Rise of Tempest Merlin

Chapter 25

Tempest’s POV

I can hear the air enter my lungs as I inhale, and it seems like the only sound in the room. Everything else is blocked out, the sound of our boots shuffling on the cold stone floor, the constant crackling of the torches. I can't afford to pay attention to any of it now. I don't have enough energy left to concentrate on anything but the task on hand: blocking the next hit.

I raise my tiring arms once again, and just in time to meet Ares's vicious blow. I am knocked back a step as he pushes further, the tip of his right blade slipping under mine and slicing my wrist superficially before I can knock it away.

"You need to be quicker," Ares instructs me, his whirling blades coming at me again without giving me a break. He is relentlessly testing my defenses now, and I know that it will only be a matter of time before I make a more dangerous mistake.

"I see a hundred openings I could take," Ares taunts me, „a hundred different ways to spill your blood, should I wish to." He looks down at me as his tatooed face breaks into a smirk.

I know that he is probably correct. My body is aching, my reaction is slowed, and although I realize that my defense shows big holes, I cannot fix them. I grimace and try to ignore his taunting, to shut out the ringing of metal on metal that vibrates through my arms, and to forget about the pain in my muscles that is steadily growing worse. Instead, I concentrate on the position of my body, line it up correctly and raise my swords in defense as he attacks me yet again. Both of his swords come down at me in a complicated maneuver, one that I am unfamiliar with. I blink my eyes in an effort to clear them from the sweat that is dripping down my face, and I grit my teeth as one of my swords connects with his and my muscles ache in protest. His red eyes glare at me mercilessly as he brings down his second sword with unhuman speed and strength, and I raise my weaker left arm to block it. The blow brings me to my knees, and Ares quickly points a blade at my heart, while the other one slips away from my blocking sword and tickles my throat. Once again, the only sound I can hear is that of my own breath, being drawn in sharply, but it is followed by that of metal on stone as my swords clatter to the floor.

"You're dead," Ares growls, obviously displeased with my performance today. I lower my eyes as he pulls his swords away and sheathes them. My chest is still heaving rapidly and I struggle to stand, having given the fight all the energy I had. I am hoping Ares will leave, but he is standing a few feet away from me with no apparent intention of doing so, watching my struggle patiently. I close my eyes in shame as another attempt to get to my feet fails, and my knees and hands slap the floor painfully.

"Get up, you pathetic little b***h!"

No matter how exhausted or hurt I am, the fear he induces within me is always stronger. I bite my lip and try to ignore the pain, ignore the almost uncontrollable shaking of my muscles as I slowly and clumsily get to my feet. I consider picking up my swords for a moment, but I'm afraid I might fall over again should I try. Then I stand, looking down at the stone floor, waiting either for Ares's wrath, or for his mercy.

"You disappoint me," he remarks after a few seconds, and I flinch. „You don't seem to understand a thing about your swords, and Hell knows I've tried to teach you. What else is it going to take to make you understand? Now, pick them up."

I gulp, staring down at the two sleek pieces of steel. I am scared of what Ares will do to me if I don't obey his command, but I am also scared of what he will do if I fall to my knees again. My neck prickles with the anticipated fear as I stretch my lame arms towards the ground, then bend over at the hip and try to reach the hilts with my fingertips.

What I don't expect at that moment is the aggressive push Ares gives my body, one that sends me flying and crashing into the wall behind me. The air is knocked from my lungs as I lay there, dazed.

"This is pathetic!" Ares screams, starting towards me enraged. I yelp and cover my face as he draws his sword and lashes out, just to hit my upper body with the flat of his blade. I whince as the newly inflicted pain hits my consciousness.

"On your knees," I hear him say, this time dangerously calm. I obey as well as I can, and a searing pain shoots through my scalp as he grabs my hair and pulls it straight up. I freeze, waiting fearfully for a blow that doesn't come. For a few seconds, it is oddly quiet, but I don't dare move.

"There was a time when I thought you would actually be willing to learn," Ares states, drawing the tip of his blade along my upper arm without drawing blood. "There was a time when I was convinced that you would give the swords your all, that you truly wanted to learn how to wield them. I'm not so convinced anymore." The cold steel settles on my scalp, below his hand, and I gasp when I realize what he is about to do.

"You are not willing to make sacrifices." The blade moves, subtly, but I can feel the release of tension from the back of my head before the few red curls softly touch the floor next to me. I keep quiet, because I know that any sound from me right now would just enrage him.

"What do you say, my slave?" he asks, and the tip of his sword wanders off again, this time down my neck. I'm not sure what to say in answer to this, so I keep quiet while the metal slides over my skin, his other hand caressing the hair he still holds.

"What do you say?" he repeats, placing the sword back below his other hand, and I realize that I had better answer him now if I didn't want to lose any more hair.

"Please," I manage to say.

"Please what?"

"Please... I want to learn. I will give it all I have."

He removes the metal from my head and suddenly pulls me to my feet by my hair, which makes me yelp out in pain and surprise. He twists my body viciously and throws me to the side, and my back crashes into one of the tall, slim pillars that line the training hall. Before I can slide down the cold stone though, he grabs my throat and holds my body up.

"I seem to recall you telling me exactly this the last time," he claims, face close to mine. "And yet, it doesn't seem to be enough so far, does it?"

My vision starts to blur as he keeps constricting my airflow. I try desperately to focus on something, and the arm he is holding me with is conveniently close. My eyes follow the blue veins that lie so clearly right below his skin, until I can't distinguish them anymore and give in to the tempting blackness that rises behind my eyes. I feel myself sliding for a moment, but I cannot figure out if the feeling is real or imagined.

Two well-placed slaps in the face bring me back to consciousness. He has released my throat, but is hauling me back to my feet by my left arm now, and he seems annoyed.

"Stand on your own," he orders me, and I do my best, grasping the pillar behind me for support. He steps away from me and walks around the pillar, out of my field of vision, which I don't understand at first. Then, he takes both of my hands and pulls them back, one on each side of the pillar, before laying his sword horizontally across my palms and wrapping my fingers around the blade. leaving my back pressed against the cold stone.

"Don't let it fall," he warns me, and I whince as I realize the implications of my predicament. I am essentially bound, and mostly by my own fear of him.

Almost carelessly, he holds out a hand as he walks back to face me, and I catch one last glimpse of him before the torches in the room are extinguished by a strong gust of wind, called by him. Only darkness remains.

For a few minutes, he leaves me alone with my fears, my breath growing shorter and my hands growing moist and sweaty around the metal. I know instinctively that he is right in front of me, looking at me with those eyes of his that are not hindered even by complete darkness, but he might as well be miles away for how alone I feel. There is nothing but my pain and the darkness, and eventually I am so spooked that I start to shake.

That's when I feel the tip of the blade on my throat.

I will myself to remain calm as much as I can. The metal rests heavily on my skin, the coldness sending such extreme signals that I cannot tell if he has punctured my skin, cannot filter out if there is any actual pain. The blade lazily glides lower until it reaches the raised fabric of my tunic between my breasts. I can feel him pushing slightly, until the fabric rips with a soft pop and the blade touches skin again.

He works his way upwards to the hem of my tunic, then lower again, until the rounds of my breasts manage to push the fabric away. My body is rigid and I hold my breath as the fabric on one side is lifted away even further, and cold, sharp metal touches my hardened n****e. For one agonizing second I am convinced he will slice it, will deliberately inflict pain in this tender spot, but then he draws away and towards my belly.

More fabric is sliced apart. He makes one fast, hard cut which scares me at first because it appears as if he is about to hurt me in a serious way, but then I realize that it is my belt that is now falling away. The sword keeps going, faster now, until I feel a final, subtle jerk as the lower hem of my tunic is cut apart. I can feel the fabric parting with a swoosh.

I can feel the cold steel trailing lower still, inevitably reaching its goal between my thighs.

"Spread your legs."

It is the first thing that he has said to me since extinguishing the torches, and somehow, the simple sentence seems to resonate through me as I comply. My boots slide outwards, inch by inch, until he is satisfied and stops me with a slap of the sword on my inner thigh. I flinch, then tense as the tip of his sword determinedly starts to part the folds of my s*x.

Once more, I am acutely aware of every breath I draw, trying hard to keep calm and not to make any movement at all. I squeeze my eyes shut out of reflex, but I can't help making the tiniest of sounds as the metal slides ever so slowly over my clit, which pulses in response. My heart bangs against my chest in sheer silent terror as my inner folds are parted as well, and the metal tip stops at my entrance.

"Are you scared?" I can hear his hoarse voice, and despite the tightness of my throat, I force myself to answer.

"Yes."

By the way he exhales, I can tell he is pleased at my answer. I don't know why. The sword remains in its dangerous place, however, and after a short moment I gasp at the new sensation of his finger stroking my clit. I am not sure if it is actually his finger, or one of his telekinetic tricks, but the sensation is the same either way.

There is no way for me to completely keep myself from shaking this time. My hands grip the blade behind my back more tightly, and I can feel a burning sensation in both of my palms. Almost at the same time, I can feel the blade being removed from between my legs, and his warm breath on my cheek indicating he is close to me.

"You look beautiful when you're scared," he tells me and slips one of his fingers smoothly inside my tunnel. I gasp, I didn't realize I am this wet. I turn my face in the direction where I assume his to be, but he pulls away from me again. I stand, alone.

I feel one of his hands on my wrist after a few seconds. He has moved behind me.

"Let go," he commands, and my hands uncurl from the sword, which he catches.

"On your knees."

I obey, turning around, my knees scraping on the rough floor as I bend over, using the pillar for support. He grasps my hands on the other side of the pillar, forcing the sword back into them and leaving my head in a very uncomfortable position pressed against the pillar.

"Don't drop it," he reminds me while walking back around to my side of the pillar, and positioning himself behind me. I can feel one of his hands on my backside for support, and the other one stroking my clit once again, very softly.

"Let's see if you have learned that lesson," he murmurs, and both of his hands move, first to part his tunic, then to grasp my hips on both sides. I know what is coming, but I still can't help whimpering when I feel the tip of his swollen c**k touch my folds. Although I cannot see, I remember his c**k from previous occasions, remember how my lips could barely manage to stretch around his width. And I know this is going to hurt.

He starts out very, very slowly. I can feel the constant pressure, but the head of his c**k stretching out my entrance bit by bit does not yet hurt. It's when he grips me harder and starts pushing more aggressively that I let out a moan of pain, but I grit my teeth and continue to push back against him as my body tenses. My hands grip the blade harder once again, causing slight, burning pain in my palms.

I moan again as he slides further, deliberately slow, but it still almost feels like I have his fist inside me instead of his c**k. I can feel every single vein of his member grazing the walls of my tunnel in an exquisite but painful friction. Also, there is the odd sensation of feeling my own heartbeat on the exact spots where his c**k is pressing against me the hardest. When his hands tense once again, I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation, but my body still shakes and I scream when he shoves my body forward with one good, hard thrust. My head knocks against the pillar, I can feel blood flowing freely down my fingers, and after a moment of searing pain I realize that I can feel his balls against the skin of my inner thigh. He is all the way inside me, a sensation I am strangely glad for.

Ares gives me a moment to adjust, to get used to the sheer size of him inside me. I realize that I am covered with cold sweat, that my hands are shaking and so tightly clamped around the blade that I am beginning to worry.

But I have no time for that. Ares uses the moment to pull himself almost completely out again, a feeling so exquisite that I can't help but moan again. He doesn't seem to mind, but still, when he sheathes himself inside me again, he does it so hard and fast it's almost brutal. More blood on my hands, and an excitement about this act that is starting to build inside me and kind of hard to ignore. He pulls out again, going steady, but faster now that I have stretched out and gotten used to his size. His movements evolve into a continuous pounding that knocks my head into the pillar repeatedly and leaves me breathless. I can feel that his hands are starting to get slick with his own perspiration, and so are mine, which makes the burning sensation from the cuts so bad that I almost scream.

Almost. But I promise myself that the only sounds I will make will be in response to Ares himself. And as far as I can judge from the way I tighten around Ares's c**k without my will, and from the way my clit pulses to every one of his strokes, louder sounds will soon be inevitable. I can hear his breath going faster now as well, and I know it excites him to have me so submissive and unresisting below him. I push back against him with all my might, allowing him to thrust into me as hard as he can, which makes me groan as the tingling sensations grow and the pulsing of my clit gets almost too much to bear.

"Please," I beg, my mouth suddenly dry as he slams inside me agressively, and I feel something big build up from the tingling excitement that threatens to sweep me away. I feel his breath on my back, short, shallow gasps, and I know he is close as well.

"Please," I say once more, and he finally gives in and, with one final thrust, sweeps us both away. I can feel him spurting his c*m inside me as my mind spins wildly and my body shakes, my hands clench around the blade as hard as they can without regard to injuries, and I scream, long and hard and loud as my body spasms in ecstasy. I can feel the heat run through every single part of me, and I can feel the pain too that spreads through my tired muscles, but in this state I just don't care about it. Finally, my body gives in and I sink onto the floor, hands still raised so the sword will remain lifted up.

Ares slips out of me and simply kneels there for a few moments. This time, I can hear his breathing along with my own, and for a few minutes those sounds are the only ones in the room. My arms are starting to shake uncontrollably, and I know that I need to be released from this soon, or else the sword will inevitably fall.

Ares notices. I can feel him getting up, and he reaches around the pillar and carefully lifts the sword from my grasp. Searing pain greets me once again as I attempt to move my hands, and I hiss through my teeth.

"Don't worry. They will heal." Ares wipes the blade on the remnants of my tunic before sheathing it, then helps me straighten up. I want to stand, but at this point, my body just doesn't heed my directions anymore, and so I sink back toward the floor without a sound. As soon as Ares notices me slipping from his grasp, he hugs me to keep me from falling, then scoops me up and proceeds to carry me towards the exit of the training hall. I can only see my surroundings dimly as we step outside, back into the torchlight, and I decide not to fight unconsciousness.