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Slave To The EmpireChapter 6: Ranger 2 free porn video
Aerick was numb. The past two days had been an ordeal that he never would have imagined in his darkest fantasies. He was both mentally and physically exhausted, aching in places he didn't know he had. Everything was an evaluation. A test as it were. The women who tested him varied with each test. The very first being endurance, hence the enema. The second test was one of crisis. He was restrained to a post, his arm left free to hold two ropes. One rope was attached to a set of weights that threatened his genitals. The other rope was attached to a set of weights that held a rope at this neck. The quandary was simple, which did he value more, his life, or his manhood. He held on for as long as he could, his arms burned with stress as he tried valiantly to hold both ropes. The agony was excruciating when he released the rope that was attached to his genitals. He heard the pulley snap as the rope raced through it, and braced himself for the pain of emasculation, but it never came. He was released from his torment and dragged to his next test, one of intelligence. His feet were encased in a set of stocks with his hands left free to manipulate the puzzle box before him. His captors did not make mention of how long he should take, nor was he informed that it was a timed event. He worked as quickly as he could, the puzzle encompassing everything in his perception. It seemed the puzzle operated on multiple levels, utilizing all his senses to unravel its mystery. By the second day he had solved it. He was allowed a brief rest before the last test. His dexterity was pushed nearly to the breaking point, evading the numerous swinging weights as he walked a small board across an open pit. He made it across the chasm into the waiting arms of Syrena. She eased him to the floor and held him gently. She was impressed by the abilities demonstrated thus far.
"General?" One of her guard spoke.
"Take him to one of the holding cells. Let him rest and feed him. After he has recovered, bring him to me."
"Yes General." Two of the guard saluted and dragged the semi-conscious Aerick to the lower chambers of the keep. He slept on a straw bed, then ate a surprisingly decent meal out of a wooden bowl. He curled back up onto the bed and tried to relax further. His body rebelled at the abuse he had suffered. Every rumor or myth he had heard about the Empire paled in the light of the truth. He sensed no true malice in their attitudes towards him. No rage or anger. Just a simple joy at working at what they do best. It was strange, not to mention unsettling. A healer tended to his hurts, which were thankfully few, and he was soon brought to the chambers of the General in the most secure part of the citadel. He stood at attention before her as she worked at his desk, and in the space of moments, he took in her chambers. They were spartan, a warrior's quarters that held nothing of real value, with the exception of the warrior's weapons and armor. A simple bed lay against the far wall, no silks for her, just plain blankets and furs.
"Are you finished?" She asked, not looking up.
"My apologies Lady. I did not mean to intrude."
"No offense taken boy." She replied, looking up at him. "You are a fine specimen, a perfect blend of human and elf. The resilience of a human with the quickness and agility of an elf. Not to mention a sense of honor. A pity so few Sun Elves could claim such qualities."
"Is it the intention of my Lady to discuss the short-comings of the Sun Elf tribes?"
She laughed. "How very droll." She stood and walked around the cluttered desk and examined him in great detail. "Yes, you'll do nicely."
"My Lady?"
She narrowed her eyes in thought.
"There is a question how much I should tell you now." She worried her bottom lip. "Damn." She swore, returning to her seat. "How familiar are you with Iceholme?"
"It's not my personal pick for a vacation spot if that is what you are asking. I know it well."
"The Ghost wood mercenaries made a name for themselves facing the dark armies of Iceholme in the past, years ago if I recall correctly."
"Yes my Lady." Aerick felt himself relax slightly. "About two hundred years ago the Ghost Wood mercenaries engaged in several border clashes with the armies of Iceholme."
"Back in the day when Gilead had a spine," She interjected.
"True my Lady, very true." Aerick agreed. "The fall of House Rynthael heralded the end of the 'Golden Age' of Gilead. Since then it has been several power plays by the various houses to gain the Oak Throne."
"You are from one of the more powerful houses are you not?"
"You know I am my Lady." Aerick shuddered, remembering the hostility of the house where he grew up. There was no joy whatsoever in that place.
"There is a specific task I require of you. If you are successful in this you and your warriors will be freed to return to whatever endeavors you had started on."
"May I ask what this task is?"
"You may ask." She spoke. "But you will find no answers. At least, not yet."
"Yes my Lady."
She stared at one of the few tapestries that graced the walls in her chambers. "I understand you encountered Cymra the Black."
"Yes."
"Describe her."
Aerick shuddered at the memory. "She was armored in black, her skin was like alabaster. She wore no helmet, and was bald. She carried some kind of enchanted blade, and she was able to survive a soul-drinker arrow. Is there some way to kill her?"
"Yes. But that is not your task." She leaned forward and rested her head on the back of her hands. "While you are here, I expect you to obey every order without question. Do you understand?"
"Yes my Lady." Aerick snapped to attention.
"Good. You will find your experience here no stranger than when you first joined a military order. We will be very hard on you, but fair. Obey, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and you will be punished. It is as simple as that." She withdrew a set of knives. Each one was different from the others in terms of size and style. She examined each one intently, before selecting two of them. She moved from the desk to slip her finger into the ring in his collar, then led him to her private chambers. A single bar hung horizontal from the ceiling by a chain. There were no other forms of device in the room, only the bar. She tapped the bar with one of her daggers.
"Grab the bar." She ordered. He obeyed, holding on as she disrobed him. The simple cotton pants were cut from him, and he stood quietly for her next move.
"There are no restraints in this room." She announced, circling him. "This room is used for disciplinary problems in the ranks. I don't believe in restraining a person, be it soldier or slave. What I believe in is instilling a sense of self restraint. You will hold onto this bar, and you will not let go." She raised a dagger to her lips. "This will be... most interesting."
His shoulders shifted at the touch of the blade at his back. The sensations were sharp, the tip trailing down his spine. He felt no wetness, no sound of flesh being split, yet it was the undeniable sensation of the blade. A second blade joined the first, and they both danced along his flesh. He closed his eyes and arched his back, his hand clamped down onto the bar as the tips traced a line of fire along his outer legs, slowly snaking up, across his ass, weaving up his spine, until the tips left contact with his skin as the base of his neck. The cold metal of the blades tapped against his erect nipples. He gasped at the pressure of the points, each one seeking out the sensitive tips, pressing in gently. He couldn't keep his legs still as the blades sought out his now erect penis, yet he kept his hands in place. The points teased the underside of his penis, and he was caught between the desire to pull away, and the desire to thrust out for more. His breath came in short bursts, the pain transcended the threshold to pleasure. The blades left his penis and reapplied themselves to his nipples, his body leaned forward, increasing the pressure. He tried to understand, but his brain refused to leave the exquisite sensations he was experiencing. He shuddered, the blades again teasing his penis.
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