The Black Game

Honestly, this story is storing out pretty vanilla I guess. Except for the main pairing being father/son.

If incest offends you in any way, please do not continue. Heavy trigger warnings for incest, molestation, etc.

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Chapter One: Touch

 

Orion was a powerful beast. It barely took any effort to drag young Amaranthe across the grand entryway of the manor and upwards to the baths, where he would be scrubbed mercilessly raw by his father's servants until he was deemed “fit” enough to be in the home.

The stairway was opulent and covered by dark red carpeting. Ghostly lighting lined the dark oaken banister. All of it had a faint green, eerie glow to it. The chandelier in the foyer glistened at the very center, jeweled and golden. Bookshelves and oddities were found everywhere on the second landing of the entryway. His father was a collector of items of many interest. Amaranthe saw the servants mulling about; they mindlessly attended to their assigned tasks.

“Welcome back, Lord Amaranthe,” a servant with a blue mask bowed its head deeply at the boy's unceremonious approach. “Shall we prepare the bath for you as Master has instructed?”

He didn't respond, there wasn't much point. They were mindless creatures of magik origin. Not even fit to be called living really. The hound too, oft ignored these faceless beings, and marched on. The blue masked servant's head twisted unnaturally, as it silently watched their departure over its shoulder.

 

Amaranthe landed hard onto the marbled ebony floor while Orion loomed over him. He was nearly heavier than the boy by a hundred pounds and twice his size. His golden fur was sleek and groomed and was probably more well-fed than Amaranthe himself. The temperament and size of this beast was entirely of his father's making, as he bred these monstrous dogs for his amusement and protection of his lands. Narrowing his flashing yellow eyes and snarling, the beast's powerful, squared muzzle nudged him forward. It was prompting Amaranthe to get in the bath. Servants had come in before him and they were busily pouring in hot water and different oils, filling the room with a fragrant, heady scent.

"All for my dearest father,” Amaranthe thought bitterly while hugging himself on the floor. He never did get to bathe himself, although he was nearly fifteen.

“I'm going. I'm going...” he replied wearily to Orion's growl. As he came shakily to his on feet, the blood rushed from his head and he staggered into the tub, his vision swimming. A white-masked servant grabbed his arm callously, while still another began on his back. The wash cloths raked against skin without concern. It was this he hated most of all, as the servants didn't listen to pleads of slowing down or being more gentle. Yet, even so, he was quite accustomed to it and instead, Amaranthe's mind turned thoughts of other things.

 

 

Famine began nearly fifty years prior. Then, of course, came inevitable war. The drought had been sudden and unpredicted by nearby religious temples and soothsayers. Blood spilled. Villages and town were raized to the ground in attempt to milk them for precious supplies. The hardships had changed the very fabric of the land itself rendering a uninhabitable wasteland. All fled, save for the few with enough prowess to survive in such harsh conditions. Belefur, his father's proper name, seemingly appeared out of nowhere around this time. Perhaps he was a product of the horrific landscape itself, for his powers were just terrible and fearsome as the recent catastrophes. He quickly took control of what was now their manor, property, and the surrounding wastelands, ruling in solitude for many years. Until Amaranthe was born.

The boy wasn't entirely sure where he came from to be honest. No mentions were ever made of a mother or even other beings (other than the dogs and servants) living in the house with his father. He really supposed that he shouldn't complain. In the confines of the barrier his father had made, Amara was protected from the terrible conditions of the outside world. Plants grew; animals thrived. There was life in this realm under Belefur's control. Although the boy could never shake the feeling that his beautiful paradise in a sea of nothingness was anything more than a artificial fantasy. One that could shatter just as easily as bone or glass.

 

 

The bath couldn't end quickly enough. He struggled free from the servant's grasps and walked himself to his room or rather...

 

There was no time for dress. Only a few short steps away from where Amaranthe came stood the entrance to bedroom he shared with his father. The doors were smaller than some but still ornate and heavy. After all, Belefur had nothing, if not for a flair for dramatic decor. He pulled the door open with just a little straining this time. Heat and cold rushed against his body all at once, like a wild wind. Amaranthe always thought that this roomed seemed far removed from the rest of the manor, as if in a different world.

If he could say he had a favorite room in this place, he supposed this would be it. The ceilings were a bit lower, although still vaulted with amazing glass work on the very pinnacle of it. The skylight seemed less like a window and more like an portal to a weeping, grey sky above. At night, there was beautiful view constellations and other celestial bodies. (Amaranthe had spent most of his younger days, staring into that skylight, mapping and memorizing these things.) A large curio counter on the far wall was filled with trinkets of his father's taste. Strange glistening orbs, mummified claws of monstrous things, and intricate jewelry. These things, too, fascinated him to no end. It would've taken lifetimes upon lifetimes to collect all of the strange artifacts that Belefur owned. Amara never questioned. To him, nothing was beyond the scope of his father's power.

Belefur was waiting for him there.

He was reclining against an armchair near the fire place. The flames danced and wavered, giving the room a pleasant warmth, albeit a superficial one.

Amaranthe's father looked as glorious as ever. Sitting upright with his usual regal and self-assured bearing. Belefur's long hair was pulled over one shoulder and spilling out in thick waves. His features, sharp and angular with thin, brightly colored eyes and his skin of pure alabaster. He had changed his robe from before. Instead favoring a lighter one, it hung open on his frame, exposing his chest and a single pendant that hung from his long neck. Amara's presence was barely acknowledged.

"Come to me, my pet. As you are," his father insisted as Amaranthe eyed the clothes laid out for him on their bed.

He took a few shakey steps in order to kneel in front of his father's armchair and bow his head in apology. "Forgive me--" he began, but was silenced as Belefur tilted his chin upwards, pressing a finger lightly against his lips.

"Save your words for those that believe them. You have greatly displeased your father today. How do you intend to correct this mistake?"

"I shall prostrate myself before you and accept whatever punishment you deem fit, my loving father." Amaranthe's eyes were practically glowing with resentment.

"Yes," Belefur responded. "I suppose that will have to do. However, if spit out your words any harder darling, I might start mistaking you for a cobra." Absently ran his fingers through his son's rather long hair. It reached the floor, that's how Belefur preferred it after all. "I wish to retire to bed quickly tonight so, for now, assume your regular position and you shall receive the first part--of many, mind you--of your punishment."

It is a common occurrence for children to be physically punishment by their parents, but Amara had long outgrown the age that he should be laying across his father's lap, waiting to be smacked by his rather heavy-handed father. He bit his trembling lip and tried to suppress the blush forming in his cheeks. Oh, and how Belefur did like to draw these little moments out. Listening to the harsh breathing of the young boy--nay--nearly a young man, as he quivered on across his knee. He idly wondered if Amaranthe truly understand how completely...exhilarating the whole experience was. Long nails ghosted against the white, soft flesh of the boy's backside; he flinched.

"Now, now," Belefur whispered with thinly veiled amusement. "No need for all that excitement yet."

The first strike came hard and quick. It was a solid blow, landing harshly on the round of the boy's ass. He whimpered and clutched his father's robes tightly, trying to hold in his voice for his long as possible. It was a rapid assault with no breaks in between. The flesh there was quickly growing red the assault. Surely, there would be bruises that lasted for days. Tears came into his eyes, he couldn't fight them. Another strike. Amaranthe silently sobbed. When this punishment had first started when he was very young, he had begged for it to end. After all these years he knows that those sorts of words only spurred Belefur to go harder. The next one hit rather low on his backside, he squealed audibly, rending the material of the robes in his hands.

"If you continuing squirming, I shall think this punishment is not adequate and I will fetch the paddle. Is that want you want, Amara, dear?"

"No," he whimpered out in response.

"Excuse me?"

 

"--I mean--No, sir. I won't move again; I promise."

Belefur switched his son's position, favoring the idea of Amaranthe lying on his back, with his knees pressed against his flushed chest. The skin on the boy's ass was pulled taut, making each precise strike more painful than before. Full sobbing came, there was no more holding back. Blow after blow came, it seemed nearly endless. Amaranthe's mind was reeling each time he felt those strong hit against the already abused flesh. Nearly forty strikes had passed, he had counted every single one, as he has always been instructed. His father paused; now came the question:

"How many did you receive, my pet?"

Amaranthe licked his lips nervously. If he was wrong, more was sure to come. "Thirty-seven, sir?"

"Thirty-seven exactly? Are you certain?"

He tried to swallow the lump his throat. He choked out: "Y-yes, Father. I am certain."

He felt those same hands that caused him so much agony earlier. Gently stroke his sweating forehead. "You have improved in your counting. That is most disappointing."

 

 

Nestled underneath blankets and furs, Amara found comfort in the sound of Belefur's even and quiet breathing. His backside ached terribly, but at least now he could have some rest. The storm that had began earlier that evening was in full motion now. Winds wailed against the strong walls of the manor and torrential rains poured out from the weeping sky.

Some years had passed since encounters with his father began. At first it was an even stroke or a kiss that was too long placed on the cheek. As he grew older however, it progressed it deep kissing, unsurrendering pressure, fiery passion that nearly heated every fiber of the boy's being to an unbearable amount. Thinking of how that man could build up his pleasure, make it wrack his entire body, caused Amaranthe to shutter while clutching himself.

Of course, there was terrible things as well. Uncomfortable incidents.The stifling absolute control that Belefur had over each aspect of the boy's life. It was too much to bear at times...sometimes he wished to be far away from here. Especially now when the next few days, he'd only be ignored. He hated when his father lacked in affection for him.

Belefur turned in his sleep.

Amaranthe ran his small fingers over his stomach . A light blush was forming on his cheeks as he continued to teasingly touch upward, along his chest. His fingertips worked underneath his night clothes, tracing circles around pale nipples. He tried to stifle a moan. He worked quickly, sliding a hand in between his thighs and firmly grasping the flesh between them. In hurried strokes, Amara sought release. Moving his sweaty palms over his on arousal. Desperate. Whimpering. It never took him long on nights like this to get close to the brink. He thought of his father's hands on him. Covering him. Smacking his flesh. He bit his lip and whimpered. Tight heat was beginning to build up in his body, bringing him so close.

A firm grasp and a shock throughout his body broke the boy away from the brink. He stared, wide-eyed at the wall, refusing to look over his shoulder. For he knew his large, firm hands grasped his wrists so tightly. Amara trembled; Belefur tutted him lightly.

"Just what are you doing now, pet?"