Fall from Grace.

	Haylon Dres closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of nostalgia. He was thinking about his childhood, spent in the lap of luxury on his father's estate. It had been a good life, an easy life, and Haylon had been well suited to it. As an only child, he had been pampered from birth, given anything he had asked for. The slaves had probably been the best part, and being able to do with them whatever he had wanted. There had been this one Argonian girl...
	Haylon opened his eyes again, scowling against the cold Skyrim air. Memories were all well and good, but they didn't put food on the table. The horror of the Red Year had driven him far from his home and destroyed his birthright. Now, as a young man without father or family, Haylon had been forced to make his own way in the world.
	It had seemed like an impossible task at first. He hadn't the strength to be a labourer, nor the courage to be a soldier. He hadn't the talent to become a craftsman, nor the patience to become a scholar. All he had been left with was selling his body. Which was what brought him here, to Llavon Hlaalu's doorstep.
	Llavon was the richest Dumner in Winterhold, a common trader who had struck lucky in the mining business and built an empire. It was well known that Llavon had a taste for young men. It was also well known that he was utterly loathsome, without a hope of getting sex any way other than by buying it. Still, his coin was as good as any others.
	Haylon knocked on the door, pulling his faded cloak a little tighter. His fine clothes, now patched up and worn, were the last connection he had to his old life. The door swung open, revealing Haylon's partner for the night. Llavon was disgusting to look at, fat and slovenly, with a smell like an old bearskin.
	“Ah, come in, come in!” he announced cheerfully, putting an over-familiar arm around Haylon's shoulder. “I was just about to have dinner, would you care to join me?”
	Haylon would have preferred to get his business over with and be gone as quickly as possible, but he'd also not eaten all day. “I'll join you, certainly,” he said, bowing graciously.
	“A fine choice indeed!” Llavon boomed, leading Haylon through to the dining room, where the servant dished up their meals. Haylon noticed, as they were eating, that his portion had been significantly smaller than Llavon's. As such, he had finished much earlier, and the meagre glass of wine he'd been offered had barely taken the edge off his nerves.
	“It seems you've cleared your plate,” Llavon said, peering across the table, “I would be a poor host if I didn't off you something else feast upon.” Haylon frowned, quickly realising what Llavon meant. His eyes flicked downwards for a moment, as if uncertain. “Yes my boy,” Llavon laughed grandly, “Under the table.”
	Haylon concealed a sigh. He had known what to expect, but that didn't make it any easier. Pushing his chair back with a loud scraping noise, he got on his hands and knees and crawled underneath the table. Confronted with Llavon's crotch, Haylon had little choice but to swallow his pride and get on with it.
	Llavon's trousers opened easily, allowing his cock, already fully erect, to spring out. It wasn't the largest Haylon had ever seen but it was perhaps the ugliest, blunt and crude looking. The smell, sweat and stale flesh, overpowered Haylon for a moment, but the younger man rallied, swallowing his revulsion. Images of a fat pouch of gold glittered in his mind, strengthening his resolve.
	Taking a deep breath, Haylon leaned down, taking the rigid organ in his mouth. Above him, Haylon heard a satisfied sigh as Llavon shifted in his chair before the sound of eating resumed. It felt demeaning, more so than usual that is, to pleasure a man while he ate a fine meal, but Haylon pushed the feeling aside. Again, he pictured the gold he would be earning.
	Grimacing, Haylon took the other man's penis deeper into his mouth, swallowing it up to the hilt and running his tongue along the length of it. More groans drifted down from above as Llavon reached down, taking Haylon by the hair and pressing the younger elf's face deeper into his crotch. Bitter tears began to well up in Haylon's eyes as he struggled to breath around the heavy shaft, eventually pulling away with a spluttering cough.
	“That's enough now, boy,” Llavon said, pulling Haylon's head back, “Now come up here, I want to take a good look at you.” Taking a moment to brush his disordered hair back into place, Haylon crawled out from under the table and stood in front of the other man, forcing a genteel smile onto his face. “I said I wanted to take a look at you boy! Take your damn clothes off!” The merchant snapped.
	Haylon's smile faltered for a moment as he unbuttoned his shirt, hanging it neatly on the back of his chair. His boots and trousers were next, unceremoniously kicked to the side by the impatient merchant. Standing naked and exposed in front of the other man, Haylon chose a painting on the wall, a rather generic Nordic landscape, and fixed his gaze upon it. It was an ugly painting – Nordic art tended to be rather tasteless, in his opinion – but it was more pleasant than reality.
	Llavon walked a slow circle around Haylon, inspecting his rented flesh from every angle. After examining him closely, Llavon reached out and grabbed Haylon's cock, measuring it and testing its weight. Meanwhile, one of his fingers – slick with grease from the chicken he had been eating – began to probe Haylon's anus. Without any warning the finger entered him, pushing past Haylon's sphincter and exploring his tight insides.
	Smirking, Llavon continued his explorations, rubbing Haylon's penis as he pushed his finger deeper into the young prostitute's backside. Haylon maintained a stoic silence as the older man fondled him, staring deep into his chosen painting. Unbidden, memories from Haylon's youth bubbled to the surface, reminding him of his favourite Argonian girl.
	He had always liked to choke her, Haylon recalled with a hint of fondness, choking her until the point of unconsciousness and having his way with her while she was too weak to resist. Not that she could have resisted, of course. Any slave that raised their hand to him would have been put to death in an instant. Many a night had been spent with the girl, whose name Haylon had never bothered to learn, until one fatal night where he had held her throat for a moment too long.
	“You're a fine one, aren't you boy?” Llavon asked, breaking Haylon out of his reverie, “Never worked a day in your life, am I right? That's why you're still a boy. I've had to fight for what I have all of my life, and that makes me a man!” the merchant announced proudly, pushing Haylon against a table and bending him over it. “The Red Year was a blessing for people like me, sending all you penniless nobles scurrying over here begging for scraps.”
	“You probably thought you were a big deal once,” the older man continued bitterly, letting his trousers drop to the ground and seizing Haylon by the shoulders. “I can see you now, swaggering around like you were Vivec himself. Now look at you! You ought to be begging for the crumbs from my table!”
	Without any further mockery, Llavon pushed his rigid penis into Haylon, burying his member deeply into the young prostitute with a single smooth thrust. Haylon's hands clenched into fists as the older man started to fuck him with long, deep thrusts, each one sending a painful spasm through the prostitute's body. Despite everything, the pain and the shame of it, Haylon's cock began to react, twitching with the rhythm of Llavon's thrusts.
	Haylon's eyes narrowed with hatred, staring straight ahead with a burning gaze as he tried to ignore all sensations. It was no good, as soon as he started to divorce himself from reality, something would bring him back. In a way, the feeling on the merchant's bulging stomach slapping against his back was the worst, reminding him of what a revolting specimen he had been forced to associate with.
	Llavon reached between Haylon's legs with an ungainly paw, grabbing at the younger elf's cock and jerking it roughly. There was nothing affectionate about the motion, no desire to give pleasure. The merchant was simply exploiting every inch of Haylon's flesh, humiliating him in any way possible.
	“So this,” the older man said between deep grunts, “This is what your family has been reduced to,” His thrusts grew harder and faster as he took a handful of Haylon's hair and pushed the younger man's head down, pressing it against the table. “Your ancestors must be so proud!” he laughed cruelly, twisting the handful of Haylon's hair in his fist.
	Haylon cried out in pain, the first noise he had made since the older man had started touching him. Spurred on by the shrill cry, Llavon began to fuck him harder, the sound of their flesh slapping together growing louder in the quiet room. Llavon's breathing soon became ragged, and Haylon knew that it wouldn't be long before the older man reached his climax.
	It wasn't long at all. A few moments after the thought crossed Haylon's mind, the merchant pulled out abruptly, ropes of cum spurting out and landing on Haylon's back, some of them even reaching his hair. The liquid felt hot against Haylon's skin, quickly cooling and growing sticky. Panting, Llavon rubbed his rapidly wilting cock against Haylon's backside before taking a step back to admire his handiwork.
	“Get dressed,” the merchant said bluntly, turning to leave the room. Aching and sore, Haylon snatched a napkin from the table and scrubbed at the cum drying on his skin. His hair would have to wait until he could get a wash, but at least the colours were similar enough to make it less obvious. Haylon was just finished getting dressed when Llavon returned, carrying a pouch of gold. “Your fee,” he announced, holding the bag out.
	As Haylon reached out to take the pouch, the other elf let it drop from his hand, hitting the ground with a jangling sound and spilling its contents across the floor. Slowly, burning with shame and rage, Haylon bent down and started to gather the scattered coins. Once, he could have thrown away sums much greater than this without worry, but now every coin was vital. He refused to look up, to grace Llavon's self-satisfied smirk with his attention.
	One day, Haylon promised himself, he would have his revenge on the fat merchant. It didn't matter how long it took, or what he would have to do to get it, but he would make Llavon pay for every insult. Haylon repeated his promise like a silent mantra as he shoved the pouch of coins into a pocket and stalked out of the richly decorated house.