Chapter 5 #3
“Depends on your definition of better, sir,” I said in sharp tones trying not to succumb to the fire that was building. But when he worked over my sensitive upper thighs, I couldn’t keep still any longer and I squirmed, letting out a groan of misery. “Okay, that’s. Ow. Andothair!”
For the use of his name over sir, I got five heavier smacks, and I cried out. Tears sprung to my eyes. He stopped for a moment and I apologized. “Sorry, sir. Sir.”
“Thank you.”
And on and on it went. Andothair worked over my bare bottom at the same maddening pace and as the spanking carried on, the pain built up.
The loudness of each smack, ringing off the marble in the room, defined the quiet.
At least no one was around to watch, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t come in at any time and there were always plenty of guards at any particular time who could hear us.
I didn’t have time to give those thoughts my awareness; my world had narrowed to the pain.
I breathed, and I kicked, and I squirmed, but nothing eased what Andothair was doing to my backside.
The tears flowed freely, and I sobbed. Everything inside hurt too.
I didn’t know what had become of Corrik, and I had betrayed everyone.
I wanted Bayaden, I took that for myself.
I’m—I’m just selfish.
The tears dropped in fat rivulets and the agony that had become my arse helped me connect to a place within myself, like fire finding the wick of a candle.
Eventually, Andothair stopped and helped me stand, tossing my pants to me as I continued to sniffle. I could have gone longer. I felt some relief, but it wasn’t complete. But, ugh. I wasn’t going to ask for more.
“There now. I have work to do. Sharpen up, Tristan. It’s time for you to move on from Corrik. The sooner you do that, the better off you’ll be.”
Ionly made it to the fifth boot before I threw it at the wall.
I wanted to throw it at Bayaden, who said something scathing to me in Elvish, as I continued to pout.
I also had a great need to antagonize Bayaden—I thought it would be fun to see what he would do if I grabbed that book out of his hand and whacked him over the head with it.
Would he turn me over his knee?
My bet was on that or attempted murder.
“You’re not very good at that.” His Markaytian surprised me.
“Course I’m not. I haven’t polished boots since I was my father’s squire. I hated it then too.”
“I’d get used to it if I were you.”
“I thought you weren’t going to speak to me in Markaytian?”
He swung off the bed and I jumped a bit, maybe more than a bit. I’d gone too far.
The man is imposing in a deadly, beautiful way, like oleander, the flower of the underworld and even knowing him as I do now has never diminished these qualities.
I was envious, once again, of his dark hair as it swished around him.
“You are driving me crazy. Why must you speak back to me? Do you have any idea what …” He tightened his hands into fists, ones I’m certain he wanted to put around my neck.
I didn’t know it then, but disobedience drives a Top (especially an Elven Top) crazy too.
They need your submission in whatever way that manifests between the pair of you.
“My brother was supposed to sort you out. Can I assume that he didn’t? ”
“He did. Some. Not all the way.” I returned to my boot-polishing task, with renewed energy hoping if I did it long enough, he’d disappear.
He swore in Elvish. “You’re going to go mad.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“Why are you so stubborn?” He grabbed my arm and pulled me from the stool, the one that has become my stool. “Undress.”
I pulled away from him. “No.”
“You are supposed to do what I say.”
He wasn’t expecting it, which was the only reason I was able to do it. There was a knife on the table toward my right. I used every ounce of speed I had, snatching up the knife and putting it to his throat.
I drew some blood. He laughed and grabbed my wrist, the one holding the knife and pulled it away from his neck easily. “Good job, Tristan. If you had just stabbed, you might have injured me. But you hesitated, probably were about to attempt to threaten me—you can’t do that though. I am Elf.”
“And I’m a flea-ridden human. Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
I expected anger, in the least Bayaden brand annoyance, but I got neither. Instead, his eyes were soft, with desperate lines wrinkling the corners. “Undress, Tristan. I want you again. I’ll even let you keep the knife.”
“I don’t want you,” I whispered, but even as I did, I felt my cock harden.
His breath quickened in his large, muscled chest and he lifted me easily from under my backside as he started in on my mouth, my thick thighs wrapped around him.
I dropped the knife. He kissed and sucked, and I responded, running my hands through the silk of his dark hair. He was gentle at that time.
He placed me on his bed, then ripped my pants off, the gentle slipping away, which made me feel better; the familiarity was good.
He stopped there and stared down at me, looking over my body, his hand resting on my tattoo.
He traced it. “What is it about you?” he said to himself, in Elvish.
I was able to make the words out with the little of the language I knew at the time.
“What about me?” I asked.
“What about you?”
“You just asked, ‘what is it about me?’”
“How would you know what I’ve said?”
“I know some Elvish.”
“Your Elvish is terrible. That isn’t what I said.” Of course, he denied it. “Enough talking,” he said. In one Elven-sized bite, he swallowed my cock, and I pushed against his head with my hands; fuck, he’s good at sucking cock.
“Mhmmmm,” I moaned, unable to help myself. “Baya.” He popped his mouth off my cock then sucked it down again. “Gods!”
I lost track of how long he sucked, spellbound.
My hips bucked in time with the rhythm of his mouth and I built to climax.
Just before I could release in his mouth, he was gone, and I cursed him.
He flipped me over savagely and his tongue was in my most private place.
I had to grip one of his pillows tightly and slam my fist down, the sensation almost too much because it just felt naughty.
I moaned again and tried to restrain myself.
“I’m going to come if you don’t stop that. ”
I felt the slippery lube in my arsehole, felt fingers and then his cock, slamming into me.
When he came, so did I, both of us were left panting, him having collapsed over my back and me on the soft plush of his linens.
They are so much comfier than mine. We were like that for only seconds until he was roughly rolling me off his bed and onto mine beside his. Thud. “Get back to work.”
Arse.
I did, but only because I needed something to distract me. We’d just had sex again, and I just enjoyed it again. I polished the boots hard, channeling my mounting feelings into the task. I finished one boot and began another, but the feeling wouldn’t leave me.
I polished the next boot until it had a hole—I knew Bayaden would be furious, but I smiled to myself, the itchy feeling still there, and I came to know something.
It didn’t matter what “everybody” said about me, it mattered what I said, how I felt about what I’d done.
I have to carry the weight of my actions.
If I could make the choice again, I’d make the same one, but I didn’t expect to like it so much and that’s what I felt I needed to repent for.
At the time I didn’t know that there was any repentance for it.
I dropped the boot, the one with the hole.
I looked to Bayaden; he was fast asleep. I didn’t bother to grab my pants, and crept out of the room, straight to Ando’s.
“You again, already? I assume this has to do with my brother’s intense sexual appetite?”
I wanted to slit his throat; I still might one day.
“Please, not now,” I begged. I knew the protocol and knelt before him bowing my head this time.
“Will you, will you, do the thing, sir?” My voice was broken.
I didn’t want to ask him this; it was another way I was betraying Corrik.
Only Corrik had ever punished me quite like this.
“Spank me. Please.” I had to push the words out, they felt unnatural on my tongue.
“Very well.” He pushed his chair away from his desk and I remained kneeling in place like Corrik taught me; hands clasped behind my back with straight arms, arse cheeks resting on my heels, toepads pressing into the stone. “Up here, then.”
Gracefully as I could, because it seemed formal, I rose to stand and placed myself over his lap. It was hard to believe that Tristan Kanes, former would-be-Warlord and Prince of Mortouge, would willingly put himself over his captor’s knee, naked, and ask for a spanking.
But there I was.
He was business-like, not taking the time to stop and smell the roses like Corrik did; he started in right away, slapping each cheek methodically.
Where Corrik might have helped me by way of a prompt, with Andothair, I was left to prompt myself.
Okay, Tristan, you can do this, why are you here?
Why did you place yourself over his lap?
That was as far as I got into my “process” when I realized—this bloody hurt!
“Oww! Okay, I’ve changed my mind, I don’t need this, let me up. Let me up."
He ignored me and continued. The pain increased, and I started kicking, attempting to get up, figuring out that kicking decreased the pain somehow; I kicked more as I tried to escape.
I threatened his kingdom, his brother, his manhood, but all he did was stop briefly to put one of his thick legs over both of mine, so I could no longer squirm and continued.
I grew angry, but I received the message: He wasn’t letting me up till this was over.
Tears pricked my eyes over the frustration of the loss of control.
I wanted it to be over, it hurt, I wanted to be off his lap.
I wished it were Corrik spanking me.
“We’re going to be here all day if you don’t let go, Tristan. Remember, my hand isn’t going to get tired,” he said. That was still just his hand?
He was right. I came here for a reason and I was getting it, whether I wanted it anymore or not. That’s when I began to cry, and I used the pain to make me cry more. Spanking is cathartic.
I took that thought, that one seed, and used it combined with the only prompt Andothair gave me, and I now realize he knew just the right one to begin with—let go.
So I did. I allowed myself to release the heavy feeling of betrayal for what I did with Bayaden.
A small part of me felt like I was paying a price, though I knew instinctively that was not always what spanking was used for, it did make me feel better.
Elves must be born with the ability to sense when someone is content after a spanking—Andothair knew when to stop.
I was in a euphoric daze. The pain in my backside flared, and at the same time I felt like I was floating.
He guided me to standing and placed me in front of a wall.
“Take a moment. Stand here and let the lesson sink in. When you are ready, you may leave, though I’ll be at my desk if you should need anything else. ” He winked at me.
I rolled my eyes.
What was I supposed to let sink in? I didn’t know.
Instead, I let it all go. I was confused as hell and felt silly standing in front of a wall like I was a kid in time out, but it narrowed my focus to the marble I was facing so I wasn’t distracted.
I wouldn’t have thought to do that on my own.
I let all the feelings and sensations wash over me; I felt worked over, exhausted, but content.
I stood there until I felt settled. I still couldn’t say the feelings were completely abolished—they’re there, lounging in the background—but I could move on with my day.
Until the next time.
And there would be a next time, because Bayaden and I would have sex again, and I would return until Bayaden eventually took over like Andothair said he would.
"Are you sorted now?" Bayaden asked when I returned.
He was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, looking out of the smaller window.
He had an odd peace about him, his long hair like fresh spun silk in waves down his back.
The leg against the wall was fully extended, the other bent, his bare foot planted on the mattress, an arm wrapped around the knee.
I was tempted to call him soft, but I knew better.
"Yes."
"Come," he said, holding out a hand for me.
He caught my hand and pulled me to him, pressing me against his body, my back to his chest so I was looking out the window with him.
The sun had just set, so there was only the last bit of glow over Aldrien before it was covered in purple darkness.
"Shouldn't you be yelling at me to finish your boots? "
"Be quiet, for once."
Bayaden’s body was unyielding yet being in his arms was a comfort after what had just happened with Andothair, so I relaxed into him, and stared out at the brand-new night with him.
I don't know how long we stayed like that, but eventually, he was tearing down my pants. "Do you mind very much?" I said.
He didn't, and paid me no mind, checking out my backside, running a hand over the hot flesh there. When he was done, he gave my bum a hefty smack (which fucking hurt) and pulled up my pants. "Go to bed." He got up to do some things around his room
I rubbed my poor arse. He was sending me to bed?
It wouldn’t be the last time I was spanked and put to bed, sometimes that’s just the way with me.
I didn’t argue and attempted to sleep, but I couldn’t settle until he came to bed.
I wasn’t to learn his feelings for me till sometime after that, nor would I admit to mine until much later, but looking back, I suppose I can see how they were always there.
He watched me, checking in on me, making sure I had enough to eat in concealed ways, taking care of me as he was compelled to do.
I was comforted by him, he grounded me and in return I soothed his internal aches, giving to him with my form of submission.
We are mates and we knew it before we knew it.