Read at your own risk--if you can find a story without adult content, I'd be surprised. All entries are tagged, so if there's something you're looking for or something you want to avoid, you can use those.
Some of them might not make the most sense, because a lot of the stories were LARPed or just discussed and not written down.
You'll also notice that the tenses change in a lot of the writing--that's because Carcajou writes in past tense, and Carrion writes in present tense, and we're too lazy to change it to one or the other.
One important note about historical figures--because we're...whatever...any wives that may have existed--don't. Just so you know.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Medgineer
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Tam's First Surgery
Still drowsy from the anesthesia, Tam blinks a few times, visibly trying to focus on his lover's face. "Brock? Where am I?"
Brock's jaw drops.
"Y-you... what are you doing?" Brock stuttered.
Brock stood, putting his amputated wrist into his pocket and taking a step back.
"I...what?" Tam stares at his lover, genuinely hurt (and completely confused).
"I can't do that. I appreciate everything you've done for me. And I love you. But I can't see it as sexual. It will never be sexy to me."
"...ow..."
"It's not your fault." Tam clings tightly to his Brock. "...you won't go? Even though I'm stupid and silly and no good for you?"
Eyes wide and lips slightly pouted, Tam stares up at Brock, looking very vulnerable (and not having heard anything but the last three words). He nods. "...will I have a scar?"
He punched him gently in the stomach. "Yes."
"What was that for? Why would you punch a wounded person?"
"Aw. That's good, I guess." Tam sneaks over to make room for Brock on the narrow hospital bed.
Brock slides down next to him and nuzzles his boyfriend.
"They're not meant for snuggling." Brock chuckled.
"You should complain."
"Maybe I will." Tam grins. "Do I get extra-special treatment now?"
"For awhile." he smiled.
"...will you stay home from work and take care of me?"
"You sleep now." Brock kissed him.
"I've just been sleeping!" Tam says, yawning.
"Well, what do you want to do?"
"Not yet."
"After surgery?" Brock said more seriously.
"Yes, silly."
Brock rolled his eyes a little, pinching his boyfriend's scar.
Fortunately missing Brock's eye roll, Tam happily bucks and writhes, offering his leg as best he can. He's hard again.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Oysters
Jess, after having spent a lazy morning with Roast on their day off, has a merciless craving for oysters. It's been raining out all day and the Master's off the island, so there's absolutely nothing to take his mind off his belly's desires. Roast wasn't willing to give up his yet.... but he didn't feel permission was necessary from certain other boys. "Steak, would you come in here?"
Steak is always happy to have a summons to Jess' room, and heads in without hesitation when he hears the chef calling for him. He's a little surprised to see that Roast is also waiting.
"Strip. Get on the bed, on your back."
Very pleased by his good fortune, Steak does as he's told with a happy little smirk.
Jess gets out his ball of kitchen twine, quickly separating Steak's balls from his body, tying them off tightly and squeezing them happily.
Roast can hardly keep himself from snickering; Jess had told him that he was planning on giving Steak a good scare and cutting off his balls. He assumes Jess is joking.
Steak is a little nervous, but he definitely enjoys the sensation. Soon, his neck is arched with pleasure, and he glances down from time to time to watch his balls change colour.
To both the other boys' surprise, Jess takes out a small butchering knife and slices Steak's ball sac, popping them out after making a few more quick incisions.
There is a heavy thud as Roast hits the floor in a dead faint.
Steak, who had been in his neck-arched phase, doesn't realize what's happened at first. He looks down when he hears the body hit the floor, and sees what's happened between his legs. He shrieks.
Jess looks down at Roast innocently. He grabs the spray bottle he keeps in his room to cool himself and his boys off, spraying Roast to wake him. He plops the little oysters into a bowl of delicious red sauce he'd prepared earlier. So far, he was ignoring Steak.
Roast sits up, blinking, when he feels the mist hitting his face. "Mmm? Jess? Why am I on the floor? I feel...funny..."
Steak lays back on the bed, breathing heavily and on the edge of hyperventilating.
"You fainted!" Jess laughed. "I didn't realize you were so squeamish. You've helped me butcher boys before." he stroked Roast's forehead, soothingly. "You're fine." he murmured.
"Oooh..." Roast groans, leaning into Jess' cool hand. "...thank you. I don't know what came over me. I guess...I didn't think you were actually going to, I just thought you were going to scare him!"
"You cut off my fucking balls!" Steak screams.
Jess grabbed Steak by the neck. "And if you had been better behaved, I would have asked your permission first." he stroked Roast's forehead gently. "I surprised you, did I?"
Roast nods, sitting up under his own power a little more.
"Wha--why--agh!" Steak sputters, struggling in Jess' powerful grip.
"Sit down and be quiet or I'll cut off your fingers and keep you in a cage until you're ready to eat." Jess growled at him.
Whimpering, Steak sits still.
"Good boy." Jess smiles, leaving them for a moment and popping his knife blade into the oven.
Roast, always soft-hearted, gently gathers Steak into his arms, soothing him. "It's alright, Steak. You're fine."
Steak shivers, clinging to Roast and fighting back tears with noisy sniffles.
Jess came back whistling, spreading Steak's thighs and pressing the hot knife to the wound inside Steak's empty sac where he cut out the balls, cauterizing it neatly. He then took some sutures and stitched the empty sac shut fluidly.
Seeing what's coming, Roast quickly grabs Steak's arms firmly, covers the boy's eyes with his other hand, and plants a soft kiss on Steak's forehead.
"Roast, what--" Because his balls are tied off, Steak doesn't feel the full pain, but he's still aware that something is going on and starts thrashing.
Jess lets Steak keep his balls tied of for a little while longer, then removes it, once the struggling has stopped. He smiles at his big strong Roast, glad he has someone to help hold Steak down.
Roast smiles back, still looking a little pale and shaky. He continues holding and gentling Steak.
Steak is trembling, mostly with fury, glaring at Jess. If rather feebly.
Now that Steak's oysters have been sitting in the sauce for some time, Jess takes one of them and swallows it whole, smiling happily as it slides into his stomach.
Roast laughs despite himself. Jess is just so...unique.
Seeing his testicle eaten by Jess pushes Steak over the edge, and he faints in Roast's arms.
Jess laughs, offering Roast the other oyster.
The sous chef takes it after a moment's hesitation, following Jess' example. "Mmm...very tender. And a delicious sauce." He glances down at Steak, kissing the unconscious boy's hair. "...probably for the best. Mind if I lay him on your bed for a while?"
"That's fine." he nods. "I'll go see Sydney, get the boy some pain killer. The Master won't be home tonight if it keeps storming anyway, so I doubt tomorrow will be very busy for us." Jess kissed Roast's shoulder on a nice red bite-mark before heading up to see his doctor friend.
Roast lays Steak on the bed, gently tucking him in and putting him in a comfortable position. "I'll stay with him, if you don't mind, in case he wakes up." He trails off into a gasp as his tender bite is kissed, waving vaguely after Jess.
Jess wanders upstairs, taking his time, enjoying being upstairs instead in the wide hallways and on the plush carpet, rather than the busy, loud and sterile-tiled kitchen. Though it is his element and he loves it... a change is nice.
He wanders up to Sydney's room, knocking on the door softly.
Sydney is reading a romance novel, of all things. "Come in," he says, softly, when he hears the knock. It can only be Jess.
Jess raised his eyebrow at Sydney's reading material. "I would have expected a thriller." he smiled.
Showing just a hint of a blush, Sydney carefully sets his book aside. "Is there something you needed to talk to me about? ...besides my choice of reading materials," the doctor says, wryly.
"Actually, I was hoping you would be able to offer me a painkiller for Steak." Jess chuckled, patting Sydney's arm amiably.
Habit makes Sydney withdraw from the touch, before he takes a deep breath and relaxes, smiling at Jess. "Oh? What happened to your pet troublemaker this time?"
"I castrated him." Jess said matter-of-factly, picking up the romance novel and skimming the back. "Actually, this doesn't sound so bad."
Sydney smirks. "You see? ...wait, you what?"
"I castrated him. I had a craving for oysters." he smiled. "He's unconscious for now. I've cauterized the wound and stitched him up, but he'll be in some pain when he wakes up." he put down the book.
"...what do oysters have to do with anything?" Sydney asks, rummaging in his doctor's bag for an analgesic. "Well, it sounds like he'll be fine, painkillers should be enough...let me know if he needs more."
"Human oysters." Jess took the offered bottle of pills. "Testicles. Delicious, you should try them with me sometime." he smiled.
Sydney raises an eyebrow, looking somewhat appalled. "I don't even like real oysters, but...thank you."
Jess shrugs. Fine dining was somewhat lost on Sydney, in his opinion, but he did still enjoy the man's company enough not to comment.
Never one for, in his opinion pointless, social niceties, Sydney glances pointedly at his book. "Well. Let me know if he needs more, or bring him up if you want me to have a look. You could, ah, come by tonight. If you wanted." Sydney assumes, barring some emergency, that he'll be done his book by then and his schedule will be more open.
"Alright, I'll get out of your hair." Jess kissed the doctor's cheek. "Enjoy your book." The chef took off.
"I will," Sydney says absently, already immersed in his book.
Jess headed back downstairs, forced a pill down Steak's throat and went to spend the rest of the afternoon in the garden.
Roast, having finished his work, ascertains where Jess is and ambles outside after him. "...mind if I join you?"
"Not at all." Jess murmured, happy and warm in the sun. "How are the boys?"
"Good. We've made food for ourselves and everyone who's in the house, and they're starting to wander off for their evening free time." Roast gazes happily at the warm, soft chef. He loves it when Jess is relaxed like this. Roast stretches full-length in the grass with a little happy groan.
Jess nods, eyes still closed. "And how is my Roast?" he wiggles his bare toes across the grass into Roast's lap, tickling the giant man.
Roast giggles and squirms, playfully capturing Jess' foot in one hand and giving him a lazy foot massage. "Mmm. It's nice to be outside. From time to time."
"It is, isn't it." Jess groaned happily, giving Roast both of his feet to massage and rub.
"I wish I had something to rub them with...if only I'd known," Roast says, running his thumbs over Jess' feet.
"Mmmm... that's nice though." Jess sighed. "Steak hasn't woken up, has he?"
"No, not yet. Stock's watching him." Roast laughs softly to himself, imagining Jess laying on the ground naked, looking like a heap of early snow.
"Is that funny?" Jess murmured.
"Um...yeah, a little..." Roast says quickly. "He was nervous about watching him in case something happened, but I told him to go and get Sydney." He rubs Jess' feet more vigorously.
"That's not very funny." Jess said sensibly, groaning.
"...you didn't see his face when I asked him. Or when I told him what had happened to Steak."
Jess chuckled. "True."
Roast sighs in relief and carefully works his kneading hands up Jess' calves.
The round, pale man makes little happy groaning sounds, starting to drift off in the grass, warmed by the sun.
Sighing with contentment, Roast continues his impromptu massage, quietly shooing away any insects who come to investigate Jess. "I know he smells like sugar," the sous chef quietly tells a bee, "but he always does. Look, there are some nice flowers over there."
Jess snickers.
Blushing, Roast assaults a large knot on Jess' thigh.
The chef continues to grin, but still groans under Roast's big hands. "Mmm, good boy."
Roast 'hmphs' quietly, but grins as well and continues his way up Jess' legs. "Do you want to roll over so I can do your back?"
Jess flails a little, managing to roll onto his front. His muscles are feeling all melty and wonderful. The Roast hands and the sun are turning him into a puddle.
Laughing gently, Roast helps his chef to roll and begins kneading Jess' back. "Mmm, you're nice and warm."
Jess practically purrs. "Ohhhh... yes, right there."
Roast obligingly concentrates on the desired spot, beginning to yawn a little himself as the warmth and the breeze affect him.
Jess was quiet for a few minutes, then Roast realized he was snoring quietly.
Smiling, the sous chef goes to a small storage shed in the little garden and finds a blanket to cover Jess with. He then settles nearby to make sure the chef isn't disturbed. It isn't long before he, too, is asleep.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Toy Apprentice
"Boy!" the sorcerer yelled, grabbing his apprentice by the collar. "What did I tell you about reading these books while I was gone?"
"T-to never, ever, Master...?"
"Right! So why, tell me, does my castle smell of brimstone? And what is this?" He lifts the boy's tunic, revealing the golden scar the bite left.
"I...ah..." Alban has no good answer, and he knows it. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll never do it again. I'll take any punishment you give me," the apprentice says.
The sorcerer smiles into the sleeve of his robe. He has a similar scar, from a similar exploration while an apprentice. He's sure Alban has already been...punished...and that his apprentice is now of a certain age. A fairly young master, the sorcerer smiles again, feeling his cock harden thinking of his apprentice being pounded by a demon...of doing some pounding of his own. He thinks of a punishment. "Go to your room. We'll speak of this in the morning."
Alban is clearly relieved, hardly stopping to say, "Thank you, Master!" before hurrying away.
When he's sure the boy is asleep, he prepares the spell.
***
The next morning, Alban is shocked to wake up with the sorcerer in bed beside him, wearing a rather lustful smile.
"Good morning, apprentice. Go make me breakfast."
"'morning, Master" Alban says sleepily. "Don't you mean make us breakfast?"
"Oh, you won't be eating for a while...stand up."
Alban stands and fights back a scream. "What am I? What happened?!"
The sorcerer smiles. "You are a doll. A toy. My toy. If your sexual cravings have become so unfulfilled that you are turning to demons...well...you should have told me."
It is true, the boy sees as he stumbles to a mirror. He is made of cloth and stuffing. He doesn't need to breathe. He feels no hunger or thirst. He realizes that he's naked, and that, unlike most dolls, he is not simply smooth in front. Or back. He blushes. "I didn't...it wasn't...how am I walking? I don't have bones! I'm fluff!" He doesn't dare question the sorcerer's punishment.
"Be that as it may," his Master smiles, "you still had sex with a demon. And you still enjoyed it."
Alban blushes and doesn't protest.
"As for walking...you move because I want you to move. So that you can still do chores. Like getting food," he reminds the apprentice. "You will be unable to perform magic while in this condition, but aside from that, your life should really be much more simple."
The boy goes to do as he's told, a little unsteady on his new legs. While he waits for the food to be ready, he's suddenly very curious. Grabbing some oil, he puts some on his finger and presses it to his anus. It is warm and feels like silk--the rest of him feels rougher, like cotton. It is tight and still deliciously sensitive. Washing his finger, he experimentally tries the front. His cock, also feeling like silk, can get hard.
Hearing the kettle whistle for tea, the apprentice stops with a blush before he goes all the way. He seems to be fully functional.
He gathers the breakfast things, almost looking forward to these new lessons.
Bocca Chiusa
Antonin, sprawled naked in bed with Elijah curled against his chest, turns to his lover and casually asks, “Do you trust me?”
Trying very hard not to think of Aladdin, Elijah gives the cellist a brief puzzled look, then nods.
Antonin smiles; he hadn’t expected a different answer, but one has to ask. “Good. Meet me at this address tomorrow at five. PM,” and hands the boy a piece of paper. With that, he rolls out of bed and begins dressing.
Not really expecting an answer, Elijah murmurs, “…what’s this for?”
Shrugging, Antonin pulls on his jacket and, blowing Elijah a kiss, leaves his boy’s bedroom. He has a key by this point, and Elijah can hear his door being locked.
Elijah shakes his head, bewildered, but…he’s also a little excited. Maybe more than a little. Maybe to the point that he’d like to touch himself, except that a) he just had sex, and b) he’s not allowed to. Instead, he burrows under the blankets and curls up to sleep.
The next day, Elijah arrives at the address at about 5:03. He’s surprised to see that he’s been sent to a private home, if a large, luxurious private home. He knocks tentatively, and is relatively unsurprised when Antonin answers, even though he knows Antonin and Davide share an apartment.
Antonin angles his head to indicate Elijah should come inside, and has turned and walked away without making sure his boy is following.
Looking around just a little apprehensively--what if this is some sort of cult? What would Mike say if he knew about this?--Elijah inevitably follows. He’s quite impressed, if a little awed, by the art, furniture and obvious expense of the house, and he hurries after Antonin’s retreating back; a view he very much approves of. “…Antonin? Whose house is this…?”
Antonin stops in a small guest bedroom. “Strip.”
Elijah sighs and begins undressing. “Ok, but…”
The cellist smiles his predatory smile and points to some rope and two large, metal angles, connected by a fancy metal fan-shape, laying on the bed. “Do you understand yet?”
Elijah shakes his head, giving Antonin an almost pleading look of confusion.
Antonin smiles knowingly. “Kneel.” Without waiting, expecting that his command will be obeyed, Antonin takes a length of the white and gold rope from the bed and ties Elijah’s calves and thighs together so that he will have to remain kneeling and won’t be able to stand. The knots are both functional and decorative, and Antonin admires his work. “There. Now put your arms in the music stand position.”
Elijah puts himself in the desired position, his eyes growing wide with nervous certainty.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? A very dear friend of mine is having a dinner party, and I am playing a few pieces as part of the entertainment. You will be my music stand.” ‘As part of the entertainment’ goes unsaid. Antonin lifts the beautiful music rest, also white and gold, and straps it to Elijah’s forearms with soft leather buckles. He nods his approval.
Trying not to squeak with terror--he’ll be in public like this…naked…! Being Antonin’s music stand at home is one thing, but…
Antonin glances at his stand. “Something you’d like to say? A colour, perhaps?”
Elijah considers it for a moment, then shakes his head.
“Good.” He’s rewarded by a kiss on the forehead, before Antonin reveals his last surprise. “You’re being quite good and quiet, but just in case you forget,” he fastens a leather band that matches the rope and stand around Elijah’s mouth, “music stands don’t talk. Even when they’re embarrassed.” He smirks at his boy’s red cheeks and red cock. “There, now. They’re waiting for us.” With that, he gathers Elijah into his arms and carries him to the patio.
Elijah is astounded when they step outside--the patio and yard are quite full, but there are no women in sight. There are couples and groups of men in handsome clothes, talking, sipping drinks, and eating hors d’oeuvres, but what catches his attention far more are the naked or mostly naked men. Some of them are servers, with trays of food and drink. Some of them are kneeling or sitting by another man’s side; some of these are wearing collars. A few are delicately posed throughout the garden, painted to look like marble statues. Elijah is delighted, and suddenly feels much less uncomfortable.
Antonin places his stand in an area that has been kept clear for him, where his cello already is. He places some (rather unnecessary) music on the stand and positions himself on a chair--he had been offered a boy to sit on, but had declined, not knowing how Elijah would react. He quickly tunes the cello, settles the instrument between his legs, takes up his bow, and begins to play.
Elijah is much more able to focus on the music than the first time he had been a stand, even in this strange place. For one thing, the sheet music is quite large and covers his eyes; he has to be careful to breathe softly so he doesn’t blow it away. He hasn’t felt quite this awestruck by Antonin’s playing since that first benefit concert, so he allows himself to relax and not worry about the eyes watching him, but to just listen to the music and play his small role in it.
Gregor's Brand
Bound, gagged and blindfolded, Gregor is led into an unknown building...seeing as he's stepped out of a horse-drawn carriage, having travelled by boat, he's not -that- unclear about where he is, but he's not sure why he's so restrained. He follows the gentle tugging of his master meekly.
"Good boy." Ivar murmured, drawing him along to a room warm from a crackling fireplace. He was made to sit on the floor against a strange man. The stranger held him around the chest, with one hand on his jaw to keep his head still.
Gregor nestles happily against the unknown, large chest. He's a little nervous, but his cock is at at least half-mast, and he trusts his master with his life.
He hears a metallic clang as Ivar draws a brand from the fire, and feels the heat moving as Ivar kneels between his legs, holding his face firmly. "Be still."
Gregor's eyes widen behind the blindfold, and he's drawing shallow, quick breaths through the gag, but he nods, pressing himself into the restraining hands as hard as he can.
"Good boy." Ivar pressed the brand to his cheek for less than ten seconds before pulling it away. He put the brand back in the fire and gathered his cold compress.
Gregor's muscles are tense the whole time, but he goes completely limp when it's withdrawn--he would fall if he weren't supported. His breathing slows again, and his eyes are half closed. The pain hasn't really hit him yet.
Ivar presses the cold to Gregor's face, kissing his boy's forehead. "Ya tebya lyublyu, malchick"
"Ya tebya lyublyu, master..." he murmurs, leaning into the coolness.
"Thank you, Christian, you may leave." Ivan addressed the man holding Gregor. The man left, silently. "My Gregor." Ivar chuckled. "What a strong boy you are."
Gregor nods, a little shakily. "Sp-spasibo, sir..."
After the burn had cooled, Ivar applied a salve to the burn, collecting Gregor in his arms and carrying him to a bed. He removed Gregor's blindfold and cuffs, laying with him in the bed.
Gregor lays on the bed, smiling at his master a little distantly; he's clearly not all there. "Kak eto vyglyadit, sir?"
"Eto krasivyĭ, malchick." he kissed the opposite cheek.
"Spasibo, sir." He glances up at his master, asking permission with his eyes to snuggle closer.
Ivar opened his arms for Gregor, nestling the smaller man against his chest.
Gregor cuddles as close to his master as he can, working his way into his favorite 'parcel' position.
Ivar chuckles, holding Gregor around the neck and cupping his balls. "You'll never escape me now, malchick."
Gregor groans happily, struggling just a little to enjoy the sensation. "Why would I want to, sir?"
"Just giving you fair warning." Ivar tightened his arm around Gregor slightly. "You rest now. You're relieved of your duties until your brand has healed."
"Spasibo, sir," he murmurs, sounding rather sleepy. He presses himself against Ivar as hard as he can, as if to meld them together, eyes drifting shut.