twitched,
almost holding his breath.
44
J. C. Owens
Those fingers trailed down his spine, circling in the hollow just above his buttocks; then
Anyar froze utterly as hands stroked downward and explored every curve and hollow. He closed
his eyes tightly as fingers parted his buttocks, and he could feel the avid eyes like fire upon his
skin. He could not control a shudder of revulsion at this intimate exposure, and his breath failed
entirely as a finger touched his opening, the first touch of another there.
His entire body tensed, protested silently, as he awaited the invasion, but to his surprise,
the finger merely traced over the surface and then retreated, continuing down his thighs lightly.
He sighed at the utter relief he felt at this momentary reprieve. The hands traced upward
again and began to knead his back right where the pain was worst from his hard landing.
He yelped, then gradually eased as the talented touch worked into the muscles, forcing
them to unknot, unclench. He could not prevent a huff of relief escaping his lips when the knots
finally gave way and there was only a tingling sensation, utter bliss.
That same relaxation disappeared the moment Vanyae told him to turn onto his back,
though he knew he would feel safer that way. After all, slaves were taken on their knees—
weren't they?
He folded his wings, then rolled over. He refused to meet his captor's eyes even when
Vanyae leaned over him, his tongue coming out to lick Anyar's lips, then force its way into his
mouth, sweeping the inside, touching every part of him, claiming.
Anyar stayed limp, unresponsive. He may have to do this, but damned if he would give the
bastard the slightest satisfaction of a response.
Vanyae did not seem to demand one. He did not seem angered by Anyar's defiance; he
simply continued with his light touches and kisses, gradually moving his hands down until he
grasped Anyar's limp shaft.
He began to press and squeeze, rubbing his thumb deeply at the base. To Anyar's horror,
his shaft began to harden despite his utter disgust at the situation, and in his innocence, he could
not conceive of the reason. He did not think of it being an automatic response of the body; he
only saw it as some sickness in himself that he could respond in such a manner to this man, his
captor.
Wings
45
Anyar watched with fear-filled eyes as the prince paused, then reached to the bedside table
and retrieved a small vial of oil. He dipped one finger into it, and then that finger disappeared
from Anyar's view, only to press against his most intimate entrance.
He bucked his hips, then gave a grunt of pain as the finger pushed into him without
warning, deeply.
It was not terribly painful once it was seated, but acutely humiliating, and he froze in place
and closed his eyes as the finger began gently moving in and out in a parody of what was to
come.
When a second finger began its penetration, he tried uselessly to avoid its touch, making a
sound in his throat as he felt them delve deeply, then begin to scissor, stretching him.
He bit his lip until it bled, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly as a third finger slid in,
intensifying the pain. Dear gods, this was what he had wanted with Tanyan? How could he have
been so foolish? Why would anyone want this horror?
Gradually he seemed to stretch enough that the pain ebbed to a bearable level. The fingers
kept up their movement in steady rhythm, and he stared to the side and tried desperately to give
no reaction. He could feel Vanyae's eyes upon his face, watching every nuance of expression.
The fingers curled, and his hips shot into the air in reflex at the intensity of sensation that
burst over his consciousness. Despite his best resolve, a shocked cry left his lips and was cut off
as Vanyae swallowed the sound in a deep kiss.
He writhed in disbelief as the sensations continued, the fingers rubbing without mercy over
some point in his body that he had never
almost holding his breath.
44
J. C. Owens
Those fingers trailed down his spine, circling in the hollow just above his buttocks; then
Anyar froze utterly as hands stroked downward and explored every curve and hollow. He closed
his eyes tightly as fingers parted his buttocks, and he could feel the avid eyes like fire upon his
skin. He could not control a shudder of revulsion at this intimate exposure, and his breath failed
entirely as a finger touched his opening, the first touch of another there.
His entire body tensed, protested silently, as he awaited the invasion, but to his surprise,
the finger merely traced over the surface and then retreated, continuing down his thighs lightly.
He sighed at the utter relief he felt at this momentary reprieve. The hands traced upward
again and began to knead his back right where the pain was worst from his hard landing.
He yelped, then gradually eased as the talented touch worked into the muscles, forcing
them to unknot, unclench. He could not prevent a huff of relief escaping his lips when the knots
finally gave way and there was only a tingling sensation, utter bliss.
That same relaxation disappeared the moment Vanyae told him to turn onto his back,
though he knew he would feel safer that way. After all, slaves were taken on their knees—
weren't they?
He folded his wings, then rolled over. He refused to meet his captor's eyes even when
Vanyae leaned over him, his tongue coming out to lick Anyar's lips, then force its way into his
mouth, sweeping the inside, touching every part of him, claiming.
Anyar stayed limp, unresponsive. He may have to do this, but damned if he would give the
bastard the slightest satisfaction of a response.
Vanyae did not seem to demand one. He did not seem angered by Anyar's defiance; he
simply continued with his light touches and kisses, gradually moving his hands down until he
grasped Anyar's limp shaft.
He began to press and squeeze, rubbing his thumb deeply at the base. To Anyar's horror,
his shaft began to harden despite his utter disgust at the situation, and in his innocence, he could
not conceive of the reason. He did not think of it being an automatic response of the body; he
only saw it as some sickness in himself that he could respond in such a manner to this man, his
captor.
Wings
45
Anyar watched with fear-filled eyes as the prince paused, then reached to the bedside table
and retrieved a small vial of oil. He dipped one finger into it, and then that finger disappeared
from Anyar's view, only to press against his most intimate entrance.
He bucked his hips, then gave a grunt of pain as the finger pushed into him without
warning, deeply.
It was not terribly painful once it was seated, but acutely humiliating, and he froze in place
and closed his eyes as the finger began gently moving in and out in a parody of what was to
come.
When a second finger began its penetration, he tried uselessly to avoid its touch, making a
sound in his throat as he felt them delve deeply, then begin to scissor, stretching him.
He bit his lip until it bled, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly as a third finger slid in,
intensifying the pain. Dear gods, this was what he had wanted with Tanyan? How could he have
been so foolish? Why would anyone want this horror?
Gradually he seemed to stretch enough that the pain ebbed to a bearable level. The fingers
kept up their movement in steady rhythm, and he stared to the side and tried desperately to give
no reaction. He could feel Vanyae's eyes upon his face, watching every nuance of expression.
The fingers curled, and his hips shot into the air in reflex at the intensity of sensation that
burst over his consciousness. Despite his best resolve, a shocked cry left his lips and was cut off
as Vanyae swallowed the sound in a deep kiss.
He writhed in disbelief as the sensations continued, the fingers rubbing without mercy over
some point in his body that he had never
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