Scratching an itch by chrissystriped

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Scratching an itch

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Mablung stifled a whimper, the scabbed welts on his back were itching. He was kneeling beside his Master, the fire in the hearth warmed his skin while his Master read some records. He wanted to scratch his back so bad, it was maddening. Mablung moved his shoulders uneasily, he could think about nothing else but the itch.

He was fantasising about leaning his back against the rough stone wall and move up and down, when his Master said: “You are squirming a lot today, slave.”

There wasn’t an angry sound to his voice or music, but Mablung still felt fear flutter in his belly. It was never a good sign when his Master rebuked him! His Master gently laid his hand on his head.

“What’s wrong, nethben?”, he asked gently. He was always so careful with him now. “Are you in pain?”

“No, herdir”, Mablung answered, his voice trembling. “But the scabs itch.”

“I’ll ask Sinthoras to concoct something against it for you, but for the moment... bow over my lap.”

Mablung obeyed, trembling slightly. He wasn’t sure if this was punishment for disturbing his Master, but a spanking wouldn’t be so bad. He hadn’t beating him at all since... Before.

“Relax.” His Master caressed his hair. “I’m not angry with you, nethben.”

The endearment calmed Mablung, he took a deep breath and let his muscles slacken, surrendered himself to his Master.

At first, his Master continued to caress his hair and as his fear vanished, the itch came to the front of his mind again. Mablung forced himself to hold still, although it almost hurt. Then his Master’s hand slid deeper and a nail scratched along the rim of one of the scabs. Mablung groaned with relief, his Master didn’t scratch directly at the scab, he didn’t want to rip the wounds open again, but it was enough. It hurt a little, but it eased the itch. Mablung moaned with pleasure as his Master continued to scratch his back.

He leaned into the touch, feeling his cock harden and didn’t think before whispering an aroused ‘please’. His Master's hand stilled and Mablung froze. He was such an idiot! He knew that his Master loathed begging!

“Doesn’t it help?”, his Master asked, something like confusion in his voice.

“It does, herdir”, Mablung answered dejectedly. “That wasn’t, why I begged.”

He didn’t make the mistake to apologise, that would have only made it worse.

“What is it, you begged for?”, his Master continued, surprising Mablung.

 

Melkor was puzzled and tried to hide it from his slave. The boy knew that it was no use to beg him for mercy – and he hadn’t expected it at all. He was sure that he hadn’t hurt him and he hadn’t felt like he was in  pain. He wasn’t sure how he had felt but not tortured. Melkor caressed his back, with his palm now, so he would stop trembling. He hadn’t wanted to frighten him again but the boy expected him to get angry at anything – if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t surprising.

His slave took his time with his answer and Melkor didn’t push him. He wanted an answer, but he knew that he would only frighten him more, if he asked again.

“Because it felt so good and I wanted you to continue, herdir”, he whispered so softly that he almost didn’t hear him.

“This?” Melkor asked and gently dragged his nails down his spine.

The slave shuddered hard an whimpered: “Yes, herdir.”

It was a new thing to Melkor that a slave asked for more instead of begging him to stop. And then he realised how his slave had felt.

“You like this, slave? It turns you on, doesn’t it?”

The slave whimpered a 'Yes' and moaned unrestrainedly when Melkor resumed his touches.

“And you really want me to continue here? Shouldn’t I rather tend to something else?”

He let his hand slide further down, teased the boy’s slippery hole with a finger before moving deeper to fondle his balls.

“I... as it pleases you, herdir.”

The answer of a good slave and Melkor wondered for the first time, if the boy really meant these things. He didn’t fight him – only this one first time. But he had adjusted his treatment of the slave after that and his experiences with other slaves.

Sinthoras had thrown it at him: ‘This elf gave you everything you wanted.’

And he had only used him, not seeing how much he could give him.

“Straddle my lap, nethben”, he ordered gently.

He was hard. Melkor clasped his thigh with his hand, drawing little circles with his thumb. The slave moaned, a startled sound came from his mouth when Melkor finally wrapped his hand around his hard cock, but he pushed into his hand.

Melkor watched the look on his face in fascination. He doubtlessly enjoyed this – and he didn’t sound as if he were at odds with the fact that it were Melkor’s – his Master’s – touches that aroused him so much. Somehow that felt good. He liked to hear him moan with pleasure – maybe as much as he liked to hear it when he beat him.

“You’ll only come when I allow it, slave”, Melkor said, something he had never said to a slave before.

He moved his fingers lazily up and down the slave’s arousal and the boy whimpered and bit down on his lower lip, his hips started to thrust but when Melkor ordered him not to move, he stopped with a shiver.

Melkor caught the drop that had formed in the slit with his finger and held it to the boy’s lips, who suckled on it obediently, giving him a shy look from under long lashes before lowering his eyes again. This look... it made Melkor’s cock throb. He dragged his wet finger down the slave’s neck, saw goose-bumps forming on his arms, and circled a nipple with it. He was so incredibly enticing. He owned him for more than twenty years and until now he hadn’t known what a gem he was. He wasn’t surprised anymore that Sinthoras had been so angry with him.

 

Mablung didn’t know what hit him, his Master had never touched him like this before. And he had thought, he had made him angry! He moaned when his Master licked his nipple before tucking on it with his teeth. It took all his self-command to not follow his Master’s hand when he let go of him, a protesting mewl came from his mouth that made his Master smile.

Mablung was breathing hard as he watched his Master opening his trousers and taking out his arousal. He wanted to feel him, wanted this wonderful feeling of his cock stretching him. But his Master only pulled him closer and then he wrapped his hand around them both. Mablung let his head fall back and moaned at that wonderful feeling, being pressed against his Master’s hard cock.

His Master slowly moved his hand. So slowly! Mablung’s muscles trembled, his body wanted to thrust into the stroking hand, wanted more, but his Master had forbidden it.

“You may move now, slave”, his Master said and moaned deep in his throat when Mablung’s hips bucked.

His cock slid along his Master’s, wet with both their precum and it felt so good – Mablung hoped it felt as good to his Master, this was about his pleasure, after all.

His eyes closed on their own as he thrust into his Master’s hand. Mablung’s body shivered with pleasure and he wondered if his Master really would allow him release. His Master liked his neck, his free hand tangled in Mablung’s hair and pushed his head forward.

“Kiss me”, he ordered short of breath before his lips touched Mablungs. Mablung obeyed, kissing back shyly, their tongues dancing around each other.

His Master had always only kissed him to stake his claim, and it had often been rough, never that gentle. Pleasure made the muscles in his thighs spasm, and his spine tingle.

'Oh, Valar...'

No! He mustn’t think that. Vala, only one. His Master.

‘Oh, herdir, please.’

He was so close. Mablung could feel his Master’s moan against his lips as he tensed and then the wetness on his cock.

His Master leaned back, eyes closed, basking in his orgasm, his hand still pulled lazily on Mablung’s arousal, slippery with his semen. Mablung whimpered with need. He could wait longer, he knew that he could, but... that his Master might leave him wanting after all, was an appalling thought.

 

Melkor looked at his slave with half closed eyes. His cheeks were red, temples wet with sweat and he had a look in his eyes that so plainly spoke of his desire. His music was full of it – and still he waited for his order. Well, he meant to make him wait a little longer. Slowly he took his hand from his cock, drawing a delightful little whine from him – he missed beating him a little, but if he could make him utter those kind of sounds without hurting him...

His wet fingers slid easily into his slave’s hole and the boy pushed down on them with another whimper. Melkor slowly fucked him with three fingers and watched him ride the pleasure. He wanted him. He knew exactly how he wanted him: Bowed over the horse, his ass in the air and if it weren’t for the healing wounds he might have spanked him with a paddle. But he had sworn to himself – and Sinthoras – that he would wait until the wounds, that Artano had inflicted, had healed completely.

Wounds, maybe not only of the body. Melkor had no idea how the boy would react if he ordered him to the dungeon – and today he didn’t want to find out. He didn’t need pain from him if he could torment him in another way. And that he could torture him with pleasure was still almost unbelievable to him.

But the way his slave was shivering and moaning every time he moved his fingers, spoke a plain language. The boy screamed softly, his muscles clenching around his fingers as he stimulated his prostate gland. Boy. Maybe that was the reason why he submitted to him so willingly. Nineteen he had been, he had said, when he had been brought to the mines. His others slaves had been adults when taken captive and they had fought for their lost freedom for the rest of their lives.

His boy had accepted his fate, had come to terms with what he was now. Melkor was sure that he, too, was hating him deep down, but he had buried this hatered, Melkor only felt eager submission from him, under that storm of pleasure – and that was enough. He wanted him now. Not the horse, but... The boy uttered that delicious whimper again, when he pulled his fingers out.

“Stand, slave.”

 

Mablung stood with trembling knees, his heart beat a wild rhythm in his chest. His arousal bobbed in front of his belly, leaking precum. He felt empty, longed for his Master to fill him. Mablung leaned in his direction, without touching him, when his Master stood up, too. He laid his hand on his neck and Mablung shivered, every touch fuelling his desire in his state. He followed his Master around the armchair.

“Bow over the back rest.”

Mablung braced his lower arms on the seat, legs spread wide and standing on tiptoe, his arousal was pressed against the velvety fabric. He longed to rub himself on it, but he was too stretched for that and he didn’t know, anyway, if he was allowed to. His Master slid his cock along his cleft, once, twice, before positioning himself at his opening.

Mablung moaned loudly when the blunt head breached him. What a wonderful feeling it was, this slight burning when his Master filled him. His Master caressed his back while he fucked him with long slow thrusts, pulling out almost completely each time.

“Do you like this, slave, your Master using you?”, he asked with husky voice.

“Yes, herdir!”

Mablung met his thrusts as well as he could and screamed when his Master’s cock ground against his pleasure spot. His Master laughed.

“That’s good.”

His thrusts became faster, Mablung moaned with each of them, caught in the intense feeling.

“Say it again”, his Master panted. “And this time tell me, what you are begging for.”

Mablung didn’t hesitate.

“Please, herdir, oh please! If it pleases you, allow your slave release.”

His Master hummed in satisfaction.

“I could get used to this kind of begging, slave.”

He thrust into him a couple more times, his hands tightening on his hips, before he came. Mablung sobbed, his whole body sang with pleasure, his cock pulsed, almost painful with unsatisfied need. His Master pulled slowly out.

 

“If it pleases me?”, Melkor asked. “Only then?”

He had noted his slave’s choice of words.

“Yes, herdir”, the boy sobbed. “I’m yours. My body... your property.” Melkor saw his muscles tremble while he fought. So much self-command – and just for him. “My lust... yours to command... only if it gives you pleasure, herdir.”

His words were interrupted by moans and Melkor could hear that he had trouble thinking clearly. He couldn’t resist to play a little longer.

“It pleases me to fuck you while you shiver with desire. It pleases me to see you like this.” Melkor slid his finger along the rim of his stretched entrance. “Your hole red and loose and wet with my release. Used. The way a slave should look.”

The boy shuddered with a needy moan. Melkor felt no humiliation from him, despite the words.

“Turn around, nethben.”

Melkor moved a little closer in case he couldn’t hold himself up.

The boy leaned heavily against the armchair, his whole body trembling, his eyes dark with lust and shiny with tears. Melkor kissed him again because he looked so gorgeous and tousled his hair before wrapping his fingers lightly around his cock. The boy moaned, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“And this pleases me, too.” Melkor bowed down and nuzzled the slave’s damp temple before whispering into his ear: “Your cock hard an dark and slick with precum. I think, you would look beautiful, if you knelt before the hearth. I have a few records left to look over and you would sweeten the task, being such a lovely sight and making those delightful noises.”

Melkor smiled when the slave’s music surged up with desperate need.

“But...” He thumbed the wet head and felt the boy shudder violently. “I never saw what you look like when you come. And thus it pleases me to satisfy your need, slave.”

He moved his hand lazily, knowing that the boy would come the moment he let him.

“Come for me, slave”, he whispered.

The order hit the boy like lightning. He came hard, his muscles jerked, thrusting his cock into Melkor’s hand. His eyes fell shut and a long moan came from his mouth.

“Herdir, oh herdir. Thank you, herdir”, he whimpered while Melkor continued to stroke him.

Only when the slave’s cock was flaccid again did he take his hand away.

 

Mablung’s head was swimming after this incredible orgasm. His legs wanted to give out under him and if it weren’t for the armchair in his back, he would have sunk to the floor. His Master leaned beside him, watching him closely when he opened his eyes. Mablung looked at his stained hand. He knew what he had to do and because his Master didn’t lift it to his lips, he knelt, licking the palm before taking each finger into his mouth and sucking his release off his Master’s skin.

“Thank you, herdir”, he said again after he had finished cleaning him up.

His Master’s music sounded so... gentle. It was a rare sound with him.

“Up, nethben.”

His Master helped him to his feet and led him around the chair, pulling him on his lap when he sat down. His hand moved to his head and pushed down gently, prompting him to lay it on his shoulder.

Mablung shivered blissfully at the soft caresses that followed. Not meant to arouse now, just gentle, relaxing. He couldn’t believe it. Was he really sitting here, in his Masters lap, being cuddled after a mind-shattering orgasm? Was he really allowed to rest his head on his shoulder? Was this maybe just a fever dream? 

“Is your back still itching?”, his Master asked with an amused tone to his voice and Mablung needed a while to remember how this had started.

“No, herdir”, he answered softly and said again: “Thank you, herdir.”

He felt so good. Satisfied and... wanted. He had pleased his Master well today, he knew that by his behaviour.

 

Melkor held the boy in his arms, felt his heart beating wildly against his own chest. And it didn’t beat so wildly because he was afraid but because he just had had an orgasm that must have felt incredibly good, judging by his music. Melkor couldn’t complain either. He remembered suddenly what Mablung had told him, on that day when he had regained consciousness.

‘If I have to be a slave at least I want to be a good slave. I did everything to please you but it was never enough.’

Melkor was a little ashamed of the weakness he had shown in that time, but the fact remained that his slave was something special – he had had no idea just how special he was.

“You pleased me so much tonight, nethben”, he purred and the boy made a contented sound.

Melkor petted his damp locks. He shouldn’t have to say it, the slave should know that he wouldn’t have allowed him to come if it were otherwise, but he thought that it was important for him to hear it.

“But don’t expect it to be every time like this. I won’t always allow you to come, even if you please me, slave.” He shouldn’t get ideas now. “You said it yourself, you are here for my pleasure and it might not always please me to allow you release - or it might just please me more to leave you wanting.”

His slave didn’t reply anything, it hadn’t been a question, after all, but he felt his acceptance of that fact in his music. Melkor caressed the sweaty hair from his forehead and kissed the warm, salty skin. And this he had almost lost because he hadn’t seen how much his slave wanted to please him. He had to find a way to thank Sinthoras for rescuing him in the nick of time.

His slave had closed his eyes, he was exhausted, his breath and heartbeat slower now and Melkor felt that he was falling asleep – and fighting it for some reason.

“Sleep, nethben”, he said reassuringly. “You served me well and I’m satisfied for tonight. Sleep.”

He caressed him until the boy’s mind had come to rest, then he fished for the discarded reports.

Melkor held them in one hand, his other arm embracing the boy snuggled against his chest. It was a strange feeling to sit here and work, his slave curled up in his lap. He was a warm, comfortable weight. Strange, but not bad. And although he wasn’t aroused now and didn’t intend to use him again tonight, he wanted to have him close. Strange. But good.