A Day With The Champion free porn video
A Day with the Champion
by Arcie Emm
It was said that amongst the denizens of the palace, only Emperor
Cintarian enjoyed the day known by some as Audience Day, and to most
others as Judgment Day. Yet not because of the power that he could wield
over his subjects, that power did not need a special day to manifest. No
he enjoyed Audience Day because everyone else was so busy that, except
for the three hours devoted to dressing before and conducting the
audience, most of his day would be free to pursue passion of the moment,
currently that being painting.
Amongst everyone else no such benefit could be found. For the nobility,
it often served as a bitter reminder that despite their great powers, so
too could they be judged. For the bureaucrats who enriched themselves by
controlling access to the emperor, it was a day where their wealth did
not grow and strict were the lessons against those who tempted to sell a
time slot on that day, as the seller often found himself taking it to be
judged himself. For the Emperor's Chosen, the day was one of worry, with
everyone having the right to have their cause heard, the palace gates
were opened wide to those without security clearance and who were often
angry. For the palace servants, there were the additional guests to house
and feed, never mind the disgusting task of cleaning the Audience
Chamber's floor after certain judgments. And for the Champion, well he
hated having his routine changed.
Ghastly to be woken before sun up. Yet what else could he do, on this day
of any day, he needed to be ready to do his duty. So early morning found
him in his private gymnasium stretching and running through simple forms
to loosen muscles, ensuring his body would not betray him that day. Then
to the masseuse table to loosen tightness in his left calf muscle, before
a full body massage, with aromatic oils, left his golden skinned body
glistening with health. A body so unlike any that have previously laid
upon that table in the champion's quarters.
Even different than Agnes Dubrovsky, the champion who had started him on
his improbable path to this day. Hatchet face and with a body little
different than the those she defeated to earn the position, her victory
had shocked the worlds of the Empire. None more than the Felintin, home
of many past champions, where the belief was that Agnes only won because
Empress Ceelasion wished to have a female champion. There was a great
deal of outrage.
But not at the dueling salon of Werther Kelimon champion of the Canton of
Sedicrew, who despite being a wonderful teacher constantly lost his most
gifted students to schools run by those of greater renown. He saw it as
an opportunity to differentiate himself from better known schools, yet
even he was too hidebound to open his doors to a female student. Instead
he had keyed upon Nilson Fegrew, winner of the canton's last two Youth
Fencing Tournaments. His skill being the only thing keeping Nilson from
being the butt of every joke for being to pretty for a boy. Informed of
the offer, Nilson had begged and cajoled his father into selling his
personal bond to Master Wether, hoping escape from the boredom of life on
their farm.
Years later, Nilson often found himself wondering if he would have been
so eager had he been aware of Werther's plans for his new bondsman.
Usually Nilson could convince himself the answer was no.
Yet sometimes, when life weighed heavy, he was not sure. Nilson still
remembered the universal shock when The Scepter, along with the Empress
and her champion, was lost in space. It had been almost two years into
his studies, not long after he stopped denying what was being done to his
body, and Kelimon had decided to end the experiment upon learning the new
Emperor Cintarian's Champion was a man. Both fearful of what would happen
if cut adrift and eager to continue his studies, Nilson had reluctantly
embraced what had been done to him and used it to worm his way into the
Werther's arms. Earning himself a permanent place, Nilson proved a most
apt pupil on the mats of both the salon and Master Werther's bedroom.
Having been so willing to exploit something he had previously fought
against, it was not hard to imagine that he would have accepted the
master's offer even if fully aware of the man's plan.
Finished with his massage, Nilson wrapped himself into a robe, moved to a
table, and began to eat the simple meal that had been set upon it. Eating
the unflavoured noodles and seared squid, while washing it down with a
specially prepared drink, was the last step to preparing his body for
what may come that day. He would have preferred to do it in quiet
solitude, but there was no time, so he did stop his body servants as they
began to work on his appearance for the day. Truthfully, though he never
said it aloud, he found their gentle fingers rather soothing.
First they worked on the golden hair, which during his days on the
beginner circuits had earned him fame beyond his skills with a sword.
Long and straight, it brushed the floor at the back of the chair on which
he sat. Completely inappropriate though it seemed for his chosen
profession, it served a purpose. As Jelynn brushed the hair away from his
face, to begin creating a thick braid, Terise began to attach small
tablets, a centimeter square of ivory, silver, gold, copper, brass, or
steel. Personal marks of those he had defeated in his career, it was
these that demanded his hair be so long, for all to fit. They only left
enough length in which to weave a metal weight, that with a sudden spin
could leave an opponent stunned.
Nilson's bowls were empty long before his hair was complete, so closing
his eyes he brought himself into a meditative state. One that was not
broken even as Terise began to paint his face, both enhancing its beauty
and forming a haughty mask he could hide behind. At the same time
lacquered his long nails with a burnished copper, creating never used,
though welcome weapons of last defense.
Only as they moved away did he open his eyes. Knowing they would return
with his uniform, he stood to perform another form, testing that his
braid did not bring unbalance. Spinning to a stop he saw them watching
him, a question in their eyes. Speaking for the first time that day, in
his surgically created soprano voice, Nilson said, "Perfectly done
ladies."
Smiling, they moved forward to dress him. An activity that did not
require involve much. His uniform was the result of years of
experimentation and though not as exotic as most, for instance he had
fought for over a year wearing nothing but paint, it hid little. Wary
though he had been when he first adopted it, believing greater dignity
should be shown as Emperor's Champion, he had quickly grown to enjoy its
fit. Nor had it been as big of economic hit as he had worried. Admittedly
the licensing fees he received from the sale of vids from his fights had
dropped, vids that had made him such a hit behind closed doors, but they
had been offset by sales of his holographs that were more socially
acceptable to display.
Armour being useless against vibra-blades. Nilson wore a sleeveless tunic
of feather-lite, white silk embroidered with golden thread around its
short skirt and collar, which slithered over wonderful curves as he
moved. Underneath there was even less, just a small silken thong, which
offered distracting glimpses to an opponent.
Yet most would be surprised to learn the flatness it covered was little
different than what was hidden under the trousers of most of the top
duelists. Recognizing the potential weakness to blows between their legs,
many underwent a surgical procedure that created pouch inside their body
in which they could tuck themselves, somewhat safely, away. Admittedly
they would not stay tucked away for the extended periods that were normal
for Nilson, nor have his cosmetic enhancements, but the idea was the
same.
On his feet were boots of Interium raptor leather dyed a gold colour. No
longer were they thigh high, as earlier in his career. He found that
those limited his flexibility and speed. Now he wore ones that were knee-
high and only covered his shins, leaving narrow straps encircling the
back of his legs, which minimized the sweat and the sloshy feeling that
could occur during a fight. However, he had not gotten rid of the ten
centimeter high heels from those original boots. He found the added
height brought him closer to eye-level with those he fought, plus the
deutuxon stilettos were another surprise he had put to good use.
Twisting and turning in front of a full length mirror, Nilson ensured
everything was perfect before offering his thanks to and receiving well
wishes from his ladies. Then opening the door he moved out into the
sitting lounge of his quarters, where he spotted a older man dozing in a
chair. Smiling, he crossed the floor, leaned over to plant a quick kiss
on a cheek, and say, "Time to wake up Master."
"What? Oh, I'm not asleep girly, just resting my eyes."
"Yeah, right."
Through it all Nilson had kept Werther Kelimon at his side. No longer
lovers, they had moved even beyond mentor and pupil to become best
friends. Mutually and wordlessly they usually left the past buried, both
what the man had done to the boy and the payment the no-longer boy had
later offered to stay. Werther continued to prepare his pupil for what he
would face with sword in hand, but rarely offered advice about life.
Though he was always there to offer support when decisions made did not
to consequences sought. With Werther, unlike with everybody else
including himself, Nilson was content being a lovely girl.
Rising to his feet, with the grace of a Master Swordsman, Werther picked
up a belt and scabbard, matching Nilson`s boots, and offered, "Shall I?"
"No it bruises the silk of my tunic, can you hold it for me?"
"Of course my dear. Will you wear your cape?"
"I can't very well ignore a gift of the Emperor's."
"No you can't. Here let me help you with it." He agreed, before draping
the cloak of white satin and gold trim over the champion's shoulders.
Then as Nilson fastened the golden clasp, fashioned in the shape of the
Emperor's phoenix, the older man pulled the long braid free. "Honestly I
don't know how you manage this thing, it weighs a ton."
"Hardly. But I am so used to it that I would be hopelessly unbalanced
without it."
"Like the raptor whose boots you wear after your accidentally shot off
its tail?"
"Very funny. Have you heard what is on the docket?"
"Rumours imply that it is a light load and that your services will not be
needed. Still I don't like rumours and wish I could get more from those
damned paper pushers. They are under the impressions that you are sort of
on the outs with the emperor and do not believe it is worth their time to
talk to me."
"They're right. The two of us have nothing in common and in bed we're
both too subby for the other's enjoyment."
"I`m sorry."
"Not your fault old man. After your time I spent too much time seeking
love from those who were afraid of me. In seeking to quell their fears it
became natural to let myself be controlled. It's better when the Empress
is with us, she naturally takes charge."
Embarrassed at where the conversation had gone and still feeling guilty,
Werther mumbled, "We better go if we are to make it on time."
"Yes."
Striding together through the halls of the palace, Werther seemed to fade
away, silent of step and shrunken of appearance, as the Amazon beside him
drew all attention. As was proper. Soon they entered the mostly full
Audience Chamber, ignoring all stares as they moved to take their place
at the side of the dais upon which sat two empty thrones. Their wait was
short, as almost immediately a fan fare was followed by the entrance of
the royal couple, both showing well-bred loveliness. Even the Emperor,
though his was a strangely masculine form of beauty.
After his comments to Werther, Nilson was pleased to see that the
Empress's return from the planet of Vernigar, where she had been visiting
her family. But now was not the time to think about bridging his
relationship with the Emperor, for his tunic would too easily display
those thoughts. Better to focus on the droning major domo.
Soon bored with this and the cases being brought forward, he joined in
the activity of most in the audience, studying each other. Scanning the
crowd his eye was drawn to a red cloak, but of course is was not Dugus
von Majoriol, he existed only in Nilson's past.
Of all his lovers, art loving Dugus had come the closest to being
something, but like Werther he had ended up becoming more mentor than
companion. Not in the arts of war, but in those of being a woman. It had
been Dugus who seen that he learned the manner of a lady, who had planned
and payed for the body sculpting that had given Nilson the face and body
of what Dugus called a devilish angel. Yet these changes had caused the
end of their physical relationship, Dugus had been more interested in the
previously angular and still boyish Nilson. They had soon completely
parted ways.
A year later Nilson had spent most of week red-eyed, after hearing that
Dugus has died in speeder crash with his latest prodigy.
The sound of raised voices pulled his attention away from the man in the
red cloak and to the case being argued and that was the correct word.
Quickly he determined that it was a tax case, the boy who tried to be old
enough to be a man, argued on his family's behalf trying to explain away
their arrears so they did not lose their farm. But despite his passion,
Nilson could see that the prosecutor, who embarrassed the boy with a
blatant description of his father's drunkenness and gambling problems,
would win the day.
Unless...
...and there it was.
"I seek final judgment."
With those words, boredom faded from amongst the audience. This is why
they were there, hopeing to see the champion at work. Even to just cut
down some farm boy who played with the vibra-blade sword so common
throughout the empire, a weapon of personal safety, yet useless in revolt
against the blasters of the Imperial Army. While they leaned forward,
Nilson sighed and reached up to undo the phoenix clasp. Not looking back,
knowing it would be caught by Werther, he stuck out a hand waiting for
that worthy to slap the hilt of his own blade into palm.
Moving forward, he stopped at the throne, when the emperor gestured,
"Disarm him first, I would make an offer."
"Yes Sire."
Stepping into the open space in front of the thrones, Nilson studied the
boy. Apparently shocked at his own actions he dully studied the swords
available for those seeking justice. Finally he took one, sobbed a deep
breath and moved in front of Nilson.
Looking across at the scared face Nilson knew that this fight would
supply no personal mark to join the others in his hair, yet he offered
the full duelists salute. It cost him nothing, while offering respect for
the boy's courage. But that was all that Nilson was willing to offer, he
could not make what followed into more of a fight, that would be
disrespectful to Werther and all those like him. Still the lightning
strike that usually followed a disarming was slow enough to be
interrupted.
"Hold my Champion. Young man, I am impressed by your passion and bravery,
if not by your intelligence. Yet I offer you a deal, give yourself to my
army for an enlistment of ten years and I will wipe out the arrears of
your family. This time."
Falling almost over himself in a bow, the boy could not agree fast
enough. Then triumphantly he walked from the room with the Sergeant-at-
Arms, off to his new life, while thinking the smiles of the audience were
for him. Nilson wondered how long it would take the boy to remember the
Emperor's use of "this time" and realize that his family's farm would
soon be once more doomed by his father's actions.
Another gesture brought Nilson to stand beside the pleased Emperor's
throne, instead of off to the side. This time with sword still in hand
Nilson paid more attention to the next cases, that attention turning the
cases quite academic. Soon his attention wandered back to the boy's
bravery.
It made him wonder if he had shown the same bravery, when first he had
decided to seduce Werther, how different his life would be. Looking back,
he now knew that at that point he had barely dipped his toe in the pool
of femininity. Maybe he would have been able to return to the farm, find
his own wife, maybe even be happy. Maybe...yes, tonight he would remove
himself from his pouch, take Terise or Jelynn, possibly both, to bed and
remind himself what it was to be a man. Smiling at the thought his eye
was drawn to the couple entering the room and moving to a pair of seats.
The man's type was obvious, even if he did not know his name Nilson knew
him to be a duelist, like those whose marks adorned his braid. But it was
the woman who took his breath away, petite and beautiful, he was shocked
to see Valentina deBroge, the last of his lover mentors. It had been she
who had raised him up to be champion and she who completely torn away the
doors holding back his submissiveness in bed. Primed to her presence his
response immediately manifested as twin points showing through the silk
of his tunic.
Almost instantaneously vid cameras were focussed upon him. But those
observant reporters were not the only one to notice the Champion's
reaction to the new arrivals. So too did the Emperor, who frowned before
reaching out to possessively grasp and caress a gleaming thigh, below the
short skirt of white tunic.
The surprising firmness of the Emperor's touch, combined with Valentina's
presence, even the knowledge that his reaction would be broadcast into
every home of the empire was heady stuff. Dreamily closing his eyes, he
could not stop the purr that escaped between his parted lips. All
thoughts of Terise or Jelynn were wiped from his mind, right then he
could only think about being taken by the Emperor.
Tomorrow he would remember Valentina's smirk as she studied his reaction.
Remember back to when the two of them had come to observe Audience Day,
while they had still been together.
Tomorrow he would begin to think about defeating her latest paramour.
The End.
Afterward:
Sometimes a character pops into my head and seems so perfect, yet closer
study shows gaps through which I can drive a truck. Nilson was such a
character who marched into my thoughts a few days ago shouting at me to
write a story about his life. Yet quickly I realized it would become
repetitive within itself. Instead I decided upon this approach, hinting
at instead of reliving. So in a night I basically tried to write a
portrait. Caught in a moment, but somewhat distanced.
And in my mind's eye the visual portrait saw was of Corson brenn Torisk,
a character created by J.F.Rivkin and drawn in the following picture,
possibly by Luis Royo.
Aeryn
- 01.08.2021
- 16
- 0
