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Callisto realizes he hasn’t yet humored Ellery in the waking world. There was the incident in the solarium where their lips met for the first time and he got to feel that tender, beneath his own hands. He wants to recreate it, with Ellery taking the lead with more than a kiss. It’s all been Callisto chasing, Callisto leading. It’s time for Ellery to take what he wants from Callisto.
He reclines in the nude on a velvet plush chaise reading a book he’s not fully paying attention to. It’s one he’s read before, something that if Ellery happens to interrupt, he won’t be too distraught at losing his place or having to reread a passage. The prose is so tasty in this one that it should be savored in small bites anyway.
The glass door creaks open and in walks Ellery, wearing a shirt gifted to him that hangs loose, like a tunic or dress. It’s not meant for men with such voluminous assets. The fabric contorts around Ellery’s perky breasts and ass. Unsubtle, uncovered despite the cloth.
Ellery’s eyes widen upon witnessing Callisto so casual and unbothered in his nudity. Meaty legs stretch out while thick arms bulge to keep a small book at eye level.
“Sorry to have bothered you.” Ellery blushes and clasps his cheeks upon noticing Callisto’s bare skin. He quickly adds, “My lord.” He squirms, knees pressed against each other.
Callisto smirks–he’s trained the young man well. It pleases him that the use of the honorific instills arousal, finally, after far too long. It’s Pavlovian. It was the plan all along.
The lich lord sets his book aside on the small tea table and sits up. “Please, little hen, come inside. Oh, and close the door.”
Ellery does as commanded, in that skittish way he does everything. Despite residing among the undead and their unflappable obedience to their lord, the young man has freedom to exist however he wishes, even if that means changing his gait and posture to match that of the boy he knows himself to be. It’s that bloom of confidence that tightens the grip Ellery has on Callisto’s cock and balls. Callisto isn’t one for talking about his desires unless it requires commanding another, and perhaps he’s been too aggressive in his displays of debaucherous affection.
Ellery removes his top, the evidence of Callisto’s last expression of devotion and fascination remains. That young man’s heaving breasts splattered with the ghosts of bruises from fingers and lips sets Callisto’s cock at full mast.
His fingers tremble around the hem of the fabric clinging tightly to his rounded ass. “Underwear as well?”
Callisto nods.
Pink floods Ellery’s full cheeks. He peels off his panties and Callisto’s mouth waters. He cannot smell the drip at this distance. As much as he wants to taste that slickness rather than simply remember it, what Callisto has in mind is going to require discipline, a tempering of his own lack of impulse control.
Callisto adjusts the pillows such that he lays half-sitting, mostly upright. “I want you to come here and sit on my stomach.”
Ellery takes small, shuffling steps on his bare feet.
“Don’t be shy, little hen. I’m not the one getting hurt this time.”
“Hurt?” The word comes out almost a whisper.
Callisto’s grin widens and turns even more lop-sided. “You’ll see.”
So small and so slight, befitting of his diminutive, Ellery spreads his legs as he sits upon the robust flesh of Callisto’s waist. The smell, sweet like honey and musky like exertion, fills Callisto’s nose and his cock gently taps Ellery’s back. The young man bristles and makes one of his fully syllabic gasps. They’re charming. If Callisto allowed himself the word, he’d even call them “cute.”
“I’ve been cruel, little hen, and I don’t regret it a second.” He takes Ellery’s smaller hands and flattens them upon the expanse of his chest. “But I think you should also partake in the cruelty. I want to know how what I do to you feels. Do you understand?”
Ellery’s mouth falls open in a strained gasp. “I…think so. But what if I do actually hurt you?”
“It is nothing magic cannot handle, little hen.”
Ellery swallows. He wonders if it is magic that keeps his skin from breaking or if perhaps the torment is, in fact, normal as far as sex goes. He’s only ever seen the softer side of things, one left fading to black or described with metaphors that, while erotic, are too subtle to convey actions in a way that are meant to be recreated. The kinds that require advance schooling to unravel. It’s fiction, not instruction, and perhaps that’s where the confusion lies.
Moreover, none of them spoke of violence being arousing or something to seek. That’s what these bruises are, he thinks. Violent, but a reminder that his body is one that can spur desire.
Callisto takes Ellery’s quivering chin between his thumb and index finger. “I promise to tell you if it gets too much.”
But the fear remains in Ellery. Bravely, he moves his hands down to Callisto’s nipples, kneading his paws along the muscle. So sturdy, so solid, there is so much man. A man who is undead and delights in obliterating Ellery's groin and sucks on his pussy as if there is no other food in the world.
Ellery brushes a thumb against the squishy, round flesh, shocked that anything about Callisto can be soft at all. He swipes back and forth in the same sideways pattern that he’s felt on his own chest. The nub hardens, much like the clitoris atop Ellery’s hole. He plays with it more, while gently grinding himself against the terrain of abs and the soft, downey landing strip.
He catches the nipple skin between his nails, squeezing hard. A small indent remains, almost a wound. Ellery almost pulls his hands away until Callisto says, “Fuck, just like that, little hen.”
Ellery doesn’t want to hurt Callisto, not really. If Callisto pinches his nipples like that, it would be deeply unpleasant, but if he’s asking for it, then Ellery should obey. Callisto is the king of his castle, especially the spaces where Ellery moves through. Ellery tries his best to reenact that same violence Callisto exerts upon his softer chest. And he has permission to be as forceful as he wants.
He angles his index finger and thumb in the same configuration, sharply pinching at the pert flesh. Callisto’s abs tighten beneath him as he reacts to the pain. Precum dots against Ellery’s back as he does it again. And again. And a few more times. He gets more confident with each pluck, but still worries he’s going to draw blood.
Callisto’s areolas pucker and darken, the dark gray puffing up. Ellery suddenly understands his lord’s obsession with the peaks dotting his own breasts. The little responses that shudder through Callisto’s body is familiar to Ellery’s own reactions. The way Callisto’s lower back arches presses against his bottom.
“What? Are you so afraid of hurting me that you’ll stop? That was barely anything,” Callisto negs. He knows how much Ellery likes challenges. Praise does not work on the young man, and Callisto isn’t sure if Ellery knows that about himself yet.
He’s discovering this manipulatively perverted part of him quickly. “You’ll see, my lord.”
Nails aren’t enough. Callisto’s cock presses into the curve of Ellery’s ass as he bends forward, lapping at the perceived injury he’s left his master. The tip of his tongue curls and swirls around the grooves in the wrinkled flesh. He flicks the nipple like Callisto has Ellery’s cock before. He gets his lord’s obsession with the pieces of Ellery that harden whenever he wants to lose himself to the release, his body begging to be manipulated by someone else from a place of desire, not revulsion. Callisto, though terrifying in the way storybook villains are, loves Ellery’s figure.
Ellery wants to return that same obsession. It seems that Callisto has not set a ceiling for the pain he’s willing to feel. Ellery, unable to ever take back power in his own right, sees the opportunity.
His mouth forms a circle around the right nipple while he catches the left one in a vice between his ring and index fingers. He sucks, making sure the skin touches as much of his tongue as possible. He sucks, pressing his tongue against the tight skin.
Callisto’s breath hitches but it’s not enough to communicate just how well Ellery’s ministrations work. The breast slicked with saliva is even easier to grab and handle, much like how easily Callisto’s fingers slip into Ellery. He’s sad that Callisto’s arms are raised over his head and far away from the boy pussy leaking all over his stomach. Perhaps that’s part of the plan. If Ellery hurts Callisto enough, he will be rewarded with a finger or more buried inside him.
So, Ellery grazes his teeth against Callisto’s nipple as he goes to give the left side the same treatment. But harsher. He sucks harder, twisting and tucking the skin beneath his teeth, not to bite, but to present that danger. Callisto groans. It bellows from deep within his belly. Ellery hears no words, so he keeps going, grazing Callisto’s raised nub like a threat.
Blood rushes to Callisto’s cock, getting harder and harder as Ellery grinds himself against his master. His wet hole is so close—a landing strip of hair away—but unequivocally not filled with dick. Callisto’s specifically. It’s the tease of flesh and proximity to both of Ellery’s holes that makes him choke on his own pleasure. Groans and moans struggle to find their release. The desperation deprives him of air. His chest rises like the exertion of battle.
For the first time, Ellery feels power over Callisto. He knows he can just stop and leave his master tortured, but he worries that might hurt more than continuing the assault on the lich’s chest. Sucking is no longer enough; the threat of teeth is also no longer enough.
If he’s going to get Callisto off with only his mouth nowhere near his cock, he needs his natural weaponry. When Ellery bites, Callisto’s balls empty all over Ellery’s back and the curve of his ass. The cool come hitting his bare skin causes him to arch. Large, lich hands steady Ellery as Callisto expends his own orgasm, choking out a throaty, masculine sound, tongue tumbling on expletives.
“It seems that my little hen is actually a little vixen.” He brings a hand to Ellery’s face, running a rough thumb against soft, boyish lips. “Give me a bit of time to recover–and then, keep going.”
Ellery softly runs his palms against Callisto’s chest, moving them in circles like his lord is a large, predatory feline. He responds by breathing so deeply, he almost purrs just like one, loosening his grip against Ellery’s thighs and smoothing the skin out. It’s going to bruise. Ellery will be wet looking at it because any touch of Callisto’s that leaves a mark has that effect on him.
Callisto’s large chest rises and falls with greater ease with each subsequent inhale and exhale. It’s at once familiar and foreign to Ellery. Callisto’s eyes close in an approximation of rest. It’s strange that their roles have reversed. How long had Callisto watched him through his sleep and in his dreams? How has Ellery never been in the opposite position is obvious–vulnerability is not something Callisto ever allows. The lich lord must rest some time, but Ellery is not the type to take the sanctity of privacy, especially not from someone with the power to reach across realms.
Ellery isn’t sure how long he sits there, perched and aroused, against his lord’s stomach. He wants his own release so badly. It mounts between his legs, and he’s not sure how to ask if he can relieve himself or if Callisto plans to obliterate him or what the plan is. But it’s almost painful. Jealousy adds fuel to the envious fire–tiny bruises almost like scratches mar the light gray skin similar to the markings like brands Callisto leaves on Ellery.
The chaise’s soft cushioning presses uncomfortably against Ellery’s knee. It’s not built for two people to be on top of each other. If Callisto had indeed fallen asleep, then the young man needs to ease his own edge elsewhere.
He leans back to leave, but Callisto’s hand clutches his tiny wrist. Ellery gasps and freezes.
“I’m not done, little hen,” Callisto rasps, face dangerously darkening to reveal the skull beneath. “I want you to try again. I doubt that was the worst you could do.”
The worst? Ellery has never harmed anyone in his life. Not deliberately, and certainly not under someone’s request.
“I command you to do your worst.”
Fear blossoms from the same place Ellery’s wanting does. The thing tempering his desire for others’ pain is consequences. He cannot say he trusts Callisto, but he knows the lich lord isn’t lying when he says Ellery cannot hurt him. The hesitation remains despite the direct order, despite how old and how deep this desire for violence and revenge courses through him. If this is one way he can act out with no negative consequences, he will seize the opportunity. If the reward is his own explosive orgasm, he will chase it.
Ellery runs his kittenish tongue against the wounds he’s left, as slight as they are. He laps and laves, as if his spit has the power to heal them faster. The salty musk of Callisto’s skin is another treat, tasty in a similar way to his master’s lips after he’s had his way with Ellery’s cunt. At Callisto’s first soft grunt, he smooths the supple skin, then gathers it gently between his teeth, nibbling.
A hard, fleshy pebble presses against Ellery’s mouth. Instead of smothering it with his mouth, he sucks it between tight lips, pulling. For such a large man with such impressive assets, his nipple is not as big as Ellery would have expected. In fact, it’s small and adorable. A tiny snack fit for a princeling whisked away from his gendered cage. He tugs and he teases. Callisto’s chest rises, struggling to catch a breath while the lord lets out grunts and moans.
Hardness presses against Ellery’s back, and it fascinates him. How malleable a man’s form can be. He feels like a magician and craftsman, manipulating such a powerful lord with just his mouth. He knows the pull his ass and his cunt on Callisto’s focus and attention–the man transcended entire worlds to bring him into his world. Ellery still hasn’t forgiven the terror.
But he can have his small retribution.
He catches Callisto’s nipple between his teeth, holding it in place while his tongue makes circles. The sounds that bellow deep from Callisto’s throat are downright animal. To tame it, Ellery pinches the opposite nipple, though it does nothing.
Callisto’s head spins from the pressure on the most sensitive part of his chest. It fills with cotton as the ache in his cock builds again. Ellery’s soft skin rubs gently against it, featherlight. It’s the one hole he hasn’t penetrated yet, and the thought of that tight entrance makes him mad.
Ellery has learned from Callisto–he doesn’t ease or stop, even though his cock is tight and weeping. Blood rushes from root to tip. It begs to be touched, but there’s a young man chewing on his chest in the way. He cannot remember ever getting off in such rapid succession, especially just the ministrations of a muscular tongue on a part of his body that otherwise doesn’t get much attention. The brief thought of sustained pain in the form of nipple clamps knocks another groan from deep within his chest; he should ask the blacksmith about it later.
An interruption comes when Ellery switches sides. He presses his sopping cunt, rubbing his clit against the wall of muscle. He teases his ass against Callisto’s length, making sure he’s stimulated as below as above.
Black spots form in Callisto’s vision when he comes all over Ellery’s back again. The boy arches into the sudden sticky warmth.
The work he’s done is magnificent. Ellery beams with pride at the splotches of bruises and light scratches; it’s almost like a painting. Art takes practice, and perhaps there will be more opportunities.
Not now, not with the way Callisto’s eyes have rolled to the back of his head. His lord needs his rest.
This time, Ellery doesn’t move, despite how much he wants to rub one out and leave a similar mess of his master. Neither man ever tells the other their intentions. He simply waits and watches, both men panting to catch their breath.
After a few moment’s rest, Callisto’s eyes open. “You’ve been so good to me, little hen.” He smirks when he notices that the markings on both their chests almost match, a constellation of broken vessels and scratches which will fade eventually, but will return quickly because they cannot keep their hands or mouths off each other.
Constant, impatient, and instant gratification, which is precisely the promise of care Callisto has in store for his small human.
Ellery looks away from Callisto, jaw clenched and sexually frustrated. “I liked the other nickname better.” He’s not this precious creature–perhaps in some ways, but he thinks he has more than shown Callisto he can match him in sexual viciousness.
Callisto raises his thick brows and slides a finger between his stomach and Ellery’s nub. “What? Little vixen?” He curls the digit against the slick muscle. “Or should I say, little fox?”
Ellery moans, grinding hard against the finger.
“Hm, I’d say you enjoy that one a lot.” Wetness drips against Callisto’s skin. It encourages him. “You’ve made quite a mess of me, little fox.”
He places a meaty hand against Ellery’s sternum and pushes him off. The floor shrieks as the chaise shifts a few inches when his cum-slicked back squelches against the fine fabric. The mess on the upholstery will be a nightmare to clean up, but that’s a servant’s problem. The smell emanating from between Ellery’s legs awakens a predator’s instinct, an unfettered desire to sate after being sated. Like a praying mantis post-coitus, he requires that Ellery experience the same oblivion.
With lidded eyes, Callisto slips not one but two fingers inside Ellery, keeping him pinned down with his other hand. The markings on their chests match, and it’s simply unfair that Callisto got to nut twice while Ellery has only been on edge. This palace of nightmares is to be a dream; no more edging, just immediate gratification. Slick spills and splashes from Ellery’s yearning hole as Callisto plunges into him. He moans and squirms, lifting his hips to be fucked deeper. Callisto does not relent. Skin slaps against skin as Ellery’s pussy stretches around his meaty digits.
The mess will only get worse, and it’s not Callisto’s problem.