A Multitude of Masters

Four essays, six more books on Dwarven grammar, three spells to finish transcribing into his spellbook, and Keszriin had wrung a promise from him to attend one of her picnics in Chataurvvin at the end of the tenday. Oh, and Master Yath’nay had promised an exam soon, so he really ought to begin preparing for that, too.

He’d find a way to fit it all in, he always did—it was just the grammar that was tripping him up. It seemed to work backwards to the way Drow did, the runes were so blunt and unreadable, and he kept mixing up the subject-verb-object order, which was no good; he’d sound like an idiot if he ever tried to actually speak to a dwarf, there had to be a way to get the rules to stick in his—

Master Velkon’yss snapped his fingers in front of Ashenivir’s face.

“Pay attention, Ra’soltha.”

“Sorry, Master.”

Breathe. No room for Dwarven grammar or wayward spells or potential exams here. Leave it all behind now; all the runes, all the words, all the somatic components he hadn’t made a note of yet, damn, he needed to write those down—not that he wouldn’t remember, once he’d committed them to his mind, but if he didn’t write them out now then how could he recall them when they weren’t stored in the Weave of his brain, he’d just forget—

Master Velkon’yss grabbed his hair and hauled him to his feet. Ashenivir cried out, silenced immediately by the hand that went to his throat. Light pressure from fingertips either side of his neck, catching his breath.

“Is there, perhaps, somewhere else you would rather be?” Rizeth asked, coldly offhand.

“No, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”

Rizeth eyed him intently for a moment. Then he spoke a command word and the rope of entanglement slid up Ashenivir’s leg.

Oh, thank Mystra.

No matter how much his thoughts span, the rope was the one thing that never failed to still them. As Master Velkon’yss wove it around him, Ashenivir’s breath slowed and his thoughts flattened out until there was nothing but the pull of the rope, the calming discomfort of the bind.

Arms now pinned behind his back, Master Velkon’yss took hold of the rope and put him face down over the desk. Ashenivir bit his lip over a heady smile and a moan as Rizeth pressed into him—Goddess, he loved it when his Master tied him up and used him like this. Deliciously helpless, he cried out as Rizeth took him hard over the desk, holding him by the rope that bound his arms.

“Master,” he moaned out. Heat curled deep in his core. “Please, Master, touch me.”

Master Velkon’yss snapped a sharp spank to his ass and he cried out. 

“Be specific when you make a request, Ra’soltha,” he thrust deep and stilled. Ashenivir writhed against him to no avail. “What is the rule?”

“A Ra’soltha must ask for what he wants,” Ashenivir panted, still squirming. Rizeth pressed a hand to his back to hold him down. “His Master will decide if he gets it.”

“Very good, now—what do you want?”

“Please touch my cock, Master!”

“Better.”

Master Velkon’yss moved his hand to Ashenivir’s cock, slick and firm, and Ashenivir’s eyes rolled back in his head. Every breath was a gasp of thanks as he flew higher and higher with each slide of his Master’s hand. A great, rolling moan escaped him when he came; he dug his fingers into his palms, body shuddering. Master Velkon’yss fucked him through it, turned him into a bundle of overstimulated nerve-endings and dizzying sensation. He lost himself to it, with just enough awareness left to thank his Master properly when he came inside him.

---

“You were rather distracted today, Ra’soltha,” Master Velkon’yss said, afterwards. Ashenivir knelt at his feet, putting his mind back together a piece at a time. He was dawdling over it, didn’t want to return to the racing tangle of his thoughts—but he couldn’t stay in that sweet, far-off place forever, not least because his Master was expecting an explanation.

“I…have a lot on my mind,” he said.

“You have been like that the past three times I have summoned you.” 

Ashenivir flushed. It had been a busy few months and he hadn’t been able to get properly on top of everything. He’d been finding it harder than usual to let go.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

All he got was a thoughtful hum, after which Rizeth fell silent again. Ashenivir waited in the quiet, and all the things that had been consuming him began to creep back in around the edges of his mind, clamouring for his attention. He sighed under his breath.

“I have a question for you,” Master Velkon’yss said, and Ashenivir was grateful to be pulled from his encroaching thoughts. Since he had given Ashenivir the collar, Rizeth had become quite curious—not about him personally, but about his desires, his wants. His needs within the bounds of their agreement. It had taken Ashenivir somewhat by surprise; no-one else had ever asked him what he was willing to do or not do before. Then again, no-one else had ever done the things he did with Rizeth before.

“Yes, Master?”

“The last time we spoke, you were very forthcoming regarding your active imagination,” Master Velkon’yss continued. “However, all the desires you expressed involved your current Master and what you might like him to do to you. Gratifying as it is to be the centre of your focus, I am curious—”

He reached down and tilted Ashenivir’s head up, holding his chin with light, firm fingers.

“What did you want before you had a Master to serve?”

Ashenivir blinked. He had filled his fantasies with Master Velkon’yss for long that it was difficult now to recall what he had used to think of before him. He cast his mind back, aware of Rizeth’s gaze on him as he thought.

Reality had rapidly outstripped his imaginings, if he was being honest with himself. Many of the things he’d wanted he had now experienced at Rizeth’s hand, and there was little he had not done, or at least already told his Master he would like to do.

“I’ve never…I always wondered…what it was like with more than one person, Master,” he said at last. “That was not something that ever made itself available to me.”

“Nor will it now,” Master Velkon’yss said, and there was a thrum of possessiveness in his voice that sent a thrill through Ashenivir. “However…”

He trailed off, clearly thinking, and Ashenivir waited with bated breath.

“However,” Master Velkon’yss repeated. “I may still be able to indulge you—it would prove an interesting challenge, and I know how much you enjoy those.”

Rizeth let go of his chin and tugged his collar.

“Tell me, Ra’soltha—how much of your Master do you think you can handle?”

---

It took a few tendays to craft the spell—a variant on mirror image that would give his duplicates far more independence and physicality than was usually granted. Using a simulacrum as a base would have perhaps been easier, but it would have been far more costly, and Rizeth was not certain he could circumvent the problem of one collapsing when another was created, either.

Besides, even a perfect copy of himself was still too much like inviting another person into the arrangement.

He knew he was selfish in that regard, that others were capable of sharing without their skin crawling, but he had never been able to do it. He tended towards jealousy rather than compersion, and had simply come to terms with that fact. The mirror image would, he hoped, not conjure those feelings. He would still be the only mental presence, if not the only physical one.

It had taken crafting a ring in the end, one that would hook into his focus and sustain itself for a limited time, which he had managed to extend past the usual minute the spell lasted. A single minute would not be nearly enough time to enjoy Ashenivir under the myriad of hands he would soon possess.

He summoned Ashenivir once the spell was ready, and waited out of sight for the simple pleasure of being able to step out of the bedroom and see his Ra’soltha waiting for him, naked and kneeling in perfect position by the door. Naked except for the collar, of course, bright silver gleaming against the deep violet of his skin. Rizeth caught it with a mage hand, pulling Ashenivir’s head up to look at him. His apprentice was a little flushed already, with nerves or excitement—knowing Ashenivir, it was likely to be both in equal measure.

“Go to the bed,” he commanded. Low voice, quiet; just hard enough to make Ashenivir’s ears twitch. “Do not leave your knees.”

“Yes, Master.”

He kept the mage hand hooked into the back of the collar as Ashenivir crawled the distance, once or twice yanking the links around his neck, making him choke and stumble. Obediently, he kept going—he climbed up onto the bed and presented himself on all fours, waiting.

He wanted that, Rizeth knew. He had noticed early how Ashenivir enjoyed rough handling, and his recent queries into his Ra’soltha’s desires had taught him that, oh yes, he wanted it. Who would have guessed that such desires lay within his quiet, unassuming little apprentice?

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Count to ten, aloud, then you may open them. Am I understood?”

“One,” Ashenivir began, and Rizeth knew without checking that his eyes would be closed. Subsuming his own nerves into the act of command, he steadied his breath and activated the ring.

Awareness split in four; his vision kaleidoscoped for a moment, then turned to a disorienting flicker as his mind flitted from one new body to another in rapid succession. Rizeth inhaled sharply and called his mind to order in his original body—Ashenivir was halfway through his count.

He moved quickly, thinking little so as to maintain control. Rizeth shed his robes and guided his four-fold self around the bed—one of him either side, the other two kneeling in front and behind. No doubt his Ra’soltha felt the bed shift, must have been curious at what he was about to experience, yet he did not stutter.

Rizeth, all four of him, held his position and waited for Ashenivir to complete his count.

---

“Ten,” Ashenivir finished, and opened his eyes to more Masters than he knew what to do with. Before he could speak, one Master took him hard by the hair, another by the hips; the one to his left scraped nails down his back as the one to his right leaned in to breathe hot words against his ear.

“Are you ready, Ra’soltha?”

Ashenivir whimpered. “Yes.”

“Open your mouth,” said the Master in front of him, and Ashenivir did.

There were hands all over him then, slick fingers working him open, a cock sliding between his lips to muffle his cry as they pressed sweetly up. Still other hands caught his arms and held them behind his back, yet he did not fall, held in place between his Masters.

Fingers trailed along his sides, feather-light in contrast to the rough manner in which Master Velkon’yss fucked into his mouth, choking him on it until he drooled. A whispering touch against his inner thigh, more fingers inside him now, working him open—so many hands, too many, he couldn’t keep track of them all.

It was impossible. It was perfect. He was lost in it, unable to think of anything save the constant touch of his Master.

The hands held him still now, and he moaned around Rizeth’s cock as his Master pushed into him, slow. He had never been so full, and when both fucked into him in perfect rhythm, he soared up out of his head, spun out on sensation. He had never imagined it would be like this, so inescapable. There was nowhere that his Master did not own, no part of him that escaped notice—Ashenivir felt in a dream, some enchanted reverie. How could this possibly be real?

He was hauled about like it was nothing, moved into his Master’s lap—still fucked, still full of him, so perfectly full—held so that he faced away, Rizeth’s hands solid and steady at his waist to keep him in place. His hands, free now, were pulled up to either side and each eagerly wrapped about the cock presented to them. The hands at his waist tightened so that his Master might better fuck up into him, and a stuttered sound of pleasure escaped his lips.

“Good, Ra’soltha,” murmured against his ear. A hand found his cock, stroking smoothly, and he whined. “Turn your head now.”

Ashenivir obeyed, taking his Master’s cock in his mouth, licking greedily at the tip and speeding his strokes until he brought him to a finish on his face. He smiled, pleased with his service, and licked cum from his lips. He did not have long to savour it, for his mouth was soon put back to good use.

Goddess, he could stay like this forever.

---

The ring empowered his duplicates in ways he had not foreseen. Stamina seemed not to matter, and the four of him painted his Ra’soltha in such beautiful patterns, fed his endlessly starving mouth again and again. Ashenivir looked so good like this; his hair a mess, skin flushed, sticky with sweat and cum, taking all he was given without pause or hesitation.

Rizeth slipped from mind to mind, swapping places with himself in a manner that did not bear thinking too closely about. His fractured consciousness flitted between his bodies, acting on instinct here, command there. His hands slid over Ashenivir’s sweat-slick skin, and when he leaned down to bite into his shoulder, the salt taste of it fractalled out, spiralling through four minds before slamming back into the core of his self, amplified beyond reason.

All mine, he thought, tossing Ashenivir back to the bed, trapping him between two of his bodies. My apprentice, my Ra’soltha, mine.

Ashenivir was already slick and open, and it was sweeter than anything to slide back inside him, fucking him deep whilst another self wrapped a hand into his hair and pulled him down into a kiss. Rizeth bit at Ashenivir’s lip, shoved his tongue into his mouth and tasted him four times over. Two of him sucked kisses into Ashenivir’s neck at once and Ashenivir moaned desperately—there was nothing in his eyes but lust now, all he knew was his Master.

Mine!

Rizeth was just as lost as his apprentice, he was aware of that on some distant level. He still had control, but the hot skin beneath his palms, the desperate breath and needy tongue between his lips, the sight of Ashenivir rendered so thoroughly debauched…

Thank the gods he had made the ring. He would not have been able to maintain the spell without it’s assistance. 

One of him came again, filling Ashenivir deep, and he savoured the moan against his lips, swallowing it as though it were the finest of wines. His Ra’soltha, his instrument, fine-tuned and played by his careful hand. Rizeth’s questions had drawn out his every desire; all that his limited experiences had been able to conjure to fantasy, he had confessed to his Master.

Rizeth had done much of it. He would do the rest, all of it, every last little thing, for the sole reason of being the one to do it.

“Master,” Ashenivir sighed out a moan as another of Rizeth slid into him, the way slicked with the release of previous selves. Rizeth kissed him again, claiming his mouth with a ferocity that surprised him. No-one else would have him, no-one else would make real his desires, no-one!

Detach a little, Rizeth. This is getting dangerous.

He pushed the intensity four ways, let it disperse and calm over his fractured mind. A measure of control returned and his breathing steadied. Ashenivir’s did not—the apprentice continued to writhe at his touch, trying to press into every point of contact at once. But the displacement of self was beginning to make itself known in a rattling discomfort, an unsettling dysmorphia. Time to bring an end to this, before he damaged his mind.

“Up, Ra’soltha,” he whispered hotly against Ashenivir’s ear, and put most of himself in front of his apprentice.

“Are you hungry?” asked the one that remained behind, holding Ashenivir steady in his lap. Ashenivir nodded, far beyond words now. “Then be a good boy, and open your mouth.”

Ashenivir took it all. This time, each release blanked Rizeth out with pleasure as he brought the duplicate back into himself so that the only trace remaining of their presence were the layers of cum that streaked Ashenivir’s face. Then, at last, it was only him left. His real self, with Ashenivir in his lap. He set his mouth to Ashenivir’s pulse and revelled in its race as he stroked, bringing Ashenivir to his own shouted finish.

Rizeth turned Ashenivir to face him, pulling him to straddle his lap.

“One more time, Ra’soltha,” he said, basking in the sight of Ashenivir’s unfocused eyes, darkly flushed cheeks, and softly parted lips. “One more time, please your Master.”

Ashenivir nodded, absently licked cum from his lips, and put his hand to Rizeth’s cock.

It was less intense, but this sole sensation was much better than the fragmented thing he had been all night. Rizeth kept a hand on the small of Ashenivir’s back while his Ra’soltha stroked him, the motion as needy as if it were his own desperate release he sought. Rizeth slipped his fingers under the links of Ashenivir’s collar, gripping it tightly as he came.

Ashenivir made a pleased sound, and hummed delightedly when Rizeth rewarded him with a kiss. He could, as it turned out, handle quite a lot of his Master.

---

Ashenivir sighed. Hot water soothed his aching muscles, and something stroked softly over his skin—he was so comfortable he could have slipped into reverie right there in the bath.

Wait a second, bath?

He blinked back to reality, sitting up with a splash. The mage hand that had been passing a washcloth over his skin darted out of the way.

“Oh,” he said, remembering.

“Welcome back, Ra’soltha.”

Master Velkon’yss sat on the bench against the wall of his bathing room, already clean and clad in a grey, sleeveless robe over a dark tunic and breeches. With a gesture, the mage hand swept back into motion and began methodically untangling the mess of Ashenivir’s hair.

“Can you speak?” 

“I…yes, Master,” Ashenivir said. Memories washed through him, too many to process all at once. His Master…his Masters…that had been so much. Too much. It had been impossible—it had been incredible.

Even in the hot water, he shivered.

“Good,” Rizeth said. “I have another question for you.”

Another? Surely there was nothing left for Ashenivir to tell him—he had certainly run out of sexual fantasies to relay. Still, all these questions lately might be a good thing, for hopefully they meant that Master Velkon’yss was still interested in using him, was not about to discard him. Not that he thought his Master would cast him aside, but there was always the worry that he would disappoint in some way—

“Thoughts running away with you again, Ra’soltha?”

“Is that the question, Master?”

“No. But I can see it on your face. You are not very adept at hiding your emotions, apprentice.” As if to prove his point, Ashenivir blushed. Rizeth chuckled dryly. “No, what I am curious about is why you want this. You sought this out when you have never—as you already admitted to me—engaged in this type of arrangement before.”

Master Velkon’yss flicked his fingers and the mage hand, finished with its detangling, picked up a ceramic water scoop from the edge of the bath and poured careful streams of water over Ashenivir’s head. They broke deliciously hot over his scalp and ran all the way down his back. He hummed, enjoying the sensation, if not the question.

“Why do I want this?” He leaned back against the edge of the bath, speaking softly. “Is not the fact that I enjoy it enough?”

“In this case, no,” Master Velkon’yss said, though Ashenivir thought there was a teasing edge to his voice. His Master might be able to read him easily enough, but after more than a year, Ashenivir was starting to note a few of Rizeth’s subtleties as well. He sighed.

“My thoughts run away from me, as you say, Master,” he said. “There is much on my mind of late, but there is always much on my mind. It is not…it has never been silent, but when I serve you, I can stop.”

Ashenivir traced patterns in the water, breaking up his own reflection again and again as he spoke.

“I can stop thinking, stop deciding, stop remembering that I’ve forgotten something, that I must do something, I can just…everything goes away. There is only my Master, and what he wants, and what I want him to do to me. The others I have been with, none of them were ever enough. I was always searching for what you give me now, when you command me.”

And it was true—he hadn’t known, not really, just how much a real Master could give him until Rizeth had given it. He had read, of course, had applied himself to the study of his own desire with as much fervour as his study of the arcane. All his books and his limited experience with vaguely dominant partners had been pale shadows to the real thing.

Master Velkon’yss made a thoughtful noise. “I will confess; it did surprise me how quickly you were able to let go. The first time I bound you, I was certain you had done more than you had admitted. You were, and are, so eager to submit.”

“I need it,” Ashenivir whispered. He gripped his knees and did not look at his Master. “I hoped you would be able to provide what I was looking for. That is why I sought you out.”

Among other reasons. His physical attraction to Rizeth was irrelevant, and he did not—as Dresvan kept teasing—have a weird crush. That Rizeth was handsome was simply a fact, and it certainly helped his desire to submit. It didn’t mean anything.

“Then I suppose I must congratulate your instincts. There are, to my knowledge, no others in the Arcanum who could give you what you want,” Rizeth said.

“Perhaps Mystra guided my steps,” Ashenivir lightened his tone, teasing, hoping to change the subject. The mage hand tugged at his collar.

“Behave yourself,” Master Velkon’yss said. The conjured hand vanished and Rizeth stood. “Come now, apprentice, it is late. You ought to return to your quarters.”

Rising from the bath, Ashenivir realised just how tired he was. Everything ached, and he smothered a yawn with his hand. Movement roused him enough to keep him awake to dress, though he left his hair loose for he did not remotely have the energy left to rebraid it.

For a moment, as he stood by the door waiting to be dismissed, he thought his Master might slide his hand into it once more, stroke his head, maybe even kiss him. Rizeth clasped his hands behind his back.

“Goodnight, Ra’soltha.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

Wending his way slowly back through the quiet Arcanum, Ashenivir thought he would not have minded if Rizeth had stroked his hair. It might have been quite nice, actually. He shook himself, levitating out of the stairwell and making for his quarters. That was the kind of thought he didn’t need to have; he did not need to start fantasising about his Master petting him, for Mystra’s sake.

He did not have a weird crush. Not in the least.