops following outside the door as he assumes Mulsae wants his privacy. Instead, Mulsae turns and gently tugs on the leash beckoning him to enter. Eww. An expression of disgust washes across Damion's face.

Mulsae closes the door after Damion enters the now cramped space. Damion is still and keeps his gaze averted as Mulsae faces the toilet, unbinds his pants and removes his flaccid cock. The stream of urine drops into the toilet. Mulsae puts himself away and stands to the side.

"Sit. Relieve yourself."

Damion rolls his eyes to the ceiling and his stomach turns to stone from humiliation. He sits. With his cock caged into a downward position this is the only sanitary way he can relieve himself. He closes his eyes and wills himself to relax and urinate. But nothing happens. He opens his eyes and gazes at Mulsae's feet pointed towards him.

Mulsae puts his hands in his pockets and turns his back to him. Damion takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and tries again. He unclenches his thighs, then works his way up to unclench his abdomen. He recalls the sensation of urinating. Finally, finally, relief pours out of him in the form of urine spraying down into the toilet.

Mulsae turns and caresses Damion's head, "Good boy. Do you need to have a bowel movement?" A what? Mulsae sighs, "Do you need to shit?"

Damion's eyes shoot up to Mulsae as large circles exposing all the whites of his eyes. He furiously shakes his head. Mulsae shrugs, "You'll need to eventually." Horror settles into Damion's gut.

They exit the latrine and resume their walk through the camp.

After a long while, Mulsae finally leads them towards a tent, and Damion swears this tent is next to the original tent they were in. Once Damion ducks into the tent, he feels a tremendous sense of relief wash over him. He had become so tense during that walk trying to keep himself together as the humiliation swelled and roiled within him while he simultaneously battled with his anger and fury that was trying to convince him to lash out, roar and beat everyone in sight into submission. He wanted them to submit to him, not… not… depression swallows him up when he admits to himself that he has submitted.

Mulsae walks him to the center of the tent and hooks the leash on the ceiling's center junction. Mulsae puts his hands in his pockets and turns to face him. They lock eyes. After a moment of stilled silence, Damion's body begins to tremble. He had just been relieved to no longer be publicly humiliated, but now has entered a new situation in which he has no idea what is going to happen. Damion tries to will his body to still itself, but it won't obey. I don't even understand why I am shaking! I can take anything Mulsae throws at me! I can handle it! I'm a survivor! So stop fucking shaking like a child!

Mulsae breaks his stillness with a smile and follows it by reaching out to push the side of Damion's hair behind his ear, gently scratching his scalp in the process. "You're such a good boy," he coos as he puts his hand back into his pocket. A new shiver wracks through Damion's body and then he stills. The trembling has stopped. I just… I just needed to know I was doing the right thing. Relief washes over him. Then humiliation clenches at his stomach that his body even cares about this good boy bad boy fucking bullshit. Because that's what it is, right? Utter fucking bullshit. Damion clenches his jaw while attempting to keep his face neutral and suppress a sneer.

"Kneel."

No. Damion hardens his face and stares down Mulsae. I am not going to submit again. His breathing deepens. He's so exhausted, though. His body. His mind. His emotions. He is exhausted and spent through and through. But I can't continue to submit. His breathing gets deeper and deeper. Then he realizes his breathing isn't actually gaining any air! He starts to pant, but he's suffocating. He's breathing deeply but getting nothing! His lungs start to burn like they're filling with razor blades. His composure drops and he tilts forward a bit as he gasps and gasps for breath.

Mulsae gently places a hand on Damion's shoulder and firmly presses down. Damion can't handle the weight while he is gasping for breath, so he falls to his knees. What is Mulsae doing to me?

"I am not doing anything to you. You're having a panic attack," Mulsae says coolly. He puts his hand back into his pocket and merely watches.

A panic attack? Me? Damion? The Harbinger of the Flood is having a panic attack? I have faced armies and walked with death without panic. And yet now, here, I am having my first panic attack?

Air slowly reaches Damion's lungs. He just needed to know what was happening to him, and now that he realizes it's a panic attack he can self soothe. More and more air reaches his lungs and the sense of razor blades begins to recede. He takes deep breaths to catch up on air, but at a more normal pace now. Humiliation warms its way through him as the panic subsides. His stomach clenches at the fact that he is kneeling. I submitted. Again. Why is my body betraying me?

Just as he ends his recovery and starts to wonder what is next, Mulsae commands, "Straighten up." He slowly uncurls himself and straightens his spine, but keeps his gaze to the floor. If I just don't make eye contact maybe I can disassociate.

"Look at me."

Fuck. Damion gradually moves his face to point up towards Mulsae's face, but his eyes continue to gaze off to the side. His stomach tightens further at the thought of making eye contact.

"Eyes on me."

Fuuuuuck. In a slow strangled process, Damion shifts his gaze to Mulsae's eyes. He stops breathing and humiliation drenches over him like a bucket of it was dumped over his head.

"Breathe."

He's still holding his breath. He wills himself to resume regular breathing. He's forgotten how. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. He continues to have to consciously remind himself how to breathe properly.

"Good boy."

Damion's eyes start to sting. He blinks and tries to convince himself not to cry.

"Knees shoulder width apart." Damion shifts and complies. Mulsae walks around him, "Right ankle over the left ankle." He does so.

Mulsae completes his revolution around him and says once he is in front of Damion again, "Remember this position. When I tell you to kneel, this is the position I want you in. Do you understand?" Damion nods.

"Good boy." Humiliation clenches at his stomach once again. Stop fucking calling me a fucking good boy. He resists the urge to demonstrate what a bad boy he is by jumping up and clobbering Mulsae on the side of his head. But it is no use. He lost today. Not only was his army defeated, but also his body and mind. He's on the losing side right now. Carefully pick your battles, he reminds himself. The strategist in him shores up his dignity. This is another war to fight. I can do this.

Mulsae smirks to himself and steps away. Damion looks back at the floor once Mulsae breaks eye contact.

He hears a chair scrape along the floor and groan as Mulsae sits on it. Something slides along the top of the desk.

"Kneel before me."

Pick your battles. Damion internally groans to himself as he stands and turns to face Mulsae. He has moved a guest chair to be next to the desk, upon which is a tray of food. Damion closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before lumbering over and kneeling in front of Mulsae. In proper kneeling position.

"Good boy."

Fuck you.

Mulsae's mouth twitches into a smirk, then reaches out and pushes both sides of Damion's hair behind his ears. He, of course, deliciously scrapes his nails along Damion's scalp as he does so which sends pleasure snaking down his spine. His scalp remains tingling after the touch. Gods, why does touching my head feel so good. Damion blinks back tears once again.

Mulsae plucks off a grape and brings it to Damion's lips. When Damion doesn't react he says, "Eat." Damion remains still. Mulsae continues holding the grape to his lips. I refuse to be hand fed, Damion thinks.

Mulsae sighs and lowers his hand to rest on his knee. "You will not be fed any other way. You can go on a starving campaign if you wish, but after three days I will force feed you. And it will be highly unpleasant as I shove a funnel down your throat and force you to swallow pureed food. Following that you will be required to swallow my cock with your bruised and scraped up throat."

Damion's throat bobs in a swallow as he contemplates the consequence of not complying. Mulsae raises the grape once again to Damion's lips. After taking a few deep breaths, Damion relents and eats the grape. As he is chewing, he rapidly blinks to hold back tears, but one falls down his cheek anyway.

Mulsae smiles and wipes the tear away and coos, "Good boy." A tear falls from the other side and Mulsae wipes that away, too.

Mulsae proceeds to share the food with Damion in this manner. He lifts portions with his chopsticks and alternates between eating it himself and feeding it to Damion.

Shortly after this routine set in, a servant enters the tent with a bucket of water. Mulsae was already holding the chopsticks to Damion's lips for his next bite, but Damion freezes as he watches the servant approach the tub to pour the water in it.

Mulsae nudges the food to Damion's lips, but Damion continues to be frozen with his eyes locked on the servant. It was one thing to endure this humiliation alone with Mulsae, but another thing entirely to have witnesses. Damion's breathing stops.

Mulsae nudges the food to his lips once again. Damion shifts his gaze to the chopsticks and resumes breathing. His throat bobs as he swallows while he contemplates.

If you don't eat I'll force feed you, is heard in his mind with Mulsae's voice. Damion darts his eyes to meet Mulsae's. Mulsae smirks.

The servant starts to pour the water into the tub. Why is the servant taking so fucking long? How long does it take for a goddamn bucket of water to be poured into the tub?

Remember, force feeding is ridiculously unpleasant, Mulsae's voice sounds in Damion's head. I will jam a funnel down your throat which will hurt. I will then pour pureed food into it forcing you to swallow or suffocate. Is that what you want just because you are trying to hold on to a shred of dignity in front of a servant?

The servant finishes the pour and starts to walk out. "Wait," Mulsae commands. The servant stops in place and silently faces Mulsae and Damion. Mulsae nudges the food one last time against Damion's lips. Eat or be force fed to eat.

Damion takes one long shaky breath and opens his mouth. Mulsae places the food into his mouth, and Damion closes his lips around the chopsticks and pulls the morsel of food off. He slowly chews and swallows.

Mulsae turns to the servant, "Thank you. You may continue filling the tub." The servant bows and scampers out of the tent. Mulsae continues to feed Damion while the servant repeatedly enters and leaves the tent to fill the tub.

Once the meal is completed, Mulsae warmly smiles at Damion and caresses his hair. "Good boy." Damion minutely vibrates from anger. Mulsae smirks.

By now the bath is full and the servant is no longer making his trips in and out of the tent. Mulsae stands and walks to the side of the tub.

"Kneel here," he points next to the foot of the tub. Damion stands with a grunt as his knees ache and protest. He lumbers over to the tub and kneels where instructed.

Mulsae walks away and undresses, folding and putting his clothes aside. He then returns to the tub and settles into it. He sighs with pleasure at the warmth. He leans back, closes his eyes and smiles.

"This has been an excellent day," Mulsae begins, "The civil war is over, and my reward for winning is a pet who is such a good boy." Damion bristles and clenches his jaw from being praised once again. "I have had such a good day with you today. This may very well be the best day I have had in my life." Mulsae takes a deep breath of contentment and beams. Damion closes his eyes and takes his own deep breath, but one of fury. This has been the worst day of my life.

Mulsae makes a sound of disappointment, "Eyes on me." Damion takes another deep breath and opens his eyes to rest on Mulsae's face. "Eyes stay on me." Damion whimpers. It is so much harder to disassociate when I have to look at Mulsae's face.

"I know. That's the point," Mulsae responds to Damion's thoughts. Damion surprises himself by letting out a low quiet whine.

With a self satisfied smirk, Mulsae sits up and grabs some soap from the side table and begins to wash himself in earnest. He periodically glances at Damion to ensure eye contact is maintained. But Damion is a good soldier and will follow through once he puts his mind on a task. His eyes dutifully follow Mulsae's face as he moves around washing himself.

With eye contact maintained, Damion feels locked into this moment in time and can't escape. He is bound and kneeling watching his enemy bathe. He grinds his teeth and thinks about his aching knees just so he can be somewhere, anywhere else right now, even if it's losing himself in a painful sensation. The pain is better than unbidden pleasurable sensations, anyway. Damion goes momentarily cross-eyed and blinks rapidly to suppress the tears welling up from the memory of his submission to Mulsae's unbidden pleasure.

Mulsae stands and grabs a towel to drag down his face and chest. He steps out of the tub, "Stand." Mulsae unhooks the leash from Damion's cock cage then gestures with his head towards the tub, "Get in."

Damion stands and steps into the tub.

"Sit, but don't put the cuffs in the water. Don't get them wet. I don't want to ruin the leather." Damion sighs and folds his arms so his bound hands are at his chest under his clavicle then sits down.

Mulsae kneels next to the tub. "Submerge your hair," he places his hand on Damion's forehead and firmly, but gently pushes his head back. Damion resists the force but slowly, gradually leans backwards. His breaths become sharper as he leans back. Will it just be my hair? Or my whole head? I don't want to be submerged under the water. I don't want to have to fight anymore today. I need to rest and recuperate. I'm exhausted. As he angles further backward Mulsae places his other hand on Damion's back to stabilize him from the awkward angle.

Damion's hair submerges in the water and Mulsae's firm pressure on his forehead stops just after his ears are submerged. Mulsae pulls a soft caress down Damion's face while supporting his back with his other hand. "Good boy," he purrs.

Mulsae gently pulls small amounts of water up Damion's cheeks to wash the dried tears away and clear the dried snot from under his nose and chin. Then he firmly massages Damion's scalp. Damion silences a moan in his throat before it could release. Mulsae's deft fingers feel exquisite against his scalp. Damion closes his eyes and breathes shakily. Mulsae hums with satisfaction.

"Up." The hand on Damion's back guides him back to an upright position. Mulsae grabs some soap and massages it into Damion's hair, taking his time to clean down the entirety of his long locks. Damion's eyes are half lidded reflecting the hazy state he is in as he struggles to not succumb to the pleasurable sensations once again. But the pleasure is winning. I am just so… so tired.

"Submerge your hair again." Mulsae places his hands on Damion's forehead and back again and guides him backward to submerge his hair. The movement goes quicker this time, Damion fears less that he is going to be shoved under water. Please please please don't break this delicate trust and drown me, Damion frets.

Mulsae caresses his face, "You can trust me." Damion's eyes flick to lock onto Mulsae's. The mind reading is incredibly unnerving. "I won't surprise you and will never unnecessarily hurt you whenever you are being a good boy. And right now? You're being a very good boy." He coos the last phrase in emphasis.

Mulsae rakes his fingers through Damion's hair and rinses out the soap. The light pulling on his hair releases more tingling sensations to skitter down Damion's spine. "Up," Mulsae guides him to once again sit up. Mulsae soaps up his hands then washes Damion's chest and arms.

"Lean back and put your right foot on the rim of the tub." Damion leans back with a quizzical look on his face. "Your feet are filthy." The long walk of shame barefoot had dirt caked on Damion's feet. He places his right foot on the rim of the tub. "Good boy."

Mulsae moves to hover above Damion's raised foot. He dunks it under the water and massages the dirt off of his foot. Damion's breath hitches. He has never felt anything like this before. The pleasurable sensation reverberates up his leg and slams into his cock. Caged cock.

Mulsae places Damion's foot back on the rim of the tub and firmly massages soap into his foot. Damion can't control himself as he closes his eyes, flutters his eyelids and a moan escapes his throat. He begins to pant and twitch.

"Good boy. Just relax. Good boy," Mulsae purrs. Damion's breath hitches again. I am no fucking good boy. The exhaustion pulls him to relax. His shame roils in protest. Humiliation fueled nausea boils up in his stomach. He begins to sway with every breath again. The nausea creeps up his throat. His mouth begins to water and he abruptly yanks his foot out of Mulsae's grip, keels over the side of the tub and wretches.

Damion pants and spits the vomit remnants from his mouth. He recalls that puking pleased Mulsae earlier as he considers it a sign that he is breaking. Humiliation fueled nausea reaches up his throat once again and causes him to vomit a second time. Once his panting slows he sinks down into the tub and hooks his chin on the tub’s rim. His eyes are closed. He tries to disassociate.

Mulsae kneels at the side of the tub and caresses Damion's shoulder and arm, "It's okay, everything is alright," he says in a reassuring coo. Just get away from here, Damion thinks, just leave my body. Mulsae continues his gentle caress. It's so hard to leave while he is touching me all the time. Just stop touching. Stop touching. Stop touching me. Stop touching me. Stop touching me.

Damion suddenly whirls and smacks Mulsae's hand away while roaring, "STOP TOUCHING ME!"

Damion freezes in place while panting out his fury. He sees Mulsae has a blank expression on his face. Oh gods. I'm going to regret that. I've already upset him, so I should just jump out of this tub and run out. Do anything I can to get out of this situation. Maybe they'll kill me. Yes. I should run out and get myself killed.

"I'll freeze you in place before you even get out of the tub, Damion." Mulsae says flatly.

Mulsae is right. I'm trapped. Damion bends his knees in front of his chest and loops his arms on either side. He lowers his forehead to his knees. He continues to pant, but now from fear. I'm trapped. I can't die. I'm in hell. I just need the touching to stop. I just need to disassociate. But Mulsae is sure to do something that will prevent me from doing so. I don't know if I can keep doing this. He inhales a shuddering breath.

He hears Mulsae get up and walk away. He rummages around on the opposite side of the room and pulls something out. Oh gods. He's going to use something on me. What is he going to do to me? He hears him walk in the direction of the desk then the groan of the seat being sat in and pulled forward. He hears some papers rustle. What is he going to do to me?

Damion is focusing his entire attention on listening to what Mulsae is doing to get some idea of what he's going to do next. But all he hears is papers, occasional writing, gentle clicks on the desk, and the creak of the chair as Mulsae shifts his weight.

Damion doesn't know why Mulsae is taking so long, but he'll take advantage of this reprieve while he has it. Just leave my body, he soothes himself, just leave. He notices his wrists are bound together, and then releases it from his consciousness. He notices the anal plug he's sitting on, and releases it. He goes piece by piece through his body to acknowledge the ache, and then release it from consciousness.

He envisions himself floating in water and slowly uncurling his body to lay limply in the ether. He is nowhere. He is no one. He is nothing. There is nothing.

=*=

Shaking enters Damion's consciousness. He is shaking. His teeth are chattering. He's sitting in cold water that has leached out his body heat. He goes to move his hands and finds them bound. Oh gods. I'm still in hell. Mulsae was supposed to punish him. Where is he? Why has nothing happened yet? The shaking from cold is replaced with shuddering from fearful anticipation.

A chair scrapes across the floor and soft footsteps approach. Damion's heart rate flutters in his chest.

"I am not going to punish you, Damion." Mulsae states in his flat tone. Damion stills. He's so shocked he can barely process what is happening.

Mulsae continues, "Yes, you were a bad boy for lashing out. Not because you told me no, but because you raised your voice and hit me. You are never to touch me with the intent to harm ever again. Do you understand?" Damion remains still, curled in on himself with his forehead on his knees.

"You must communicate with me when I ask you a question," Mulsae continues more sternly, "Damion, do you understand that you are never to touch me with the intent to harm?" Damion takes a deep breath then nods his head, keeping his forehead on his knees.

"Good. You are never to raise your voice to me again. Do you understand?" Damion nods.

"It was not bad that you told me to stop touching you. I will never take away your ability to communicate with me. I want you to communicate your wants and needs to me." Mulsae continues without his commanding voice, as if he's speaking to himself, "I won't always give you what you request, though. I own your body and mind and I will do with you as I see fit."

Mulsae sighs, "I don't always get what I want either. I wanted to finish up this bath and go to sleep because I am tired. But you lashed out and I was forced to give you time to recuperate."

Damion is confused. Is that the key then? Lashing out? This makes no sense.

"It wasn't your lashing out that indicated you required a recuperation period. It was merely a symptom of how much you had broken all at once. You broke so much all at once that you needed to recuperate."

Mulsae waits a moment then continues, "Your breaking is good, but it will have annoying moments like your outburst. Breaking you won't be a linear process and will have unpredictable pain points that inconvenience even me. But as a whole, any symptom of your breaking is ultimately a good thing."

"Now," Mulsae clears his throat and continues in a tone of commanding lecture, "Although you were a bad boy you are not being punished. That is because you were also a good boy." Damion furrows his brow in confusion.

"You did not attempt to go on that rampage you were thinking about. You restrained yourself from acting out. The bad boy in you burst out, but the good boy in you promptly reined him back in and kept him from causing further problems. You had an internal battle and the good boy in you won."

Mulsae pauses, then says sternly, "Damion, look at me." Damion takes a shuddering deep breath and raises his head to make eye contact with Mulsae, who is crouched eye level with him at the side of the tub.

Mulsae instills his authority into his words, "You have demonstrated that you are a very good boy." A warm feeling washes down Damion's head down to his toes. What is that feeling?

He is confused at his body's response to Mulsae's words. His mind swirls as he searches for an answer. It was... it was a sense of relief. He hadn't irreparably wrecked things. He's okay. When Mulsae says he's a good boy, things are going alright. He doesn't have to be scared. He can release his fear. He can... he can release the fear weighing him down. He doesn't need the burden of fear when he's been told he's a good boy. A full body wracking shudder courses through his body and then he feels so much lighter. He feels so much better. He let the fear go.

Mulsae smiles warmly, "Let's finish this bath and get you to bed, okay?" Damion nods.

"Lay back and put your left foot on the rim," Damion slowly complies with his exhausted body. When Mulsae moves to his foot, he notices that he is wearing loose comfortable pants. Mulsae dunks his foot into the water and wipes off the dirt. It doesn't feel like last time. He isn't massaging any joints or lingering. He just simply wiped off the dirt. Mulsae places his foot back on the rim of the tub, rubs soap on it, then dunks it back into the water to wipe off the soap. It is obvious that he is treating him differently now. The soaping process took only a moment. No deep massage.

"Stand up," Damion attempts to comply, but can't figure out how with his hands bound while in such a narrow space and simultaneously avoiding getting the cuffs wet. Mulsae stands and offers his hand. Damion looks up into Mulsae's face and sees a blank expression. He takes a deep breath and grabs onto Mulsae's hand, and is helped up to standing. He stands there with his hands at his chest under his clavicle shaking from the cold.

"Turn your back to me." Damion turns. "Legs shoulder width apart." Damion adjusts his footing.

Mulsae soaps up Damion's legs. Although he focuses on the dried cum and oil between his legs, the touch feels clinical. He rubs his fingers around the rim of the anal plug and up the cleft of his ass, but doesn't linger. Mulsae completes the process by lifting up water with his hands to rinse the soap away.

"Get out." Damion steps out of the tub. "Hold your arms straight out." He complies. Mulsae grabs a towel and rubs it along Damion's arms, chest, back, and legs. The pressure is firm and quick. He still feels damp, but glad he wasn't rubbed down any more than necessary. He just couldn't withstand any more touching. Did... did Mulsae actually grant my request to stop touching me?

"Bend over with your hands by your knees." Shit. Fuck. Mulsae is going to mess with my ass again, isn't he? His heart beat grows faster. But then, Mulsae drapes the towel over his head and rubs it against his hair. "Stand back up." He... he didn't mess with my ass? He just simply dried my hair?

Mulsae tosses the towel aside, then grabs a comb and approaches Damion again. "I like your hair the way it's been," he deftly rakes the comb through Damion's hair and straightens it all out.

"Alright! We got through the bath," Mulsae claps his hands together. "You were quite the good boy, aside from the outburst that is. But we got through it! Now we can finally get to bed."

Mulsae walks to the right side of the bed and pulls back the blankets and furs. "Lay down on your stomach, legs under the covers, with your head on the pillow and arms above your head."

Damion holds his breath. When Mulsae said 'bed' I thought he meant 'sleep' not fucking. Can I get through this another time today? Damion lets out a long breath and trembles as he struggles to will his feet to lumber over to the bed. He looks around as he does. Where am I going to sleep anyway? On the floor? In the prisoner cages? Where?

Damion crawls into the bed and puts himself in the requested position with his forehead pressed into the pillow. He tries to breathe at a normal pace. As Mulsae draws the blankets and furs over Damion's back he says, "You're sleeping right here, in my bed, in this position." Damion tilts his head to face Mulsae with a quizzical look on his face. He feels enveloped in softness and warmth as the covers are settled along his body. Mulsae straightens once satisfied with the covers, "This is how you will sleep from now on."

Mulsae walks around to the other side of the bed. Damion feels the covers being pulled back on the other side of the bed and Mulsae crawling in. He can sense that Mulsae is a few inches away from him. Damion continues to work on keeping his breath at a normal pace as he prepares himself to be fucked yet another time today.

"Damion, look at me." He slowly drags his face along the pillow to turn and face Mulsae who is on his side with his head propped up on his hand. Damion's throat bobs as he swallows.

"I am not going to fuck you tonight." Damion furrows his brows. "I would normally fuck you right before sleeping, but not tonight. You're tired. I'm tired. We are going to simply sleep tonight, alright?" Damion nods. "Close your eyes." Damion closes them.

"Sleep," Mulsae commands then rustles to assumably get himself comfortable. He places a still hand on Damion's lower back.

Damion lets out a shuddering breath. He has himself back. He can draw into himself and be alone again inside himself. He's comfortable. The bed is soft and the blankets warm. Aside from his arms aching in this position, he is surrounded by enough comfort to allow himself to relax. Mulsae said he wasn't going to fuck him and just sleep, and so far what Mulsae says is what happens. He's free for the night. He can let go of all of the tension in his body and soak in all of the rest and recuperation that he can get while he is finally being left alone. He wills himself to release the tension and relax.

Damion's breath hitches with the start of sudden weeping. Where did this come from? Oh fuck. The tension was holding in my tears. He turns his head to press his forehead into the pillow. Tears unbidden soak into the fabric. He was supposed to be dead by now, so tears weep from him. Instead of death he is in hell, so tears fall. He releases the tears like he released the tension, and eventually they are spent and cease falling. Feeling wrung out and drained, Damion drifts to sleep.

=*=

There is an ache in Damion's arms so he shifts to move them. But his wrists are bound. Fuck! He flinches as the memories catch up to his groggy brain. His breathing picks up speed.

Damion opens his eyes and can see the back of Mulsae. He could sneak out. He's not leashed. Mulsae is sleeping. He could quietly ease out of the bed and try to slip out of the war camp while most are sleeping. Damion slowly begins to shift his knees towards the side of the bed.

"You'll be a bad boy if you get out of the bed," Mulsae quietly says. Fuck! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Damion's heart is rattling in the cage of his ribs. He carefully eases the tension that was urging him out of bed.

Mulsae turns over to face Damion and smiles, "Good boy," and places a stilled hand on Damion's lower back.

Mulsae closes his eyes. After a few breaths Damion follows suit. Okay. This is not the opportunity to escape. He wills himself to get back to the blissful nothingness of sleep. I need the rest, he reminds himself, I need to recuperate as much as I can for tomorrow.