I wrote this piece based off a comment that came up when talking with my gf about the joy of fucking men who know they are leaving for dangerous waters and how present they are. When I started I had this idea of two people who looked similar and people mistook them for siblings, but halfway through I gave up on that as didn’t really want to play with incest, even an implied fantasy, in this piece. I think that led to a weird lack of direction and well this is all over the place, including changing tense at least once. I’m not really happy with it but I wanted to get it done just as practice cause I haven’t written erotica is far too long. Anyway here it is.
I love when Men go to war. Full of pride, anger, and fear they turn into slaves of their emotions and each seeks some form of comfort. It may be solace from grieving and worried families. Perhaps it is camaraderie, ale, and braggadocious swaggering in an attempt to feel invincible. Some find it best to be alone with their thoughts and prepare.
Many, not all, but enough, find their way to our doorstep. Driven by the lust of battle or the desperation of facing mortality more concrete and real than we give it credit for in our daily lives. They come, willing, hungry, and most importantly for me, eager.
Never lay with a man who does not want to be there if you can help it. It is not worth the time nor the pain. And consider well the price a willing and happy, but otherwise content man will pay. They are fun for sure, but so is dancing naked to the Egars drum, on a moonlit beach. Make sure those men make it worth your time. Collect your fee up front dear one and allow no room for negotiation. Your body, your secrets, your presence, they are worth a good coin, more than most laborers will see in a week’s work.
An eager man, though, that is something completely different. When Men go to war, we are paid instead. Paid an enjoyment more thorough and complete than anything else I could name. Paid for service, when it is I who am granted the gift of attention and desire. In that moment I feel as sexy as the goddess herself and oh so full of… power.
And so the day I heard we meant to invade Seccily I celebrated as loudly as the most patriotic of souls, though I’ve no loyalty to a crown or a land. I save my body, soul, and will, for a different purpose. Pledged eternally to Herself, the patron whore and healer, mother and caregiver to the lost, wrath bringer to those who violate her edicts and seek to harm weaker ones for sport.
I spent the day preparing. I had to pick the right makeup, and outfit not revealing, for they had no need to be encouraged. But not subtle either for these were men out to rut, not a seduction in sight. Hours of preparation, to be ready for a night hopefully filled…well. Just filled I guess.
But all that preparation left me the moment He walked in. His blonde hair the mirror of mine, we stood almost of a height, and his matching piercing blue eyes stabbed through me, impaling me to the spot with his gaze. When we were babes they named us twins, though we shared no mother, no father. Born on the same day, in the same district, two houses down, we looked alike and grew only more similar as the days wore on.
We played together for 10 years before he was packed off to the academy to learn how to kill. 10 years of indoctrinations later, of building his body, his oh so lovely body into a perfect weapon, and here he was, standing on my doorstep. A ghost from the past. A statue of the Warrior Supreme come to life. 10 years he suffered and learned, studied and failed. Was whipped and disciplined, made to succumb to the will of the army.
And I? I was no different. His weapons were his hands, his blades, and anything he might pick up. Mine was my body, my walk, my scent and the way my voice lingered in the ears, tantalizing, implying promises that I was more than happy to back up. 10 years I too built my body. I crafted it and smoothed my edges. I studied the body, though not like him. My touch brought a different type of blood pulsing.
In the 10 years since I have not seen him. We no longer look like almost twins. His beautiful blond hair is shorn and there is a day’s growth of stubble on those sharp proud cheeks. My face remains smooth, and I wear the brilliant sun golden hair so long it kisses the curve of my ass, drawing one’s eyes to what I have most to offer. I am lean but soft, thin arms and enough padding to produce gentle curves good to trace one’s hand over, or to grab firmly, fingertips sinking in deep to pliable flesh.
He is all edges, hardened and scarred. No marks were left from the abuse I endured at my teacher’s hands, while his arms bear the romance of many sparring sessions with sharp swords. A deep line, still red and angry, goes from temple to jaw on his left side, breaking the symmetry of face we both were so blessed with.
I try to speak, to ask him what he wants as is my custom, but the sales pitch dies before it hits my lips. The child in me demands to know about his life, to reach and hug my dear missing friend, but I can find neither words nor movement. I need neither as his eyes meet mine and I know he knows.
He raises a hand to touch my face and I shudder. More energy in my body, more nerves than the first time I was touched with longing, the first time I gave into lust. My eyes close and blackness envelops me. All of my senses, my mind, my soul, is in the 3 points of contact his fingers provide with their light touch. We move slowly down from my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw and stretching. I become aware of the right side of my neck, then pressure on the left, he has spread his hand. I feel the pressure tighten and the strength in that hand becomes clear as the force of his grip jolts me back.
Just like that I can barely breathe and my eyes are going black with the blood. I feel my feet moving before I realize he is moving us from the door into the room. My legs hit the bed and he releases me to let me tumble forward. No words spoken, but I sat up in time to see his shirt come off. More scars. More hardness. The body of a warrior, skin tight over stone muscles greets me, broken by white lines of no discernible pattern. More than I can count before his hands take my face again and suddenly his mouth is on mine.
Hunger is too soft a word for me. I was starved, desperate, without control. I leaned forward into his lips, my whole body driving. He must not have been ready as his head moved back under my attack but soon he was mirroring me and I felt pressure driving me. No slow start, full of tender touches to awaken my need. Our lips crushed together and there was even the rattle of tooth on tooth, clumsy first time lovers rushing to get to the next step.
There was no thought of release even, for there was no build up. Just pulling forwards as my hands found his body, moved along the ridges of his muscles firm under my fingers. I found him between my legs somehow, my back on the bed, the weight of his body pinning me. One of his hands must have been in my hair as I felt a sudden shocking pull on my head and now my vision just had the wall. I felt a hot breath on my neck, then wet and soft lips. The kisses were surprisingly slow, but I could still feel the need from the firm pressure behind them. His head continued down my chest as I lost track of his hands, the sensations too much to track. One found its way to my neck, keeping my head back, giving me no view of the pleasure his ministrations brought. The other seemed to be everywhere and yet there was no sense of hurriedness or rush. My brain was pulled to his lips, working down, so slow, tortuously so.
The nip of teeth would shock me, spasming my body, then with gentleness that would put a glass blower to shame, he would trace around the raised and reddening skin. It was like my heart was beating underneath his mouth following it on it’s journey, all my heat, lust, and awareness stuck there. Dimly I sensed pressure, stroking skin contact on my legs, occasionally cupping my ass or contact on the sole of my foot brought my mind slightly to the surface, as soft hungry moans escaped from my throat. I wanted him, needed him, but I couldn’t even feel the hardness of his desire for more than moments when he’d let it drift across a bare thigh, never pressing, just teasing brushes leaving me desperate for more.
I think I reached for it at one point, I don’t know, I just remember trying to take control, to lead the dance as I’ve been trained. He wanted none of that though and both hands were quickly pinned and his displeasure was evident. The sting of his slap had barely registered when the next one landed. 2? 5? I don’t know. They were not exceptionally hard but so fast and the stinging after effect was demanding my attention. As was the ache between my legs I was surprised to learn even stronger than before. Pain is usually not my pleasure, but this has doubled my need. My dress had long since disappeared but he still wore his pants. From a pouch hanging on his belt he produced a cord of leather. Efficiently and with still no words, my hands were bound together and to one post of the bed.
He grabbed my face then, hands strong, controlling but not squeezing. Forced me to look at him, and raised one eyebrow questioningly, as if to say “will you behave, will you wait till I tell you?”. I didn’t mean to respond, but found myself eagerly nodding. A smile split his face and he bent to give me a gentle kiss, still holding my face. I tried to force myself forward, tongue probing, lips struggling to pull all of him in. He resisted at first, but soon I felt him pressing back into me again, our tongues seeking each other pressing together in an imitation of the need our bodies demanded. Far too soon, he was forcing my head back down and again the pressure on my throat and chin took my eyes from how he meant to work my body.
However the repositioning had given me a view into the mirror in the corner, and so I tracked his beautiful face as it made its way down my bare chest. He had started again at the sternum and instead of working straight down he began to go to the side. How I wanted him to drag his tongue back up to my nipples, aroused and pointing. As he came close brushing his nose below them I felt a familiar ache in them, an expectation of tender touch, or perhaps not so. He continued along my ribs instead though. Coming to the side of my body he moved down one more and began the slow journey back. I arched into him, trying to feel the rest of his body, but he pulled away, always staying just out of reach beyond the parts he actively pressed into me. When he reached the gap between my ribs, he began to lick and press, again simulating a feeling I needed so much else where. And as he finally began the southward movement, I felt his nails pressing into the side of my belly, just above the hips. Hard and driving in, he slowly dragged them, forcing me to try to buck. His strong arm prevented it though. His nails traced down, over my hips, into the crease where thigh meets torso, only to divert away again. I whimpered my desperation as the hand continued down my leg away from my need. Down my thigh. Slowly. I begged, I pleaded, and his hand slowly continued away, I felt it on my knee and sensitive as I was I felt a jolt through my entire body from the nerves in that area.
At some point he had picked his mouth off my stomach, but I had lost track. I found it again as a warm wetness wrapped around my cock, sliding all the way down it’s length to it’s very base. f10 years I trained to master my body, to learn every trick, to hold myself to the very edge for hours, or to release in an instant. That moment I had no control and as he slid back up, his eyes looking directly into the mirror, directly into mine, I felt my orgasm take over and I spilled, and spilled again. He never once stopped looking at me as he slowly descended again, bracing my hips down with his arm, preventing me from the desperate bucking I longed to do into his throat.
Finally I was spent and he began to pull his lips back up my shaft, slow as every other touch, despite my rapidly diminishing hardness. Milking the last moments from me, prolonging it to his terms. When he finally finished and his lips came off, a pop and a smack as they came together, he let me bring my head up to look into his perfect scarred face. And finally he talked.
“Now it’s your turn.”