Bloodraven by P. L. Nunn

A big hand slid under his belly, encircling his torso, fingers finding one nipple and rolling it between thumb and forefinger, pulling and tugging just enough to evict a sound from Yhalen’s throat—but not enough to 24
    make him cry out. The other hand slid down his spine, broad hand splayed out, covering his skin, moving in firm strokes down his hips, across his buttocks, down his thighs and between his legs, lingering in the heat it found there, not quite grazing his dangling balls, but almost, before it roamed back up, taking in every inch of Yhalen’s skin.
    His breathing had grown harsh, his heart beat rapid and the pain of penetration hadn’t even begun.
    There was a tingling sensation between his legs, an aching irritation that begged for attention. Yhalen’s eyes widened in surprise—in horror as he realized that the ache centered about his twitching shaft. Oh, Goddess, how could he...? He was chained and naked and imprisoned and had this thing’s unwanted hands stroking his body like he might stroke a beast to calm it—and his body betrayed him. No matter the feel of the callused hands on his flesh, the rhythmic motion of firm fingers pressed into his skin and muscle—no matter how gentle the touch, how unnerving the sensation as first one nipple then the other was tugged and toyed with—there was nothing, nothing pleasurable about it. Nothing that warranted....
    Ah, Goddess, the hand slipped down his belly and between his legs, fingers stroking his half-rigid length, enclosing it within the warmth of the large palm, squeezing gently, pulling on the taut flesh.
    Yhalen gasped and whimpered, losing strength in his arms and falling forward onto his elbows.
    Bloodraven pulled him back up, the other arm encircling his chest, lips and tongue pressed to the back of his neck.
    “Stop. Stop it, damn you.” Yhalen groaned. “This isn’t right. It’s not my fault. It’s wrong. I shouldn’t be—I’m taking no pleasure from this. It’s the Goddess punishing me—humbling me—that’s causing this.
    It’s not what you’re doing. Do you understand? You repulse me. You’re not even human—only half a one and my stomach turns when I even look at you...so...it’s... not...not what you’re doing...”
    He cried out, when the hand tightened. Bloodraven growled something at him, low and soft.
    Perhaps a warning to shut up. Yhalen hardly knew. He could hardly think with his cock encased in the halfling’s huge hand. With a body’s warmth against his back and hot, wet lips on his neck. With a long tongue tracing the back of his ear while teeth took the hard ridge of the shell between them and gently bit, moving down to the lobe to nibble and pull at that. He shut his eyes and moaned, shivering and shamed as his body reflexively jerked forward, pumping into the ogr’ron’s hand.
    Yhalen would just come and have it over with. That’s what Bloodraven was apparently after. He did, after a few more strokes, spurting his seed onto the furs and wanting to collapse afterwards, but unable to, as he was held on his hands and knees by the ogr’ron. Bloodraven stroked his back and his sides, repeating the words to stay in that position. Yhalen did, trembling badly, head down and breathing harsh. Bloodraven left him for a moment, but was back in short order, big hands back on his hips and back, stroking, massaging. His fingers were slick with the scented salve he used to prepare Yhalen for sex. He spread Yhalen’s cheeks with his thumbs and rubbed the salve around the human’s puckered entrance. The finger that entered wasn’t painful at all, slick with grease as it was. Bloodraven twisted it around, taking some pleasure, Yhalen thought miserably, from simply watching Yhalen’s body swallow his digit. The ogr’ron much preferred to take Yhalen in positions where he could watch whatever it was he chose to insert pump in and out of Yhalen’s flesh.
    Bloodraven added a second big finger and Yhalen’s elbows