The Mist and the Lightning. Part 11 - стр. 21
Arel was silent.
“Well? You came so that I could put something in you, as you love. And where to? Wait,” Kors laughed, “or, judging by the way you stand, there is already something in your ass. You moron!”
Kors screamed and suddenly, going up to the table, knocked it over with a crash. Arel jumped to the side, but Kors had already grabbed him, pulled his hand:
“Where are you going? Stay, once you've come!”
He grabbed Arel, dragging him to the table, pushing on its leg, throwing his own leg over it. Arel tried to break free.
“Sit! Sit!” Kors shouted, and Arel froze. He stood with his back resting on the bottom of the countertop and with his hands back a little, clutching the edge of it. Between his legs was now a table leg, a massive four-sided one. And Arel almost lifted himself on his toes so that this wooden edge was as far away from his crotch as possible.
“Sit, I have said!” Kors sharply pressed on his shoulders, and Arel sat down with a swing, the table leg’s sharp rib bit into him, pressed on the chastity belt. The stick inserted inside the prince went even deeper from the push, and since it happened unexpectedly, Arel, unable to restrain himself, cried out, immediately tried to get up and pull himself up on his hands.
Kors slapped his arms.
“Hands removed! And legs! Lift them up!”
He grabbed Arel by the ankles, tying them together with his pants. Forcing him to tear his feet off the floor and bend his knees, he tied them to the table leg behind the prince’s back. Arel arched up, heaving himself up, helping himself with his hands, but Kors finished and again unhooked his fingers from the tabletop by tying his wrists there, behind his back.
“Sit, Arel, sit! Make yourself comfortable.”
Arel endured and allowed him to do all this, until, finally, Kors shook him several times, lifting and lowering him on the table leg, and only then, unable to bear it, Arel shouted:
“No! No! Don’t do it!”
“So I'm right, and there, in the ass, you have something. Hop, Arel! You see, he can close you from head to toe, but I'll still figure out how to fuck you!”
Arel looked at Kors with some horror:
“Please, Kors, let go… I have to…” he closed his eyes in pain, his breathing was interrupted, “not this way…”
“Not this way?” Kors grinned and stretching out his hand patted the prince's ring. Arel again tried to arch, dodge. Any movement hurt him. He sat on the edge of a four-sided leg and couldn’t move, the stick inserted into him dug deeper and deeper into his insides.
“This mask and this ring suit you. It is threaded through your nose, I hope? Was it painful?”
“Nik… he will see everything, no…” Arel barely uttered these words.
“See your ripped ass and wonder how I did it, despite the chastity belt? Do you think I'm afraid of him? For God’s sake! I'll leave a message for him myself, right on you! There is still some space left.”
And taking a pencil with a rod soaked in black dye, Kors wrote on Arel's chest: “Before my name was a stupid handsome prince, now I am a thing of a demon named Nikto.”
“Let him read it, he will like it.”
“Kors, the key is in my pants pocket, you can open the mask, Ver gave it… Nik allowed… let me go… in another way…” Arel’s voice was hoarse, “I will give you pleasure in another way.”