Holes in the Firmament

Part X

John Yeager

I can hear my breathing rise in a serpentine hiss punctuated by sharp grunts as I snap my hips forward and bury myself deeper into the heat of my newest treasure. His body is sweet; young and pale and firm as only the strict regime of his training can make it. With my eyes closed I can feel every line of his naked back, the curve on one tightly muscled buttock as I drag my hands down his sides. I pull my hips back slowly and relish the feel of his tenderness dragging along the skin of my penis. A pause and I thrust back in, feeling the body under mine shudder when I rake over his prostate.

This is still strange to him, my youngest one, my newest one. He is sweet and fresh, his ignorance keeps his air of innocence intact. He whimpers when I begin moving faster, and the confusion and fear I hear under the pleasure in his moans makes the hunger rise even faster. I long to taste him, but it is not yet time, and I force my eyes open, sucking in air to control myself that I not mark him.

My blade lies still sheathed between his shoulder blades, and the Eye of Talamisra winks back at me, the pupil hidden in the stone pulsing in time to the heart beneath it. My hands rise up and grasp his shoulders and I steady myself, using only my fingertips to trail red marks across his fairness. I could use my nails and mark him; his compatriots would only think that he'd been with a particularly wild female, instead of face down on my desk, his clothing left in a pile by the door.

The Eye holds me now, and I can feel the words of binding rising in my throat. They are my safety and thus my Master's; should I be discovered now, my work interrupted, I do not know if I would live long enough to pass on the learnings to a new acolyte as my Uncle Ivo passed them on to me. The words spill forth in the ancient tongue that less than a handful speaks fluently. My breath gives them shape. My will locks their form. The ritual keys the binding. It keeps the door to my office locked and unremarkable for the while. That it also locks my treasure's heart and mouth, binds his soul ever tighter to my will and whim, is the reason the ritual exists.

Faster now the words come, pouring like water from an urn. I clench my hands tightly along the ribcage of my pleasure, pinching scant flesh to bruising. His whimpers are faster now, in time to my thrusts. His fine manhood is ground tightly between his body and the edge of my desk, his hands barely supporting him high enough to breathe. Finally, finally, the chant climaxes in the three short, sharp words of binding and the feel of them settling over and around us tips me over the edge to orgasm.

My little treasure moans under me as I lie across his back, panting. The Eye grinds into my chest, a lump of stone warmed to blood heat by the ritual. He bucks under me, just a little, begging his own release, but I am not pleased with his display of independence in the lobby, so I refuse to permit it. His sounds please me so I have left him that, but bound his words into nothing.  When I recover myself at last I withdraw from his body and spread the enticing cheeks that shield his entrance apart; he is reddened, but not unduly so. I regret being so hasty to take him that I used an overabundance of lubricant; there is no slight trickle of blood to lap from him.

A thin trail of semen oozes from him, and I gather it on my fingers, then reach around his face and smear it across his lips, sealing them even tighter. For my own pleasure then, I quickly thrust three fingers inside his opening without warning and bring him back to the shuddering edge of orgasm, then withdraw and deny him again. I can hear the ritual blade that watches through the Eye hum with its own hunger, remembering, as do I, how I'd used it to pierce my little treasure Alex as I had used my fingers just now with this little one.

It's but a moment's work to slide back into my shirt, but I leave the tails unfastened and my slacks across the back of my sofa. When I move to retrieve the Eye and its blade the hum changes to disappointment, but a few soft words quiet it again. I move around my desk and ease back in my chair. My newest treasure Michael, named for the archangel of a god much younger than my own Master, still lies folded across my desk, a lovely ornament. I snap my fingers and he rises, moving with animal grace to kneel between my legs. I pet him for a moment and let him see forgiveness at his impertinence cross my face. His hair is soft, though the harshness of the cut makes it appear hard as boar bristles. Cupping the back of his head I draw him down and he obediently opens his mouth to take my relaxed member into his moist heat.

It's one of his best talents, I discovered early on. My Michael enjoys sucking cock, though he had no experience with men prior to me. I watch his mobile lips writhe across my flesh. My thoughts wander, setting a different face at my feet, a different set of agile lips surrounding me, and jade green eyes watching for my pleasure from under a thick thatch of dark brown hair. I wonder if the Master would let me keep Venkman for a while first. How long would it take to instill that same spark of fear in his that I see in my little one's? He would make a fascinating toy until he broke, no doubt.

Absently I play with the blade, depressing the Eye to release the long, slender creation inside. A quarter inch out, then back in, again and again, sometimes exposing more, sometimes less. The gentle rhythm, so like sex, soothes me.

At last I release the blade completely from its sheath of rosewood and the leap I feel in my heart is all hunger. Slowly I guide the blade down, using it to draw paths in the brush of blond hair that grazes along my thighs. Soft parts that spring back into place almost before I finish. The blade grows sullen, wanting to be fed; it can sense the hot blood so close and I chuckle briefly at its childish petulance. It had fed well on our last treasure; this hunger was just greed. But still...

I pull it down along my little one's pale temple, watching the pulse beat under the thin skin there, watching it move the brilliant edge of the blade in and out of a thin shaft of light from the outside window. I set the point then at the outside corner of his eye, just at the bony crease. Every time he blinks his lashes brush against it. He freezes in his movements and rolls wide, terrified eyes up at me. I cock one eyebrow in command and he hesitantly resumes his movements. I can taste his fear on the air and it is delicious.

The blade twitches in my hand, and a tiny bead of dark red wells up from the corner of my treasure's eye. I tilt the blade and let the single drop roll down it slowly, darkening traceries worn to near invisibility by centuries of use. When the last of it reaches the hilt I draw the blade back and slide it once more into its sheath, hearing its subliminal sigh of contentment.

Relief shudders through the body that kneels before me although I can still see the fear mixed with the gratitude. I stroke my hand across his head and he redoubles his efforts. My thoughts begin to wander again, and they circle back to my nemesis, for all he is unaware of the position he holds.

Or is he? Four times now Venkman has somehow stolen my treasures away from me, and he came to some kind of conclusion in the office today, although about what I'm not yet sure. For a moment I had thought he would move to take Michael from me, by force if needed, but then something changed his mind. And now, it seems, he not only has Alex, he hunts Spengler.

But Spengler is mine, marked years ago when I'd first seen him, marked to become one of my treasures. But rumors of Spengler's stranger theories, the interests that set him at odds with more conventional scientists came to my ears. His brilliance was obvious to any who looked, and if some of his ideas were valid they could prove an additional path to facilitate the Master's return. So my attention had strayed to his lovely lab partner, a young man almost hungry enough to make me change my mind and make him my acolyte. If only he'd had a touch of ability to go with the rest of his admirable attributes.

I pause in my restless fingerings of the blade hidden within the wooden case. Yes, it is definitely time to do something about the interfering Peter Venkman. With only four more treasures to dedicate to insure the Master's return through the ritual, I will brook no more interference. And perhaps if I have something he wants, he would be willing to kneel as my toy until I tire of him. Of course, I'd have to dispose of him afterwards, lest he try and stop the final dedications, but it would be worth the extra effort. The thought of Venkman at my feet moves through me again, bringing me to hardness and I encourage my little one to increase his attentions.

When the languor of my pleasure passes, I pick up the phone and dial a certain long-unused number from memory. On the third ring it is picked up.

"Barrett residence," a husky female voice answers.

"Dana, my dear," I purr, still stroking my treasure. I motion him to stand and move to the couch.

"Yeager," she all but spits the word at me. "I told you never to call me again."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you didn't mean it, after all we've been to each other." I didn't bother to tell her she been nothing to me but another slut to use. At sixteen she'd been on the ugly side of plain, but her virginity had given us each something we wanted.

"We've been nothing to each other, Yeager. I gave you what you wanted, and you failed to meet my price. If anything, you owe me, so don't start."

I tug at the spell between us, and my treasure sits on the edge of the couch, facing me and leaning back, legs spread wide. He is so beautiful. I motion for him to begin pleasing himself for my pleasure. "Really, Dana," I drawl, mind only half on the conversation. Uncertainty has crept into her voice, and with it she is mine. "You gave me yourself and your brother. In exchange you got the three things you wanted: beauty, fame, and your brother's lover. It's hardly my fault if you couldn't keep him."

"Damn you! How dare you--"

I cut her off in mid-outrage, struggling to control my breath. My little one is stroking himself fiercely now, one hand on his member and the other reaching for the delicate opening to his body. I can see little whimpers of pleasure begin to form again.

"I'm giving you another chance with him Dana."

The silence on the other end is my answer.

"What do you want, Yeager?"

"He has my Alex. Find out where my Alex is, and I'll see to it he's wrapped up in ribbons for you."

I barely hear her agreement before I hang up the phone and start for the couch. My treasure needs to be fucked and I am glad to help out; he is my responsibility after all. This time however, I'll make sure to not use any more lubricant. This time there will be blood.