The Serenade of Seed CH.1
#1 of The Serenade of Seed
Had some time to write during my holiday, hope ya like it!
This one's looking to be a three part story, maybe more. It all depends on how much I can elaborate on the premise. Let me know if you like it though!
Shorr dropped to his knees, hands trembling and vision blurring. His strength was depleted and his spirit was crushed. He was defeated. The crowd had fallen utterly silent, a mixture of disbelief and confusion streaked across their faces, each of their expressions burning themselves into his vision as he ashamedly searched for his master's gaze, but it was never there, not once. His master had surely abandoned him in disgrace. The room was spinning. Cloudy, translucent white pooled beneath him. Blackness crept into his vision.
Shorr snapped from his nightmare with a choking howl. His body was drenched with sweat and his bed sheets were soaked to the floorboards.
The speckled, gray-furred Jackal had been losing sleep each night to a recurring nightmare - a twisted and distorted memory of his foregone career, one that haunted him every time he closed his eyes. It affected him deeply and visibly so, but he would never admit to it, not for the sake of his sole pupil, Vik.
The two Jackals, both born to the same tribe, were emotionally bonded - such as partners. They bathed together, trained together, and during the coldest nights, slept together. Their training was rigorous, and their relationship, largely sexual and yet entirely mutual, was integral to success. Shorr refused to sacrifice this foundation with a display of personal weakness, and so, he suffered the nightmares as they came.
Vik was a trainee Dominator, and a born competitor too. He stood a proud foot and a half above most young adults his age, and his body was tempered and strong - eyes a burning blue. Physically, he was imposing and brawny, but mentally, he was humble and aloof, a personality that Shorr fostered and encouraged, preferring his students to listen closely instead of taking charge. His body, too, had been tempered under the instruction of his master, who had once held the title of Dominator at the peak of his own rippling physique, but who was promptly forced to retire. The dojo was founded to pass on his legacy, and although Shorr could no longer perform, his knowledge was invaluable and his methods had created many a strong contender for the title of Dominator.
The morning was still, silent and foreboding. The air was crisp and bitterly cold. Today would be the last day of training for Vik. Fall was giving way to winter, and soon he would depart for the Serenade of Seed, a festival that took place high in the mountains each year. It was a celebration of sexuality and love-making that historically lasted until mass exhaustion, or until one jackal outperformed the rest. This feat demanded endless stamina, to be surging at full mast until the break of dawn, bathed in the sweat and cum of a hundred or more partners. The Ivari lord himself would then oversee the aftermath, announcing the most potent, enduring, and utterly carnal jackal of the tribe the victor, who would henceforth be known as the Dominator.
Domination, a ritual performed by the Ivari jackals after each successful battle, was an act of sexual enslavement led by the festival's chosen victor, who would overpower the defeated, still-vulnerable tribe by inducing them with potent - and highly hypnotic - ejaculate. The unique properties of the Ivari jackals' semen, both a powerful aphrodisiac and a mind-altering hallucinogenic, meant that intercourse was a much more effective alternative to enslavement. Dominators, conditioned through seasons of training to produce load after thick, copious load, were also known to impart the most reality-breaking effects, supplementing their already imposing demeanor and physique. Such potency, known only to the Dominators, completely overpowered its recipient, rewriting their thoughts, twisting their desires, and even fabricating false memories, although this allure was resisted entirely by the Ivari themselves - only affecting those of a different species.
Yet even the fittest and most genetically superior Ivari could not be born with this power. The true limits of their evolved abilities could only be reached through arduous training.
Vik, born to a poor, vacant mother and a since departed father, had trained under one of the most renowned Dominators in Ivari history. He, like many that had trained before him, had cast aside his troubled past to devote his body and mind to the tribe's continued prosperity and to become a Dominator. It was tradition - Dominators training future Dominators.
"Master? Is everything alright?" Called Vik from the adjacent room. The walls of the dojo were near paper-thin, and so Shorr's labored breathing was easily heard. That, and Vik's senses were ever so finely tuned. Each night, he was subjected to his master's snoring, and more recently, his nightmares.
Shorr paused for a moment before responding, allowing his breathing to settle and his disturbing thoughts to subside. His left hand had been grasped tightly around his member from the moment he had shot awake, causing a dull ache that radiated through his loins. He was painfully hard, as he had been every morning this fall.
"All is fine, Vik." He announced, peeling the sheets from his glistening fur to assess the damage. He released his stout but girthy cock from a vice-like grip, only to watch it twitch excitedly, exposed to the cool air of the autumn morning, pulsing of its own accord. Shorr was feverishly aroused, something that Vik was aware of but had naively assumed to be a seasonal rut, which affected every jackal, even the aged.
This was, however, only half true. The reality, unbeknownst to the bare-naked young jackal who stretched and flexed opposite the wall, innocently exposed before his master, was that Shorr was longingly, desperately in need of affection.
"Then I shall meet you in the garden, master." He chirped enthusiastically.
Shorr had lived in isolation from the outside world for almost ten years, nestled into the valley east of the village, accepting only the company of his students to reside with him in the dojo. His relationships, professional - but intimate in every way - had taken their toll on his emotional well-being. He craved acknowledgment - a tender embrace or a heartfelt kiss, but could not allow his heart to decide over his duty. If Vik discovered that he had feelings for him, would their training be forever tainted? Would he be denounced as a master, left alone once again?
Shorr's first partner, a dainty but headstrong impala lad from a neighboring tribe, had already left one such hole in his heart. The foreigner, a distant memory now, would wander the valley picking herbs, waving to a young Shorr from a distance. They would eventually cross paths amidst a downpour of sudden rain, fleeing for cover beneath the shade of a solitary oak tree at the center of the valley. The tension of the sudden encounter and the uncertainty of their dangerous association would quickly dissipate, like the rain, as they perched shoulder-to-shoulder, hands embraced, watching the clouds disappear. Shorr believed at that moment, that he would never feel so loved ever again.
For weeks, their secretive relationship continued between the shaded crevices of the valley, away from the politics of their warring tribes. They spoke two distinct languages, knowing only to communicate through body language and tone of voice, foraging the fields together and making love beneath the oak tree.
Conflict loomed, however. The Sentress tribe had strained its' already tenuous relationship with the Ivari to a near breaking point, refusing to budge on their threatening position across the valley, and although there would be no advance or slight, the Ivari would take no chances. The ensuing war would separate the two lovers, inevitably, but not without a promise - that they would one day reunite.
War, however, made no such promises. The Sentress Impala tribe, daring yet pacifistic, were marched upon despite all and decisively conquered, brutally, without remorse. Worse, they had fallen into the crosshairs of a notorious and soon-to-be rogue Dominator. He, the most respected and feared of all Dominators, had singlehandedly overpowered the defenseless villagers, and in a hormonal frenzy, had turned to extreme violence, leaving not a single survivor to tell the gruesome tale. He, despite acting outside of his duty and desecrating his sacred title, would return a hero.
Shorr would dedicate the remainder of his capable youth to atoning - undoing the mistakes of his tribe. Training religiously in the ways of compassionate, consensual love-making, he continued in the steps of the Dominator. He was neither skilled, nor educated, but he was utterly determined to prove that a true dominator could attain peace without defilement - that rape was no replacement for murder, torture, or slavery - he had witnessed them go hand-in-hand. He believed the hypnotic allure of a dominator's seed was a gift given by the gods, not a venomous curse. Seyla, the dainty, wandering Impala, entranced not by domination, but by innocent attraction, had proven to Shorr an important lesson - sex was secondary to love, but both were intertwined.
Dawn had receded into mid-morning - the sky, still hued with a faint cascade of salmon-pink - stretched over the valley, illuminating even the shadiest brook and burrow. Vik and Shorr, both perched atop hand-woven rugs, observed as the wispy clouds drifted overhead, their legs crossed and heads bowed.
"I have something to ask of you." Spoke Shorr, breaking the silence with an echo that carried across the expanse. "Knowing that today is to be your last day of training - and perhaps your last day here, at the dojo - I will need to make a trip to the village."
Vik listened, allowing Shorr to continue.
"Your family - I will need to notify them."
Vik's ears perked up. "Of what?" He interrupted. "My family is separated, and not one of them cares for me or understands my duty."
Shorr sighed deeply. This much was true, and it was no secret that it caused the young jackal pain to admit it. "You must understand-" he responded, turning to Vik with a sympathetic expression. "-if you fail, there is no place for you here."
"I understand." Stated Vik, coldly. "But I will not fail."
The mating room was a decidedly barren but accommodating space with a high ceiling that was crisscrossed by support beams - each of which was strung with knotted ropes that would restrain students during intense training sessions. It was dimly lit by candlelight, featureless save for the centerpiece, a sturdy, pendulous, bamboo construction. It was Shorr's handiwork - a ceiling-suspended sex mount designed to be enduring, like the jackals that would be delivering punishment to it for hours on end. The inside - resembling a slick, inviting orifice that was both accommodating and textured, had to be regularly reworked, especially during rutting season.
Vik had arrived early for his training session and was pressed hip-first into the mount, standing in a mosaic of stains - pale streaks of hazy dried cum shooting outward like tendrils. No amount of scrubbing could erase the evidence left by the mating room's abnormally virile users.
Shorr pushed open the sliding door, greeted promptly by Vik's naked form swaying back and forth, illuminated by flickering candlelight. He wrestled with the idea of watching Vik go at it, his toned yet pillowy butt flexing and jiggling with every motion. In the many years that he had trained in the dojo, Shorr had never felt so ashamed to be accompanied in the mating room. It left him flustered and hurriedly adjusting his tented robe.
The young jackal, unperturbed by his master's presence, gripped the bamboo mount firmly, guiding it into his member as his hips pulled him forward. Each thrust that rocked into the soft, lubricated interior of the mount was at once powerful and delicate. It was the way Shorr had taught - to be slow but enduring, to savor the sex, and to put your partner first above all.
"Slower." Commanded Shorr, padding across the room to stand on the other side of the mount. "The festival will be chaotic, people will be frenzied, rutting, and desperate for sex. You must be the one to control the pace."
Placing a hand on the mount, Shorr locked eyes with his student, who was at the very least, exhaling heavily through the nose. His mating slowed, obediently. Shorr tried to shake off a blush.
"Now, harder. Give me extended, strong movements, pushing from tip to base, but no faster than before."
Again, Vik performed as instructed, exaggerating his movements and pulling all the way back with every thrust. The movement of his new pace resounded sloppier, lewder sounds. His eyes narrowed and his breath hitched.
"Good, good." Encouraged Shorr, sounding much like a handler praising their animal. He grasped the mount with both hands and began to brace it against Vik, who continued with his slow, agonizing movements - in and out, gliding forward and tugging backward. This continued for some time, torturously denying Vik the speed and power he needed to reach orgasm, only serving to churn an increasingly fat load inside of him. It was almost cruel to deny such a productive body its well-needed release, but Shorr knew that the festival would be harsher on his body than any training session.
"Vik?" His master called out, catching the rapt attention of the student whose eyes had almost glazed over. "Stop."
The young jackal furrowed his brow at the request, his body tense with energy but forced to slow as directed. The sudden inactivity caused his heavy, overstuffed balls to tighten and his cock to surge.
Shorr tugged at the mount, pulling it from Vik's member with a resounding pop, recklessly slinging lube in every direction and flourishing the young jackal's fierce erection, sending it slapping against his firm abs. The pulsing desire for stimulation that reverberated in Vik's loins was more than difficult to bear, but he clenched his teeth and focused on breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Vik stared back at Shorr with a burning intent in his eyes, more than enthusiastic to continue breeding the mount, ears pointed eagerly toward his master for his next instruction. He was being tested - coaxed into disobeying - but he knew better than to act without his master's permission.
"That's it, allow the tension to build. Now, my student-" Spoke Shorr, his robe stained with the sin of his intoxication. "-Fuck. Your competition wants to finish first, but you will cum on command because you are in control. A Dominator is always in control."
Vik, hearing "Fuck" and needing no elaboration, plunged his painfully hard erection back into the hole, all nine inches of it vanishing into a slick deluge of lube and precum, slamming as deep as it can go. His heavy sack ricocheted from the mount's opening to his own tightly clenched posterior with blistering speed. There was no stopping now - a raspy snarl escaping his throat, saliva bubbling from his gritted fangs. He reached for the ropes that suspended the mount at waist height and clutched them towards him, allowing his hips to do all the work as his head flung back in ecstasy. The mating room sang with a symphony of sexual noises - wet slaps, squelching, taught rope, and bassy growling.
"Cum. Cum for me." Shorr demanded, eyes twinkling and lips quivering at the sight of his student's primal need enacted.
The young jackal obliged, pivoting from heavy, full-body thrusting to frantic pelvic pistoning, beckoning forth the long overdue load that was boiling within. He grunted with each thwap of his sweat-slicken balls, his expression intensely focused on reaching the finale.
Shorr had foregone modesty, using the mount to obscure the hand that was buried in his robe, jerking his cock just out of sight of his student. The risk of being caught only heightened the intensity of his situation, but Shorr knew Vik was seeing pure white. His eyes had rolled back and his hips had all but stopped moving - he was cumming.
A low, hearty groan rumbled from deep within Vik's chest, vibrating through the mount. Shorr could feel it, a release of all the air Vik's lungs could hold. The bamboo construction creaked in response to the onslaught of fluid, its' flexing exterior bowing to the repeated injections of spunk; one, two, three - the spurting continued until steaming jackal seed began to spill from the entrance of the hole. The smell, permeating the room like a thick foggy haze, was that of pure musk, overwhelming the senses. Vik had always been particularly generous with his output, but at the peak of his rigorous training, he was firing off a veritable production line of cum.
It continued to spill viscously from the orifice, a fresh cascade glooping from the stuffed hole and dripping down from Vik's clenched sack with each pulsation. Shorr watched on in delight, arching forward to steady himself for an orgasm of his own, his robe flapping and waving atop a flurry of masturbation.
But it was then that he once again locked eyes with Vik, who, despite being imprisoned by his extended orgasm, was eyeing his master with bewilderment. He huffed and panted, exerting the last of his tapering orgasm with a trio of spirited thrusts.
"M-master?" He endeared between labored breaths. "Why are you-"
But Shorr could do nothing to hide his actions, clenching his eyes shut and tilting his head away from the shame that burned inside as the precipice of his orgasm approached. Vik observed with wide eyes as his master quivered, the thrumming of his comparatively minuscule load pitter-pattering into the gloopy puddle Vik had left below. He smiled, warmly, the display drawing out a few more of his own thin, sympathetic ropes of seed, swirling and converging with his master's as they disappeared into the mess.
Afterglow swept over them, the jackals' hot, breathy panting combining into a duet of sexual harmony. Vik had felt no shame in his actions - he was more than comfortable with performing before his master - so he curiously peeked beneath the mount, arching his body over to get a better look, still plugged inside the hole. "Rutting again, master?" He chuckled.
"No, I-" Shorr weakly replied, unable to find the words to defend his actions.
"It's okay." Vik beamed, folding his arms over the mount and resting his chin upon them. "I don't mind. And besides, it's only natural, right?"
"Vik-"
Tears threatened to spill from Shorr's squinted eyes, his thoughts overcome by waves of guilt and conflict. Vik was so innocent, he couldn't know. He released the mount suddenly, shaking it sideways and causing the young jackal to wince as his sensitive member followed suit.
He was unable to free himself as Shorr hurriedly exited the room, his cock ensnared and his feet concealed in a sticky spill of his own fluids. Vik could only ponder at the sudden outburst, eyes fixated on his master who shoved open the door and disappeared into the early evening, the front of his robe dripping with seed.
The night crept in, distant huddles of lights from the village dissipating one by one, and without a word spoken in hours between the two jackals, it was unusually tense. Vik had retreated to his room to meditate before bed, whilst Shorr had disappeared into the garden to be alone with his thoughts. Both of them were waiting for the other to clear the air, and it would have to be soon - their time together was at an end.
"What do I do?" Called Shorr into the deep expanse of starry sky. "I need you to tell me. I can't do this on my own."
But no response would come from the darkness. Shorr's mind had wandered to his youth, the jubilant, carefree days spent frolicking with his first lover, Seyla.
In the stars, he saw him, watching from afar but unable to give the answers, just the way it had always been - a wordless relationship. Back then, it was their strength, an obstacle that united them, that they could overcome with patience and understanding. Now, the silence was deafening.
Shorr, who had fallen once again for somebody he could never have, knew his feelings were true - they consumed his every thought. What could he say to Vik that wouldn't undo everything they had worked for? What if he felt differently?
Again, there was no response from the darkness. Shorr knew Seyla was out there, and that he knew exactly what to do. But this time, he was alone. He stared down at the shameful stain adorning his robe and clenched his fists. He had to confess his feelings to Vik now or let the moment slip forever.