Vanyae's.
“Please,” whimpered the younger man, “please…I need…”
Vanyae laid a kiss on the back of Anyar's neck, then bit there, even as his shaft pressed
against the rosebud guarding the entrance to his slave's body, then stretched it wide with his girth
as he pushed in.
Anyar drew a pained breath, then let it out in a gasp of pleasure as his master's shaft slid
past the pleasure spot in his body. He pushed backward, impaling himself farther, moaning as
Vanyae bit harder, holding him, dominating him in the most sensuous of ways. He felt owned,
possessed, cared for, almost lov—
He cast aside the thought swiftly, not daring to further it.
Wings
67
Vanyae released his bite, licked soothingly over the deep marks, then leaned back on his
knees and watched his shaft disappear into the stretched entrance until his balls felt the warmness
of Anyar's against them. With torturous slowness, he withdrew his shaft, hot and wet and red
with eagerness as it appeared. He shuddered at the sight and sensations, then pushed back in,
agonizingly slowly, leaning a little forward and setting up a lazy rhythm that would see this last
for as long as possible.
Anyar writhed on his impalement, gasping. The prince would angle his thrusts so that only
one out of three would strike his prostate, which made the shock of it that much greater. The
smaller man's body shook with sensation, with need. His balls were tight and hot, so close to
coming but never quite enough to let go. It was pleasure close to pain in its intensity, and the
knowledge that he had no say in it, that his master would decide when he would come, seemed at
this moment to be incredibly erotic.
All his fears and doubts, all his uncertainties, seemed far-away at this moment; there were
only Vanyae and the things he was doing to him. The incredible, wonderful things he was doing
to him. The falling rain seemed to purify what they were doing, make it special, an experience
more than themselves.
Anyar could feel the moisture running over his skin, cool and soothing, sharply in contrast
to the heat within him and the fire that seemed to radiate from Vanyae's organ as it pushed
deeper and deeper. He arched to gain more penetration, moaning in time with the measured
thrusts, only gradually realized the sounds were Vanyae's name. The vague thought came that he
might be punished for such familiarity, but at that moment he could not truly care.
He tightened upon the spear of flesh within him, and Vanyae grunted at the sensation,
began to speed up, hips snapping his shaft harder and harder into his willing slave.
The scent of the rain was fresh in Vanyae's nostrils, the feel of it coursing down his
steaming body an erotic background to their coupling. He dimly thought that he would never be
able view rain in quite so innocent a manner as before, even as he reached below them to grasp
Anyar's shaft and pump it with firm, harsh strokes.
He saw Anyar's head snap back, a silent scream upon his lips, even as Vanyae felt the hot
body pulse around him. Warm seed flowed over his fingertips; then he let go to grasp slim hips.
68
J. C. Owens
Grunting with need, he thrust deep, letting out forceful puffs of air before his eyes squeezed shut
with the half pain that the powerful orgasm pulsed through him.
They collapsed to the sodden grass, dazed and spent. Anyar turned, and Vanyae gathered
him to his chest, a worried questioning in his eyes.
Anyar managed to nod that he was fine, then laid his head upon his master and wished for
the moment to never end, that they might never have to go back to the way things were before.
He would have been surprised to know that Vanyae's thoughts mirrored his own.
Wings
69
Chapter Eight
Anyar had never seen snow before. It fascinated him immensely, though the cold seemed
to pierce his heat-trained body. Vanyae pandered to his interest, and on this day he took him
riding, the first time since his chest
“Please,” whimpered the younger man, “please…I need…”
Vanyae laid a kiss on the back of Anyar's neck, then bit there, even as his shaft pressed
against the rosebud guarding the entrance to his slave's body, then stretched it wide with his girth
as he pushed in.
Anyar drew a pained breath, then let it out in a gasp of pleasure as his master's shaft slid
past the pleasure spot in his body. He pushed backward, impaling himself farther, moaning as
Vanyae bit harder, holding him, dominating him in the most sensuous of ways. He felt owned,
possessed, cared for, almost lov—
He cast aside the thought swiftly, not daring to further it.
Wings
67
Vanyae released his bite, licked soothingly over the deep marks, then leaned back on his
knees and watched his shaft disappear into the stretched entrance until his balls felt the warmness
of Anyar's against them. With torturous slowness, he withdrew his shaft, hot and wet and red
with eagerness as it appeared. He shuddered at the sight and sensations, then pushed back in,
agonizingly slowly, leaning a little forward and setting up a lazy rhythm that would see this last
for as long as possible.
Anyar writhed on his impalement, gasping. The prince would angle his thrusts so that only
one out of three would strike his prostate, which made the shock of it that much greater. The
smaller man's body shook with sensation, with need. His balls were tight and hot, so close to
coming but never quite enough to let go. It was pleasure close to pain in its intensity, and the
knowledge that he had no say in it, that his master would decide when he would come, seemed at
this moment to be incredibly erotic.
All his fears and doubts, all his uncertainties, seemed far-away at this moment; there were
only Vanyae and the things he was doing to him. The incredible, wonderful things he was doing
to him. The falling rain seemed to purify what they were doing, make it special, an experience
more than themselves.
Anyar could feel the moisture running over his skin, cool and soothing, sharply in contrast
to the heat within him and the fire that seemed to radiate from Vanyae's organ as it pushed
deeper and deeper. He arched to gain more penetration, moaning in time with the measured
thrusts, only gradually realized the sounds were Vanyae's name. The vague thought came that he
might be punished for such familiarity, but at that moment he could not truly care.
He tightened upon the spear of flesh within him, and Vanyae grunted at the sensation,
began to speed up, hips snapping his shaft harder and harder into his willing slave.
The scent of the rain was fresh in Vanyae's nostrils, the feel of it coursing down his
steaming body an erotic background to their coupling. He dimly thought that he would never be
able view rain in quite so innocent a manner as before, even as he reached below them to grasp
Anyar's shaft and pump it with firm, harsh strokes.
He saw Anyar's head snap back, a silent scream upon his lips, even as Vanyae felt the hot
body pulse around him. Warm seed flowed over his fingertips; then he let go to grasp slim hips.
68
J. C. Owens
Grunting with need, he thrust deep, letting out forceful puffs of air before his eyes squeezed shut
with the half pain that the powerful orgasm pulsed through him.
They collapsed to the sodden grass, dazed and spent. Anyar turned, and Vanyae gathered
him to his chest, a worried questioning in his eyes.
Anyar managed to nod that he was fine, then laid his head upon his master and wished for
the moment to never end, that they might never have to go back to the way things were before.
He would have been surprised to know that Vanyae's thoughts mirrored his own.
Wings
69
Chapter Eight
Anyar had never seen snow before. It fascinated him immensely, though the cold seemed
to pierce his heat-trained body. Vanyae pandered to his interest, and on this day he took him
riding, the first time since his chest
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