黑暗激情

The streets of Dagraz, one of many drow underground cities, which even its own inhabitants could not call picturesque, for in the Underdark beauty is a very relative concept, had never (understandably) known sunlight. And now, while the roofs of houses in surface cities were bathed in the soft pinkish light of the setting sun, and passersby hurried home before darkness fell, here, in the Underdark, it was as dark as always. However, an attentive observer, who also possessed night vision, would not have failed to note that craftsmen and merchants were closing their shops and, just like their surface counterparts, were sedately dispersing

some to their homes, and others to a nearby tavern to have a glass or two of hot wine.

There was nothing surprising in this, for the dark elves also measured their time in days, and their sun was a burning column in the center of the city. Right now, the column had burned down to three-quarters, which corresponded to evening on the surface. And when the column burned out completely, midnight would come, a time when peaceful citizens were at home, but life in the taverns was positively bubbling.

The tavern "On the Edge of the Blade" was somewhat different from the others. Its owner, the 350-year-old dark elf RaHyeor, which meant "Breath of Death" in the drow tongue, was famous throughout the Underdark for his dizzying adventures and exploits both underground and on the surface, and no less for his dizzying disregard for rules, whatever they might be. His insatiable curiosity had led him everywhere; there was no place in the world where his dark nose hadn't poked. And unlike many other adventurers, RaHyeor not only remained whole and unharmed but even managed to amass a considerable sum of money and a whole collection of artifacts, which mages from all over the world now coveted.

An excellent swordsman, he was known in his youth as a hired assassin (a very honorable profession among dark elves), and his quick reflexes combined with honed skill had saved him more than once in a tight spot. However, no matter how strong the thirst for adventure, everything gets boring eventually. RaHyeor had given 300 years of his life to adventures, and feeling that he was no longer young, he decided to settle down and become respectable. 350 years for a dark elf is a period of maturity and the prime of life, but he had grown thoroughly tired of the wandering life, and adventures no longer stirred his blood. And so he returned to his hometown in the Underdark, renovated a house, turning it into a well-protected mansion, and lived quietly for a whole year, successfully ignoring various elven women's attempts to snare him. During that year, he managed to earn a reputation as a grim, intelligent, and therefore very dangerous fellow. He was respected, some were openly afraid of him.

However, RaHyeor was quickly seized by boredom from doing nothing, and then he came up with the idea of opening a tavern. But not an ordinary one, for the company of merchants would have bored him on the very first day. "On the Edge of the Blade" attracted lovers of gambling, and every evening someone here gained wealth, while someone else, conversely, lost it. RaHyeor sacredly guarded the establishment's reputation, and in 5 years there had not been a single case of cheating, which fact, along with free drinks for the players and smiling, buxom waitresses, attracted quite a crowd here.

RaHyeor's tavern was considered elite; in the evenings one could meet quite well-known personalities in the city here, and there were never any disturbances, for one calm look from the owner was enough to make even an inveterate brawler suddenly remember his reputation and instantly sober up. Pickpockets hadn't come here since RaHyeor personally cut off the fingers of those caught red-handed. Entry for ladies of easy virtue was also prohibited here, so as not to distract from the game. But who there really were a lot of here were young and not-so-young townsfolk dreaming of getting rich in an instant.

Mienal was one of them, a slender youth in a worn doublet, whom no lady would approach, for such individuals see right through a client's purse, and in this youth's purse there was usually an amount barely sufficient to drink tea before bed. However, today was a significant day for Mienal, and he had enough money for dinner at a good establishment, and maybe even with fruit, fabulously expensive in the Underdark. The reason was that Mienal had taken all his savings with him. And he intended to use them today to get rich.

Like all low-born elves, Mienal was forced to work to feed himself. The path of a warrior or mage turned out not to be for him, for he had too slow a reaction for a warrior, and he had no aptitude for magic at all. And he also had no calling for other respected professions—assassin, executioner, bard, blacksmith, artist. And all that remained was to work as a clerk in the shop of a malicious, greedy merchant who paid him miserable crumbs, which were barely enough to live on. And one evening, sitting in a cramped little room over a glass of cheap sour wine, Mienal suddenly thought that he could try his hand at cards. He had seen enough examples where, by the will of luck, wealth came to just such rootless, unremarkable elves as himself. This idea firmly lodged in his mind. And having saved up a modest sum of 35 crowns, which seemed like a whole fortune to him, he dressed in his best clothes and came to "On the Edge of the Blade," hoping if not to leave here a rich man, then at least to double this sum and make acquaintances in the higher circles of society.

The excitement that gripped him at the sight of those with whom he was to sit at the same table was more intoxicating than wine. A second-level mage, a guy from the assassins' guild, a woman in rich attire, perhaps even a noble one, the head of a famous mercenary band—far from a complete list of those who came to "On the Edge of the Blade" to drink, socialize, and play.

He was terribly embarrassed during the first deal, his cottony hands refused to obey him, and the only thing spinning in his head was that unlike the other players, he had never played for money before, and in general, he was no pro at cards, although he had happened to beat not the weakest opponents. To his relief, although the round ended not in his favor and the money went to the mage, his result was far from the worst.

Mienal perceived what followed as if through a fog: here his money passes to the assassin, and here luck smiles on him too, and he gets more than 300 crowns but the pot is already over a thousand and he wants to get them... And the winnings slip away to the mage, and a feeling of hot resentment makes him ask RaHyeor for money on credit again... And then again. And again, and then again...

the pile of gold lying on the table migrated to the mercenary, and he, grinning, said that he'd had enough and got up, preparing to leave. Then Mienal, out of resentment, drank half a bottle in one gulp and lost consciousness.

"How much do I owe?" he asked RaHyeor in a weak voice.

He glanced at him briefly.

"A lot," he threw out indifferently.

"How much?" Mienal asked again. The drunkenness began to leave him, and he realized that he had borrowed from RaHyeor himself, and that everything borrowed would have to be repaid.

"A very great deal," RaHyeor said slowly, assessing the youth with his gaze.

He stood up easily, walked around the tables, approaching the youth, and placed the promissory notes on the table in front of him. With hands growing cold, Mienal flipped through them. 70 gold, then 200, then 500, then one and a half thousand... In total, more than 3 thousand. Three thousand gold, in the name of all the gods, Mienal wouldn't earn that much in his entire life... Especially since RaHyeor was not one to wait long, it suddenly occurred to him. Mienal grew cold and swallowed convulsively.

RaHyeor, meanwhile, went to the counter, fished out some good wine from behind it, and sat down on a table, savoring a drink from the bottle. "Tamika," more than 18 years aged, the youth noted mechanically. 200 crowns per gallon.

"Where will I get so much money..." Mienal muttered in confusion, more to himself than to anyone else.

"That's no longer my concern," RaHyeor responded mockingly.

Mienal immediately remembered his reputation and fully realized the scale of the disaster. He owed an astronomical sum to an elf famous for his tough character and complete lack of mercy, which, by the way, was characteristic of dark elves in general. However, RaHyeor had both the strength and the means to carry out any threat.

His knees treacherously trembled. Mienal took several deep breaths, gathered his courage, and in a voice breaking with fear, addressed RaHyeor:

"Lord RaHyeor, at the moment I cannot repay you such a sum," — the other raised one eyebrow, and the youth's heart sank somewhere even below his heels, but he found the strength to finish, — "perhaps it's possible to work it off somehow?"

"Perhaps."

Mienal immediately perked up, and when RaHyeor went deeper into the tavern, ordering him to follow, he obeyed with relief, glad that he wasn't going to be killed.

RaHyeor left the tavern through the back door, crossed a small courtyard, and entered his mansion. Mienal didn't lag a step behind, afraid of angering his creditor. And so, RaHyeor went up to the second floor and with a nod ordered the guy to enter the room in front of him.

The walls of the room were decorated with exotic weapons, rare books crowded the shelves, and in the middle of the room was a huge bed covered with an intricately embroidered spread. Mienal modestly stepped aside to the wall, wondering what he would have to do here. Surely they wouldn't make him dust. Especially since it was already clean.

RaHyeor locked the bedroom door from the inside and turned to the youth with a smile.

"You can undress," he said calmly.

From such a turn of events, Mienal's head spun. He looked at RaHyeor in bewilderment, thinking he was joking. RaHyeor, seeing the youth's surprise, deemed it necessary to explain:

"You don't know how to do anything useful, right? In any case, I won't get three thousand even if I sell you to mages for experiments. You'll have to work it off, kid. You're cute, and I don't suffer from the prejudice that one can only sleep with women."

Mienal finally understood exactly how he would have to work off the ill-fated three thousand. Horror gripped his throat and made him press himself against the wall, but he found the strength to squeeze out:

"I... I don't want to... I've never done this before... I don't know how... I won't... I don't want to..."

RaHyeor was next to him in one movement, making him press against the wall even harder. Mienal realized in horror that if this elf decided to take him by force, it would not be difficult for him. He was taller, stronger, faster... resistance was useless in any case. Mienal glanced at the door, trying to estimate if he could reach it. The touch of a cold blade to his chin brought him out of his thoughts.

"If you don't want to work it off this way, then you'll work it off as a zombie cleaner. I didn't force you to borrow. And no one stopped you from quitting in time. So you'll pay for your stupidity. You'll spend your entire joyless existence washing floors in the tavern until the flesh falls off and I decide to sell your bones to mages for their magical trinkets."

And that would only be fair. — RaHyeor's icy voice made him tremble as if with a fever. There was nothing to object.

Mienal tried to imagine that he would be killed, then zombified, and his soul and remains would forever belong to this grim elf. Such a prospect frightened him so much that unsolicited tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. His frightened gaze met RaHyeor's cold gaze, and he understood that there would be no mercy. RaHyeor was already doing him a favor by allowing him to work off the money with his body. He didn't want to die. And Mienal chose the lesser of two evils. Looking down, he quietly said "I agree" and reached for the ties on the collar of his doublet.

He felt RaHyeor remove the blade. By the time the last item of clothing fell to the floor and he dared to raise his gaze, RaHyeor was already sitting on the bed. The only clothing on him was an open robe, which did nothing to hide his strong, flexible body. Mienal thought with some shame that his own physique was like that of a teenager.

And next to RaHyeor, he was completely unremarkable. RaHyeor, unaware of the thoughts tormenting the young elf, paused, looking him over from head to toe and watching with a smirk as he was flooded with a blush of embarrassment, noticeable even through his ashen skin. He beckoned him with a finger, and he approached, again lowering his gaze. And RaHyeor abruptly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards himself, making him fall onto the bed next to him.

Mienal felt with horror how hot lips forcefully pressed into his mouth, how strong fingers stroked his body, played with his nipples, gently caressed his thighs, until finally they rested on his buttocks. The youth reflexively tensed up and received a light slap on the buttocks. He forced himself to relax, and RaHyeor's palm resumed its caresses. It seemed like an eternity had passed before RaHyeor, having had his fill of touching, abruptly stood up, leaned on the headboard, and in a hoarse voice ordered Mienal to pleasure him with his mouth.

The youth reluctantly knelt before him and looked at the ashen flesh before his eyes. He hesitated, not daring to proceed, looked up and saw RaHyeor's relaxed gaze turn to one of irritation. Swallowing, he decided to touch his lips to what he had previously seen only on himself and only in a secluded place, suitable for contemplating the eternal. To his surprise, it wasn't so unpleasant; at least the skin was tender, silky, and smelled good. He decided to involve his tongue as well, afraid that he had dragged out the foreplay too long and RaHyeor would get angry. A hand rested on the back of his head, urging him to take the hardening flesh completely into his mouth. Mienal obeyed, and without stopping the caresses with his tongue, began to move his head back and forth. RaHyeor's breathing grew heavier; with his hand he approvingly ruffled the youth's hair, and he, feeling that under his caresses the flesh in his mouth had hardened to the state of stone, thought with resignation that it was only the beginning.

RaHyeor suddenly pulled away, lifted the youth from his knees, and laid him on the bed. Everything inside Mienal grew cold when his legs suddenly ended up on his master's shoulders, who, looming over him, easily held his weight on one arm, and with the other, free hand, gently caressed his perineum, lubricating it with some pleasantly scented ointment. Mienal felt something hot and wet entering him, forcing him to open wider and arch in an attempt to avoid this invasion. He was afraid it would hurt, but to his surprise, RaHyeor acted very gently, entering him gradually and increasing the pace very slowly. The position was not very comfortable for either of them, and RaHyeor soon ordered Mienal to get on all fours and spread his buttocks with his hands, which he did. The second invasion of hot flesh was much less gentle. RaHyeor squeezed Mienal's buttocks, not so much moving himself as impaling the young elf on his member.

He accelerated and began to thrust more and more sharply until he heard stifled sobs and realized he was causing the youth pain. However, the juicy, elastic buttocks before his eyes made him squeeze the youth tighter and tighter until finally RaHyeor jerked convulsively one last time, pressing the youth's thighs to himself and spurting his seed into him. Mienal fell down exhausted, utterly humiliated and worn out. He felt the warm seed flowing out of him, running down his thighs, and thought detachedly whether RaHyeor would be angry about the ruined bedspread. But something moist passed over his buttocks, and he realized RaHyeor was wiping him with a cloth. He had no strength left for anything, and he simply closed his eyes. He felt himself being lifted in arms and then laid down again, this time on