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| Amaru, by Genzoman |
His hands roamed the sorcerer’s broad shoulders,
caressing the soft, dense fabric of his tunic.
When did the man do anything physical enough to have muscles like these,
thick and corded, moving like a giant’s beneath his hands? He wanted to feel that hard body, see it...
but it was Katari who had somehow undone the buttons of Beltran’s shirt. Before
he could react, Katari was tugging it and his leather jacket off his shoulders,
revealing his bare torso. He gasped aloud
with pleasure as Katari’s hot mouth pressed more kisses to his flesh.
“You are so pale, Spaniard,” Katari said,
punctuating each suck and lick. “Your pretty skin glows against the night.”
Moonglow, he wanted to say. He’d been told his skin glowed in the dark
like the moon. Already he envisioned his
pale limbs entwined with Katari’s dark ones.
The sorcerer flicked the hot tip of his tongue across a jutting nipple,
and Beltran squirmed, his throat barely holding back a groan.
“Every part of you is begging for me,” Katari said,
doing it again. His hand once more
cupped Beltran’s erection, rubbing it and driving him mad.
“God, I want you.
Katari, stop, I mean it... I won’t last.”
With feral speed, Katari grabbed him by the upper
arms and spun him around so that, now, it was the sorcerer who leaned against
the wall. Shirt hanging from his arms,
Beltran stood in the mountain cold and watched the other man tug up his tunic
to release the drawstring of his trousers, freeing his cock. Engorged and sleek, limned by moonlight, the
organ pointed straight at him. Like the
man, it was dark and angry. Mesmerized,
Beltran touched it, his fingertips caressing smooth, hot skin and a hardness
that thrilled him. Katari’s moon-kissed eyes narrowed with pleasure.
“Show yourself to me, caballero.”
Beltran shivered from more than bare skin and night
chill. Something sensual and forbidden
lurked in that command; he imagined the sorcerer fucking him while he begged
for more, completely robbed of any dignity.
Just as well, then, that he and this man would have only one night. In this country, a man of his class who
allowed himself to be fucked by a native was worse than a whore; he was seen as
having lowered himself too far to be salvaged.
He saw in Katari’s stretched lips, hardly a true smile, that the
sorcerer understood their situation very well.
The other man’s hands wound into his hair and pulled
him into another kiss. Chest crushed to
chest, he yielded to Katari’s mouth as it plundered his moan of surrender. He loved to be taken, and somehow, the
bastard knew. Had probably known from
the start. Katari’s hand was at his belt
buckle now, working it loose. Beltran
curled his fingers around the sorcerer’s cock, finding it long and slim,
elegant even. It had no curve, but was
straight as a spear, leaving wet trails on his hand as he stroked. So fucking exotic, that cock, smooth over the
top but the underside... the underside felt different, its silken surface
patterned with faint ridges.
“Katari—”
Pulling away from the kiss, he started to ask what it was he was
feeling. Then, Katari took him in hand,
fingers lifting his penis and stroking its begging length. He bit back a loud groan. He was too close, and Katari knew it. “Damn it, stop! I’ll come right here!”
“My Spaniard brings generous gifts.” The dark voice droned beside his ear, thick
and pleased. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Katari released his cock and, with both hands, pulled him around until
his buttocks bumped against Katari’s groin.
The sorcerer’s cock, like a serpent finding a crevice between rocks,
slipped between Beltran’s thighs.
Beltran grunted with pleasure and surprise at his
testicles being pushed upward and aside by the other man’s cock. Hard and wet and slick, it jabbed at his
balls. He felt Katari’s body twist, the
brush and rub of clothing being pulled over the other man’s head. Katari’s arm wrapped around his ribs like a
python, pulling him backward against a powerful, bare chest. When the sorcerer reached down to grasp
Beltran once more by the dick, he groaned and thrust into that grip while
Katari’s cock rubbed his balls.
“I’m going to come,” he warned again.
“No, my Spaniard, you are not.” Katari’s hand grew hotter. Beltran looked down, watching his wet and
gleaming cock head peek out from the other man’s fist with every jerk.
“Oh, fuck.”
His testicles were so damn high and tight—painful now—and his cock was
ready to explode. He was about to spray
the fucking church. The only thing that
stopped him was having his cock suddenly swing free, bobbing in the night air
like a serpent. Gasping cold, thin air,
he looked down at Katari’s dark fingers circling the base of his cock, sweeping
hair and skin and lifting his testicles, leaving in their wake a shining band
of gold. The sorcerer whispered a word,
and the band instantly tightened. “What
the f—”
Was that a cock-ring of gold? The ring felt thick now, heavy like a bracelet... or a
manacle, pulling his balls away from his torso.
Beltran groaned from the pressure of his thwarted ejaculation.
“Katari... fuck it, stop!” Though Katari had ceased stroking him,
Beltran could still feel that long prick sliding slick and hot against his
balls and along the underside of his captive cock.
“I want all of you, Spaniard.”
The prickle of warning he’d been fighting all day
made him jerk with alarm. “My name is
Beltran—”
“Your name doesn’t matter. This does.”
He gasped, and a shiver traveled down his spine when
he felt Katari’s lips on the nape of his neck.
God, yes! Wasn’t this what he had come here hoping to
find? Well, maybe not a sorcerous
cock-ring, but the pure, hot celebration of cock mastering cock. The man was teasing his cock again, prodding
his balls, sending pleasure ratcheting through him like beats on some infernal
drum. He threw his head back, hair
spilling over Katari’s shoulder, as his knees threatened to buckle. Overhead, the moon shone white and shimmering
and three-quarters gone.
Katari rubbed a thumb over his cock head, swiping at
his leaking pre-come and smearing it over the sensitive glans. He nibbled the rim of Beltran’s ear and
teased the lobe with the tip of his tongue, causing Beltran to try to wriggle
out of his grasp. “Do you know what an amaru is, Spaniard?”
“No.”
Something was happening to him, something he feared but didn’t want to
stop. Don’t let this end, please don’t let it end... I need this too much. Those dark fingers handled him expertly,
caressing his rigid dick with firm control to the rhythm of silken words.
“The amaru
are great serpents, children of the earth itself. The gods could not order them, the Incas
worshipped their powers.”
“Snakes?”
Though he managed the word, he was barely able to think. Snakes? With every stroke of those strong fingers,
Katari was finding new ways to own him.
He bent forward, intent on watching.
What he saw made him moan. His
cock was now wrapped with a serpentine band of gold, twining around it from
root to engorged tip. A ring of the same
shining metal encircled the base of his glans, which protruded, dripping, from
the cage.
“Yes. Sacred,
powerful snakes.” Katari licked the side
of Beltran’s neck. “Do you like my
handiwork? Your legs are getting weak,
Spaniard. Kneel. I have a snake for you to worship.”
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