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Iron Author

Air Deprivation

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Breathless

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

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Sandor heaved for breath in the training arena, though, that late at night, it was dark and quiet, only lit by torches flickering at the outer edges of the arena. The roof was curved, magically enchanted to stay in place despite no obvious supports, though it had been soundproofed with magically infused architecture so that training may take place in there without disturbing others at the academy. No one knew that he was in there with Jykon, the large, anthro bull who had dared speak out against Alyssa. It was a subject of much unrest at the academies for mages, even though many should have known already that Sandor was a force to be reckoned with. The white fox wielded his magic through his staff, Kastalia, but sometimes not even Kastalia was enough for him.

"Give in now, Sandor," Jykon drawled, the black bull fingering the tip of a grey horn, his robes open to reveal his bare, black chest. "There is nothing here that you can take. Your partner is not of any concern to me... Only bringing down your reputation."

The fox bared his teeth, ears pinned, the staff angled in front of his body as he called on his nature magic, sending roots through the earth below the arena. Distracting the bull with flame attacks, he sent tongues of fire lancing out towards Jykon, forcing the bull to dodge. His nature magic was secondary to his pyromancy, though Sandor was not to know how that would change in the future.

"If others were less concerned with my reputation, perhaps they would ascend to it!"

Alas, not every mage was below Sandor, even though he had great power indeed. And not every mage in the world was in line with him either, not good, not seeking out the best in the world.

Jykon smirked casually, sinking back on his heels as he levelled his sword, though it was not a sword that was ever intended to connect with another body. It was merely to channel and focus his magic, like Sandor's staff, even if it took a more aggressive form.

Yet Sandor could never have expected the attack to come from twisting inside him, lunging with the staff as his roots broke the surface of the arena and...fell aside, useless, helpless. He couldn't control them, not as he clutched at his chest and throat, eyes wide and bulging, staggering. His flames petered out, sputtering as if they had been snuffed out like a candle, the great pyromancer stomped down into the ground and the dirt that he had once commanded along with his fire magic.

No! He had to stay up, but it felt like every breath of air that had been in his lungs had been ripped from him, even though he still felt as if he should have been fully capable of taking another, full breath. He had the muscles there, didn't he? He remembered how to breathe, didn't he? But that still didn't mean that he could breathe as his chest ached and he slumped to his knees, clutching at his throat as if he could force air back down it into his lungs.

"What is wrong, Sandor, oh great and powerful mage?" Jykon snarked as he towered over him, cocking his head, his sword levelled to continue channelling his magic. "Some enjoy this. It looks like you shall not be one of them."

Sandor didn't know that Jykon's power and affinity was in air magic, controlling one of the elements whereas Sandor specialised in fire and, more important, nature magic. Air breathed life into the fabric of all beings and it could be stolen from his lungs too as he groaned and shook his head, head ringing, vision wavering and greying out at the edges.

Air... He needed air... And was the bull going to steal every breath from him until he was a lifeless husk on the ground?

But the bull did not take all air from him, allowing a little to slip within, keeping him awake, even though his head pounded and his body screamed at him constantly to breathe. The tightness in his lungs rang through with a sharp, stabbing pain, but he was still aware enough in himself to see the bull letting the front of his robe hang open, where it had been tied around the waist with pants beneath. His cock was freed and the fox blinked, not understanding at first - at least, not until he was turned around and slammed down into the dirt by what felt like a blast of wind.

Without air in his lungs, not enough to breathe freely, he couldn't do anything. He couldn't even grunt. Thus, he was rendered helpless to the whims of the mage who had known all along that Sandor would not have been expecting what he had in store for him. It was how his mind worked, but Sandor was not to know every opponent as he travelled, though it was on his head for letting his sense of self-importance and power render him vulnerable.

Think!

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He tried to think, clawing for his more devastating pyromancy, but it flickered out of reach, taunting him. His cotton, training pants were ripped, though it felt, by that stage, as if Sandor was nothing more than a passive player, forced to feel but not allowed to participate. He was not in any kind of bondage, yet the restriction of air and breath... It was more potent than he could ever have realised. He heaved and grunted, even while the bull lined up a massive dick behind him, grinding it back and forth against his arse while he prepared. And yet the bull was not going to allow him any time at all to get comfortable, not as he pushed in, using the weight and heft of his body to force his cock where Sandor's body was by no means ready to take it.

The fox grunted, or, at least, he thought he grunted. He thought he made a noise, but he could not be sure, torn between one strain and the other, his backside aching deeply as a cock powered up inside him. He could feel the bull behind him, yet Jykon had to be levelling his magic through the sword still, for Sandor still could not consistently get a full breath of air into his lungs.

Sometimes, he thought that he could. He got half a breath, the bull toying with him, allowing him to snatch air greedily into his lungs and then ripping the ability right away from him. Sometimes, Jykon did not even allow his lungs to do what they needed to do, taking the oxygen from the air he inhaled, and forced him to expel it all instantly as he used his magic to pump it from the helpless fox's body.

And, all through it, there was the powering, ramming force of a cock that Sandor very much did not want grinding up into him, forcing him to submit. He couldn't get out, couldn't get away, emotionally reeling as his head ached and ached and ached. There was no comfort, not as he sweated heavily through his fur, not even knowing whether to try to relax or fight or what, for there was no right answer for him in a situation like that.

"You fell so easily, weak one," the bull mocked him. "It is amusing to think that you ever thought you could go up against me. So easily goaded too... Do you think I honestly care one coin about your partner?"

Truly, he did not and it was only then that Sandor saw and understood that. He had been led into a trap, Jykon already knowing exactly what he was going to do with Sandor, letting the fox grunt and gasp, heaving and shuddering for a moment, though the breaths of air entering his lungs were futile, feeble. They didn't satisfy the aching need that his body had for air and breath, not in the slightest, but it was not his to dictate, only praying that Jykon was not going to kill him.

That was, if he couldn't come to his senses before then. But Sandor did not think that he could or would, his mind slow, entirely focused on breathing. He understood why that was, feeling detached from himself and his body as the bull crammed him full, speaking in a low, mocking tone. Yet the fox did not find it all that important to listen to Jykon anymore, if at all, for everything had been premeditated and out of his control. If he survived, he could go through everything and see just where he had gone wrong, but there was nothing more he could do right then, not with the bull taking him.

His body responded to the unwelcome penetration, but only a little. It may as well have not responded at all, his shaft thickening ever so slightly, but that was only due to the crushing pressure of the bull's cock against his prostate. He could understand it even if he did not feel arousal for it, heaving, grunting, trying to pant as much as he could to breathe in all the air that he could when the bull's attention wavered slightly. At least, that was what Sandor thought was happening.

Yet Jykon was more in control than Sandor reckoned as he slammed in, forcing air out of Sandor's lungs whenever he felt the moment was best - for him, not for the fox, of course. From behind, Sandor didn't even have to look at him, but all that did was make the sense of powerlessness overwhelming, breaking him down to nothing at all.

It might have been even worse, however, if he had had to look at the bull, if he had not been so focused on his breath, or lack of it, that shame and humiliation barely had a chance to burn through. He let his jaws hang open, all the better to get a grab of breath when he could, focusing on staying awake.

But the bull crushed the air from him, slamming into that pressure patch inside his tail hole, forcing his body to respond. For it would not be a climax, not for Sandor, that would be pleasurable at all, just one of claiming and taking for the bull. Sandor would be tossed aside afterwards, well and truly put in his place.

The pressure built and built inside him as his lungs squeezed, throat raw and tight, losing his sense of self. Down and down he fell, aware of the bull bellowing, slamming harder and harder, thrusting deeply. He ground in with wild abandon, Sandor tipping down to the ground fully, not even bracing himself as if he wasn't even aware of what the bull was doing to him. Yet he couldn't think, his mind frozen, broken where he was, eyes closed.

He faded, his body aching, convulsing, though he was not even in control of those muscles, not as orgasm took him, a broken kind of orgasm that sputtered from him, clear and faint. It could do what was needed for a body, from forced stimulation, but did not truly satisfy. How could it when every thrust and every moment was against his will?

His mind greyed out, fuzzy and blurry, though he couldn't stop himself from fainting from the lack of air. With his last waking thought, though he was not to come to any true harm from that ill-fated day, he wished that he had considered Jykon and his affinity before agreeing to the duel, not that it did him any good then.

The bull ejaculated inside him with a dominant, claiming bellow, spending his load inside him. But Sandor did not know, could not know, not as he lay there, unconscious, his air still controlled by the mage who had done more to him than Sandor could have ever expected on entering that particular academy.

Not all came to good. Even in air deprivation, it was time that Sandor learned that as the cum of the victor trickled from his tail hole, stretched and strained, lungs aching for air that was not his to take.

Yet the bull was done with him.

At last.