Friday, September 3, 2010

Lastmanouthere's Beautiful Tale of Nehme

I never would have thought that suggesting a Mayan character a few weeks ago would have led to something so extraordinary as what I am about to present to you today. Lastmanouhthere and I often talk at length about our two characters. One day I really gave Nehme and Ixybalanque control of my imagination. I had to take a bus somewhere and while listening to music, thought of nothing but the two of them. I saw Nehme in constant comedic struggle with Ixy, who had not trouble thwarting and showing him up at every turn. When I came online the next day I told Lastman all about my thoughts on their back story. While I was out wasting time at the Con, Lastman, was hard at work doing up a story that is way too sexy and even spiritual. I had the honor of being the first to read it and he asked me to edit it as well. This great tale was very hard to edit...cough cough.. LOL. I was in complete awe of how sensual it was. This guy needs to become a romance novelist!

It's with greatest pleasure that I present this to you all today, the Tale of Nehme by my dearest Lastmanouthere:

Hearths pounding.
Sweat coated the two bodies.
His own gasping. The gasping of the other one.
A maelstrom of sensations revolved inside Nehme, just as the last time, just as all the times.
And yet he was not jaded. He was not satiated. For each minute of the carnal dance they played was but a pale shade of the next. It was like this every time.
It was as though every gear in the universe stopped its historical shift to allow for the two men to give themselves to one another.
His own. His very own brave warrior. Nehme watched him. And then stroked the beautiful body. For whence before in time, was such a wonder of male humanity?
Watching and not touching was tantamount to a sin against nature. And as a natural being, Nehme couldnʼt help but getting close to His Brave One. Feeling his tights , dense and muscular; his abdomen, ripped and stone-hard; his broad and welcoming chest. There was simply no way to relinquish contact. To put bronze and bronze together in a glorious amalgamation of skins. And as though molten metal, the two bodies fused at contact, becoming one for a fleeting moment in the grand eternity that time was.

One more time, one more night, full lips touched. Salty taste being passed in a tender gesture, that not soon enough turned into a lustful fight of tongues.
In their heated passion the two men looked as though they were vainly trying to devour each other, but instead of eating flesh, they feasted on kisses. They ate each other soul, promptly reclaimed by the rightful owner whom took a piece not belonging to him, so that, with each kiss, the two spirits were merged until indistinguishable.

Going over the muscled sculptures that were their bodies, Nehme’s hands desperately sought some soft area to grab a hold of, failing miserably due to his Brave Oneʼs firm and wondrous surface. But nothing was lost, as an electrifying surge of passion flowed every instant contact was made. In turn, the Dark Priest felt his body being equally traced, equally loved; exhibiting a firmness that could do nothing but give in to the tenderness of the caresses received.
How long was this, almost mystical, foreplay going on? Nehme was not able to tell. The rhythm accelerated, the heat built up; the air became thicker. It became harder to breath. Before anyone realized it, tongues were no longer the only flesh finding their way into the mouths.

Like ravenous coyotes, the men feed off the meaty pieces that hung from their groins. They drank first saline secretions, those that heralded thicker, milkier juices. For the moment, it was enough. Simply having His Brave One’s member engorged, finding its way into his throat, was all the moment called for. Slowly, carefully, one inch at the time, Nehme had his beloved inside him, just as he was in turn consumed.
The flesh inside his mouth was growing. It got harder, like a vase baking in a fire. Was the fire in his mouth hot enough for pottery? It was hot enough for shaping males phalluses to a perfect hardened shape, that was certain.
The flesh inside his mouth was growing. It got harder, like a vase baking in a fire. Was the fire in his mouth hot enough for pottery? It was hot enough for shaping males phalluses to a perfect hardened shape, that was certain.
His Brave Ones big brown member flopped around in his heat and saliva. The foreskin moved up and down, stretching into different shapes in his mouth. The cock pulsated, grew and bent like a living piece of clay being rubbed between the palms of a skilled artisan. It’s sensitivity was peeked. It felt ready to climax with every spin of his tongue. The Brave One remained in place unwilling to move as he embraced every second he could of Nemes technique.

But while the instant was all that was, the next instant arrived and exceeded the previous one. In a spiraling chain of memorable seconds, time flowed like water down a spring. The bodies moved, wrapping over themselves; riding and straddling, mounting and lying, arching and bending until the final realization arrived: the future existed, and future held an even mightier treasure than the
ones experienced.

Once more time, one more night, Nehme looked into His Brave Oneʼs eyes. Amidst the black nothingness that filled them, the Dark Priest saw himself and saw his lover. But therein was not more than one person. Nehmeʼs mind was bewildered, but it didnʼt matter. It never mattered. Their humanities were already in position, and nothing mattered anymore but His Brave One.
Gently, Nehme could feel a cock sliding into place.
Was his pulsating man-meat piercing the body of his lover?
Was his yearning bottom being penetrated?
He couldnʼt tell, because there was no “him” anymore. He was one with His Brave One, who was in turn one with Nehme. Their souls had merged, and he could not tell his being from the other’s.
He didnʼt want to.
There was no reason to.
So, as the searing cock assaulted the pair of cheeks and ripped apart his sphincter, Nehme felt pain and pleasure he thought only the gods deserved.
His humanity was stirred to the core as he felt both given and giver, both sky and earth. Once, twice, and a countless times more, hips thrust, entrails were filled, and their lasciviousness was one and the same with the purest love.
The Dark Priest, for a moment, forgot all of his personal history. All the pain and dread of his life vanished to nothingness. In such an ephemeral event, Nehme ceased to exist by surrendering to existence. He lived by abandoning life.

Sweat splashed, skin rubbed. His body arched as it tried to accommodate all that was filling him.
Hair dampened. Eyes went veiled. A member conquered a laxer by the second ass.
One more time.
One more night.
Time again stopped so that past and future were a silly notion.
The two lovers gave into each other all they had. They gifted their selves and got the same in return. Places switched and still remained the same. Nipples were bitten, causing more pain to the attacker than to the attacked.
Nehme knew His Brave One was reaching climax. He knew it from his own mirrored eagerness for a release. He thrusted even harder, and consequently felt pounded with renewed might.
The male energy revolving between the two that were one was too much to be contained. Too much to be negated. In a firm, final motion, the shaft that embodied lust succeeded, demolishing the barrier that kept ecstasy trapped inside the bodies. In a scream of utter magnificence, Nehme and His Brave One found glory in each other in the form of a hot surge of man juice. It was all that was before, and more. Fulfilling to his soul, and filling to his
body, which was unable to keep all the fluid inside. With each new spasm, Nehme shot more milk into his loverʼs inside, and at the same time could feel the same milk spilling beyond his anus.

The Dark Priest rejected reason, ignoring whatever concern about what twisted magic could bring about a love this formidable. It mattered not. All that was for him was his Brave One, filling and being filled with the creamy substance that was both cause and consequence of male love.

Embracing his beloved, he did not want time to resume. He wished so hard to be able to hold onto the flesh that was his own a little longer. As Nehme had a hard time conceiving thoughts, the spasms waned in intensity and frequency. Time came into existence again, though slowly. Gradually, sensations other than exhilarating passion were once more felt.

Nehme, his heart still in a frenzy, gained enough willpower to command himself to look into His Brave Ones eyes. He wanted, needed, to see them both coalesced into one self, one man. But his movements were not his entirely now. As reality was reforming, he seemed to be vanishing, dissolving, like a dream in the morning.

He begged for one more look, one more epiphany of his beloved and him, together in a way no mortal could describe. Yet as his eyes tried or pierce the black that were those eyes, he found himself loosing himself into nothingness, drifting apart from His Brave One; into a realm were such endearment was but an unreachable ideal.

One more time, one more night, Nehme was claimed by consciousness.

* * *

The Dark Priest woke up agitated, filled with unrest. He looked around his dwelling, which was dimly illuminated by a shyly rising sun.
That dream again.
His Brave One, his beloved warrior, making love to Nehme the way they never had the chance to do in then flesh.
But just as it would have been with real sexual intercourse, Nehmeʼs naked body was coated in sweat, his muscles tired and resisting any more activity.
His cock was half-hard, half flaccid, the foreskin slowly covering his head by the second. An copious amount of jism was still spilling from it, soaking his his petate bed.
Was his asshole sore too? It couldn’t be. Wet dreams couldn’t make him feel fucked, no matter how intense. Then again, this morning certainly had not been the first time. This recurring dream was not a common one. It was more frequent now, almost once per week. It was more vivid too each time.

Nehme rose and contemplated the still undried sticky substance that had came out from him in the night. Should he “wake up” Naoume to clean him? The sultry female puppet would give him some scorn, as usual, but in the end she would bath him. All she lived for was to please him–in her own, sisterly loving way, of course–. Nehme took a look at where the trio of puppets rested. Did they dream too?

Even as he had mastered much of the night magic after his acquisition of the bird mask and gauntlet, there were still many mysteries kept from him. What his puppets exactly were and who on Earth constructed them, were two of those secrets.
In any case, the amazonian woman could sleep a little longer. In a few more hours, they would all travel to the village to perform the cleansing ritual for a hateful but rich crone. She thought her son was the subject of a charm by a local beauty, so Nehmeʼs skills were required to dispel the–most probably–imaginary enchantment. It made no difference to him whether he needed to conjure a love spell, or cast a repulsion one. As long as the seashells ended
up in his pocket, the ladyʼs son would not go near the girl again.

It was already too late for him to try to sleep again; too much light to be comfortable, to little to do anything inside.
He took a last glance at his trio, before going out, and as he did so, his sight, almost as if directed, went to the pile of puppets he had not yet been able to “wake.” Some human, some humanoid, some animal in nature. He was certain he could bring to life all of them, eventually. All but one. It–no, he–rested apart from the pile. It was as though the puppet had always wanted to distance himself from the other puppets.
Nehme handʼt even found him before the very first night he perfected in his new dwelling, high in a cave away from the city. The weird, handsome male puppet laid in the darkest corner, visible only under the first lights of the morning. The wooden man had scared him at first, for he was much lifelike and better detailed than any other
of the puppets there. Nehme’s vision became affixed the moment he looked at that naked, still body, leaning against the farthest wall. There was something in it that both scared and captivated the Dark Priest. A resemblance that was all too obvious to him, that the mere thought of it sent shivers down his spine. But it couldnʼt be truth.
Nehme smiled, or at least, made a slight grin. It was was the closest to a smile his face seemed to be able to perform. He pulled his vision from that form against the wall and remembered positively the early stages of his dark ministry. He taught himself the arts, he was a natural at this.
Eventually, without anyoneʼs meddling, he managed to wake eKe, the bird. Later, the pygmy warrior Nee. Naoume was the last of the puppets he enchanted and kept by his side. A handful of other beings, mostly animals, he had sold to aristocrats, priests and warriors, earning a more than decent amount of money from the transactions. He had built a reputation as a priest-for-hire out of his mastery of the dark arts, since people here, away from the kingdom seat, were not specially prejudiced towards black magic. Hell, most of them didn’t give a damn, as long as their limbs were haled and their lovers kept on a leash.

Despite all he learned and had done on his own, the one puppet remained out of his grasp, beyond his powers. It was the one he longed the most to rise. That naked, handsome male was not just difficult to treatas were the others he had not at first been able to enchant. No, that puppet was well beyond his abilities. Beyond whatever he had learned or could learn there. He wanted, to be able to speak to the male doll, to know if the mysterious resemblance was merely physical coincidence, or something more, something
twisted and secret. Something... divine?
This lack of knowledge and skillfulness caused Nehme frustration. He had thrown away codices on more than one occasion, deciding to give up time and again. But the yearning only grew stronger with each defeat and dead end. It consumed the Dark Priest.

The former warrior rarely allowed himself memories of his past life. He had no need for them, he did not even like to admit to he still had many of them. His career as a minister of the dark was worth
remembering, not because he was fond of those memories, but because they were related to his immediate future. His upcoming quest. Because eventually, frustration gave way to purpose; and purpose, to objectives.
Nehme WAS going to wake the male puppet, and to do so, he needed stronger magic. If his night magic wasnʼt enough, he would use day magic too. Not even the higher priests could use, nor grasp the magic of the sun, at least not like he was able to use the magic of night. They would not admit it, of course. Such hypocrites.
He had been researching for some time now. First, from gossiping, then, by short travels to near temples where codices were kept. Legend had it that Sun Magic was once practiced in the Old City, Theotihuacan. The city that people claimed the gods dwelled before mankind existed. The legends of the City of the Gods were as much truth as they were myth. Nobody knew were it was anymore, or if it even existed in the first place.
No. There was no way around, at least not from Nehmeʼs point of view. The secrets of the Sun lay in the City of the Gods, whether this was true or not. The Dark Priest would do anything possible and more to get there.

He knew of rumors about a young, gifted sorcerer way south, in the land of the Jungle-dwellers. While it had been a great empire once, the Mayan lands were now a number of small state-cities ruled by priests and kings alike, some warring, some peaceful. This young master, it seemed, was revered by most of the states as a god
incarnated, some sort of Messiah. Nehme had followed Ixybalanqueʼs feats closely for an entire year now. People said that, despite his tender age–barely a man, more of a teenager–, the young Mayan was as wise and powerful as he was appealing. They claimed he had knowledge of lore long time forgotten. So far, this was the closest thing to a clue he had, a potential answer to the whereabouts of the Old City.

This was going to be the last day he spent in the village. Next sunrise, Nehme and the trio of puppets would depart due southeast, towards the lands of the jungle-dwelling Mayans.
Once there, he would extract information from the mysterious kid, by any means necessary.

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