Vayne continues to corrupt Edric as his memories of his time in Hell resurface. Just when he needs it the most, the perfect vehicle for his reunion with Azzagg delivers itself right to his doorstep.
Vayne picked at his food.
He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, or anything, but the meal really was just dismal. He would have liked to wring the neck of whoever had thought it would be a good idea to include good food as an "unnecessary luxury" in scripture.
It was driving him up the wall, quite frankly. Just… day after day of flavorless bread and bland slop. He grimaced in disgust and pushed the tray away from him. The sooner it was out of his sight, the better.
Edric, who’d been standing at attention by the side of the desk, noticed immediately. "Is there a problem with the food today, Sir Vayne?"
Vayne looked at Edric. He looked at the "meal," if it could even be called that. Then, he looked back at Edric.
"Are you telling me you don’t know what’s wrong with that?" Vayne gestured at the bowl of unappetizing slop.
Edric looked at the bowl and tilted his head. His face scrunched up in that adorable way it did when he was thinking hard about something and Vayne managed to spot the exact moment he gave up.
"It seems like a perfectly standard serving of breakfast, sir."
Vayne stared at the boy in disbelief. "You mean that looks appetizing to you?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.
Edric sheepishly scratched the side of his cheek. "Perhaps it’s not the most aesthetically appealing bowl of porridge, sir, but I’m sure it’s perfectly filling and nutritious. Brother Tomaç takes his job seriously!"
A bit too seriously, maybe, Vayne thought to himself. It was frustrating. He had no doubt Brother Tomaç prepared his meals to the exacting specifications of scripture.
How Brother Tomaç could have any pride as a cook when this was what he was serving, Vayne had no idea. Then again, Brother Tomaç probably didn’t think he was a cook so much as a Brother of the Order who just so happened to be in charge of preparing meals.
"Food is about more than just filling your stomach, Edric! You’re supposed to be able to enjoy it!" said Vayne.
He wasn’t sure where all this passion was coming from, but he felt strongly enough to reach across the desk to grab Edric by the tabard. "At least tell me you have had one good meal in your life!"
Edric considered the matter for a moment. "Well, there was this one time when I was younger… It had been a good year for crops and we had a bit of extra money to spend… We had quite a nice roast that year, during the Feast of the First Light."
"Did you not enjoy the meal? I don’t doubt it filled your stomach, but did it not also make you feel warm and happy and fulfilled?" said Vayne.
"I suppose so, sir," said Edric.
"Then why do you settle for this?" said Vayne, jabbing a finger at the bowl of slop. It was so thick it didn’t even slosh around when the bowl rocked from side to side.
"Because the scriptures say that rich, luxurious food is a needless excess that leads the way to sin, sir," said Edric.
Vayne made a face and scoffed. "Alright," he said. "I think I’ve heard enough."
He thought he’d done a decent job disabusing Edric of the notion that the scriptures had to be followed word for word. Apparently not.
"You can take it away now, Edric. I don’t think I’ve got the strength to shovel any of that disgusting gloop in my mouth today," said Vayne, pointedly ignoring the unimpressed gurgling of his stomach.
Edric didn’t seem impressed. "Sir, it’s imperative that you eat at least a little. How would you have energy for the day, otherwise?"
Vayne waved his hand dismissively. "I’ll manage," he said. He’d been managing on a half-empty stomach for the past couple of days, anyway.
"Come to think of it, you novices must know some way to sneak more substantial meals into the dormitories…"
Edric blinked. "If the others are aware of such methods, sir, I’m afraid I have no knowledge of them," he said.
"Oh," said Vayne. He should have expected as much. Edric was quite a straight-laced lad. "And you have no friends who might be aware of such things?"
Edric’s cheeks took on a faint pink tinge. "I’m afraid not, sir."
Somehow, Vayne suspected Edric didn’t have many friends among the novices. The devout ones often had difficulty making friends since they were the ones that harped on about the rules and needing to follow them all the time.
Vayne sighed. "In that case, run along and take this back to the kitchens. I’ll just have to make do without until this evening’s meal." At least supper had meat, even if it did tend to be unseasoned.
Edric didn’t do as he was told. "I-I may know of a way to make the meal more palatable for Sir Vayne… I-if you would give me the chance."
Vayne quirked an eyebrow. Interesting. It didn’t escape his attention that there was a growing lump against Edric’s leg, either. Suffice to say, he was intrigued. "If it’ll help me keep that meal down, I won’t complain," he said.
Edric nodded. He took a deep breath—as if to center himself—then, he walked around from his position to the side of the desk to stand beside Vayne.
"It’s just… This whole thing reminded me of a dream I had, sir," said Edric.
"Oh?" said Vayne, quirking an eyebrow as he turned to face Edric.
Edric nodded, his blush creeping into the tips of his ears. "Yes, sir. In my dream, you were… complaining about your food…"
"You went on for a while, sir."
Vayne chuckled. "Are you trying to tell me something, Edric?"
"No, no… I’m just describing the dream to you, sir, nothing more…"
Vayne doubted the dream in question had actually happened. It felt like an excuse, more than anything. He knew Edric enough by now that had he indeed had a dream like he was implying, he would have said something already.
"Go on, then," said Vayne. He was interested to find out what Edric’s mind had conjured up.
"I got—pardon the language, sir—I got pissed off at your complaining."
Vayne was surprised. That was more forward than he’d expected. He hadn’t known Edric felt so strongly about the conversation they’d just had. "Yeah?" he said.
Edric’s expression hardened. "Yeah," he said. He rubbed the obscene outline of his cock through his breeches.
This was exciting. The rougher side of Edric was coming out. Vayne had so enjoyed it the last time, and he was looking forward to more of it.
Edric reached down and grabbed Vayne by the cheeks. "So I grabbed your face. And I told you to shut the fuck up and stop being such a little bitch about your food."
Vayne’s cock twitched. "Then what?" he said.
Edric grinned. "Then I told you that if what you really wanted was a juicy piece of meat to go with your breakfast, all you needed to do was ask."
"Oh," said Vayne. His pants were getting tight. "Did I ask?"
"Oh yeah," said Edric.
Vayne licked his lips. "Do I get to have a juicy piece of meat for breakfast?"
"I don’t know," said Edric, rubbing his thumb up and down over the corner of Vayne’s mouth. "Ask," he said.
Vayne suppressed a moan. "May I have a juicy piece of meat with breakfast, Edric?"
"Of course, sir," said Edric. He hooked the thumb of his other hand into the waistband of his breeches. He pushed them down, revealing a marked lack of underwear, and his massive, hard cock.
A bead of pre-cum gathered at the tip of Edric’s erection. It glistened in the light streaming through the open window.
"Go on, sir," said Edric. He released his grip on Vayne’s face. "It won’t taste as good when it’s cold."
Vayne leaned forward and licked his lips. "I can imagine," he said, wrapping his fingers loosely around the considerable girth of Edric’s endowment. He pressed a kiss to the tip, earning an approving grunt, and then wrapped his lips around the head.
He shivered as he felt Edric’s fingers thread through his hair.
"Don’t hold back, sir. I brought more than enough meat to satisfy that hungry slut mouth of yours."
Vayne moaned. He swirled his tongue around the crown of Edric’s cock head. He savored the salty muskiness of Edric’s cock. It was infinitely more appetizing than Brother Tomaç’s porridge.
"That’s it, sir," said Edric, as Vayne bobbed his head up and down along the length of his cock. "Eat up, sir. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. You’re going to need the energy, so make sure you have your fill of my meat."
Vayne worked his way inch by inch down Edric’s prodigious manhood. It tasted so good. He could scarcely get enough.
He fucked his face on the thick piece of meat up and down and up and down, gurgling every time the blunt head hit the back of his throat. He didn’t stop until he was mashing his nose into Edric’s wiry bush with every stroke, and even then he couldn’t help but want more.
"Fuck, sir," Edric whispered. "I don’t think you’re getting enough meat in you. Here. Let me help you with that."
Vayne moaned as he felt Edric’s fingers tighten in his hair. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, relaxed his throat as much as he could.
Even so, he choked and gurgled and gagged once the skull-fucking started in earnest. He hacked and retched, snot bubbles blowing out of his nose and drool and slime dripping down his chin as Edric brutally ravaged his face.
He sat there and took it, tears pricking at his eyes as the sheer pleasure of getting his face pounded in by Edric’s cock threatened to overwhelm him.
Eventually, Edric’s thrusting slowed. He hunched his cock a few more times into Vayne’s throat before he pulled out. A gush of throat slime and spit gurgled out of Vayne’s mouth as he did.
"Since you were so good with swallowing your meat, I think you deserve a reward, don’t you, sir?" said Edric.
Vayne nodded. "W-what reward?" he rasped.
"How about some cream, sir? I thought it might make the porridge more pleasant," said Edric, with a grin.
Vayne’s eyes widened. He grabbed the bowl of slop so hastily he nearly fumbled it out of his hands but he just managed to catch it.
"Oh, yes, please," he croaked, as he presented the bowl to Edric.
"Here it comes, sir. A bit of a treat for that nasty whore mouth of yours."
Edric stroked his cock a few times over the bowl of porridge. He grunted and Vayne got to watch as the squire’s pendulous balls drew up against his body and twitched.
A heartbeat later, Edric’s throbbing cock deposited shot after shot of thick, warm, cum right into the gloopy porridge in Vayne’s bowl. "Go on, sir. Enjoy your reward."
Vayne grabbed his spoon with such force he was afraid the wood might splinter. He shoveled spoonful after spoonful of slop into his mouth and groaned with pleasure as it coated his tongue.
The slop still tasted something awful but the salty-sweet nectar of Edric’s cum more than made up for it. If anything, the otherwise bland porridge just helped him stretch out the delectable taste of Edric’s seed.
It didn’t take long before Vayne was full. He’d made something of a mess of himself but it was worth it.
The revolting slop, with Edric’s cum in it, was the best meal he’d had in days. And he only just managed to stop short of devouring the whole bowl.
Vayne leaned back. He patted his stomach happily and belched. "Fuck, if that’s not the best thing I’ve had in months," he groaned.
Edric grinned as he stuffed his cock back into his breeches. "I’m glad to have helped, sir," he said. "Should I take this back to the kitchens now?"
Vayne nodded. "Go ahead. I need to clean up here, anyway…"
Edric, once he was presentable, leaned over the desk to grab the tray. He stopped when Vayne placed a hand on his wrist.
"Actually," said Vayne. "Give me one moment."
He grabbed the bowl off the tray. It still had about a quarter of the slop in it. The whitish-gray color made it difficult to tell whether there were any globs of cum left.
Vayne fished his cock out of his pants one-handed. He was still rock-hard and so aroused it only took a few strokes before he’d added his own load to the bowl.
"There," he said, placing the bowl back on the tray. "Take that to the kitchens. Tell Brother Tomaç to try it and see what he thinks."
Edric’s eyes widened. He looked at Vayne with disbelief. "A-are you sure, sir? Won’t he be able to tell what we’ve done to it?" he said.
Vayne scoffed. "A hard-ass like Tomaç? I doubt he’d know the taste of cum if a horse blew its load all over his face. Maybe this’ll inspire him to add a little bit of flavor to the porridge."
"If you say so, sir," Edric said as he picked up the tray. He didn’t seem convinced.
Truth be told, neither was Vayne.
It didn’t matter. At least he’d discovered how to make breakfast a lot more pleasant.
Vayne’s eye twitched. He was sat in the corner of his surprisingly spacious prison cell, hands clapped over his ears.
It was impossible to escape the delirious moans ringing off the dungeon’s stone walls. Nor could he ignore the lewd wet squelching sounds of today’s desperate, traitorous slut getting split open.
At a gander, the dungeon was surprisingly accommodating. Humane, even. The cells were large and spacious enough for two grown men to stand fingertip to fingertip from wall to wall.
Though the beds were little more than threadbare cots, they were still relatively comfortable. Better than the straw mats used in most dungeons Vayne had ever known, anyway.
There were creature comforts allowed, too. He had a desk in his room, and quills, ink, and paper to write with. He had a small bookshelf, with a few volumes of infernal lore and hellborn fiction to while away the moments.
There wasn’t the slightest hint of damp or stagnant air. If anything, there was the occasional draft of wind through the dungeon that was as cool and crisp as what he would have expected on a remote mountain top.
Twice every day, a group of servants came by and kept the walls, ceiling, and floor fastidiously clean. It was the picture of idyllic, humane imprisonment, and Vayne had never known something to be as incongruous as the hellborn treating their prisoners better than most human nations did.
Past the heavy iron bars at the front of Vayne’s cell was a large, open area with some support columns interspersed evenly throughout. Surrounding the area were individual cells like Vayne’s, recessed into the wall and containing other prisoners like him.
The implements scattered throughout the area seemed to be instruments of torture. Vayne had certainly thought so when he was first thrown into the cell, stripped of his clothes and his dignity after a thorough washing down. But they weren’t.
They were instruments of carnal pleasure and Vayne had seen each one demonstrated more times than he cared to count.
Today’s victim was strung onto a set of thick wooden beams that formed a large X. His wrists and ankles were lashed to metal fixtures in the wood, spreading his arms and legs wide.
There was a hole where the beams met, roughly at waist height. It hadn’t taken much speculation to figure out what it was for as victims tied to the cross had their asses conveniently placed just over the hole.
The wooden beams were thick enough that all but the most well-endowed of human men could fit all the way through. Not so for the incubus that was the Warden of the dungeon.
Azzagg’s endowment was prodigious enough that he could stick his cock through the hole in the cross with enough to spare to rearrange his poor victims’ innards.
Right now, a waifish twig of a man with striking blue eyes and blond hair was at the receiving end of Azzagg’s attention. His flat, toned stomach bulged with every thrust, his eyes glassy and unfocused as he drooled onto his bare chest.
"Take my seed, prisoner," Azzagg growled.
Vayne could feel the deep bass rumble of the devil’s voice through his bare feet on the stone floor. He shivered at the sheer presence of it.
He couldn’t look away was Azzagg thrust into the prisoner one last time. The man’s stomach swelled as the incubus pumped what must have been gallons of tainted infernal seed into him.
It should have revolted anyone in their right mind but the poor soul strung up on the cross only begged for more. He begged until his stomach was stretched and sagging, a trickle of hot jism running down the insides of his legs.
The other prisoners should have been horrified of what had just transpired but they weren’t. From the cells to either side of him, Vayne could hear the moans, cheers, and squelching as the other inmates celebrated the seeding.
Across the way, Vayne could see the prisoners on the opposite wall. They were all either on their beds or on the floor. Their positions varied but not what they were doing. They were fucking themselves on stone facsimiles of Azzagg’s cock.
Each cell had at least one, even Vayne’s. His was smaller, though. No doubt because he was yet a virgin and intended to remain so for the rest of his life.
Azzagg pulled out of his newest victim. Cum gushed out of the poor slut’s tortured asshole, pooling around the base of the cross.
The incubus approached Vayne’s cell, a cocky smirk on his lips. "What say you, pet? Are you ready to partake in the festivities?"
"Never," Vayne hissed.
Azzagg shrugged. "Suit yourself, Paladin, but blame no one else for your suffering."
Vayne glared at Azzagg as he walked away to pick his next victim, the other prisoners clamoring for his attention.
Truth be told, it was getting more and more difficult to resist. Vayne glanced down at his cock, squeezed as it was into a tiny cage made of black metal filigree—the only thing the prisoners were made to wear—and saw that it was straining.
Pre-cum was beading at the tip and a small puddle had formed from his earlier emissions.
Vayne was aroused like never before. The temptation to surrender was nigh-overwhelming.
Prayers and meditation were ineffective. They hadn’t been, for days. Years of strict discipline, to repress the side of him the Church would never approve of, were crumbling.
Yes, the prison seemed more humane than any human dungeon Vayne had ever seen, but it was also the worst torment for righteous souls like his, he was convinced.
Vayne woke with a start. The sun had yet to rise and the grey light of dawn was just breaking.
He sat up. Something was off but his groggy mind couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
His cock was hard and straining in his breeches. A damp spot had formed at the tip. For the first time in a few weeks, his mind felt strangely clear, and the hollowness he’d been carrying around suddenly didn’t seem as bad as before.
The door to Vayne’s chambers rattled. Right. It wasn’t the pulsing, insistent need between his legs that had woken him. It was the pounding on his door.
With a grunt, he heaved himself out of bed. He shuffled over to the door and wrenched it open with a scowl.
To his surprise, Brother Tomaç was standing in the hall outside. He was sweaty and flustered, his forearms dusted in flour. His thick brown hair was a bedraggled, unkempt mess, and there was a wild sort of frenzy in his green eyes.
Come to think of it, Vayne shouldn’t have been so shocked. The kitchens woke before anyone else in the fort, after all.
Blearily, he squinted at Brother Tomaç and said, "How can I help you at this early hour, Brother?"
"I need to know…" Tomaç muttered.
Vayne frowned. "Know what?" he grumbled. It was far too early for this shit and he hadn’t the faintest idea why Brother Tomaç had decided to bother him, of all people.
"What you did!"
"Ow." Vayne grimaced. Tomaç had poked him right on the sternum and it hurt. Clearly, he was missing something.
He took a step back, figuratively speaking, to re-examine the strange situation he’d found himself in. He wasn’t doing himself any favors by just going along with Tomaç’s half-deranged rambling.
Tomaç was in distress. That much was clear. Why, on the other hand, was the pertinent question.
Judging from the flour on his arms, Tomaç had just come from the kitchens. He was flustered and sweaty, which was unsurprising if he’d rushed all the way from the kitchens to Vayne’s quarters at the top of the Brighthand Regiment’s tower.
The conclusion was inescapable: something urgent had come up—or, at least, something urgent in Tomaç’s mind. Which meant it had something to do with the kitchens.
Vayne looked down. It really was impressive how little Tomaç’s porridge smelled of. He’d barely even noticed the steaming bowl of slop Tomaç’s was holding in his trembling hands.
"I’ve tried everything!" Tomaç lamented.
"I think I’ve got the gist of the problem, now, Brother. Come in."
Tomaç muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he shuffled into Vayne’s chambers. He seemed well on the way to becoming a raving madman, a rather marked difference to his usual composed self.
Vayne smirked as he closed the door behind him.
Tonight’s dream had brought the truth he knew deep down bubbling up to the surface. The thin veneer of the lies the Order had forced on him since his "rescue" from the clutches of Hell was crumbling.
His memory was still spotty, at best, and downright unreliable. He remembered enough, though. He remembered what he’d become. Who he’d sworn himself to.
Even if that emptiness he felt inside him had subsided somewhat thanks to Edric, it felt raw and painful in an entirely new way now that he half-remembered what it was meant to represent. Knowing what had been taken from him, he was angry.
With a hand on the small of his Brother’s back, Vayne guided Tomaç over to his desk and bade him sit.
"Azzagg…" Vayne muttered, under his breath. He turned the name over on his tongue. It felt right but not right.
Ah, yes. He’d known the incubus by another name. "Master," he whispered, shivering at the thrill of pleasure that wound through him in acknowledgment.
Tomaç looked up and frowned. "Did you say something?"
The corner of Vayne’s mouth twitched. "No. Don’t worry about it, Brother," he said.
He ignored the almost painful pang of hunger in his gut. He had been away from his Master too long. His body craved his Master’s tainted seed and would soon wither if left unsated.
He would have to find a way to be reunited with Azzagg. Sooner, rather than later. He could make do with cum from other sources, but not indefinitely.
He clapped a hand on Tomaç’s shoulder. Luckily, the perfect opportunity had just delivered itself onto his lap.
If Vayne was going to summon his Master into the mortal world, he needed to be prepared. He needed to get the Order out of the way so it couldn’t meddle.
He also wanted revenge for all the years of repression he had to suffer. For forcing him to live a lie when they rescued him. For tearing him from the warm embrace of his Master.
He didn’t remember much more than the important bits of his time in Hell but he remembered enough to know that he’d been happy. Free. He didn’t think he could forgive the Order for taking that away from him.
Tomaç grabbed the hand Vayne had placed on his shoulder and squeezed. "Tell me, Brother. How did you make it taste so good?"
"Don’t worry, brother," said Vayne, the corner of his mouth curling into a devilish little smirk. "I’ll do more than tell you. I’ll show you."
This was the best thing he could have asked for. By corrupting the Order from inside, he wouldn’t just be able to remove a major obstacle to his reunion with his Master, he’d also be able to satisfy his thirst for vengeance.
More than that, he couldn’t think of a single better gift for a devil than a whole order of corrupted, sex-crazed Paladins. He was sure his Master would be pleased.
Yes. Three birds with one stone. He couldn’t have asked for better if he tried.