Chapter 7 #2
“We have a long way to go before you’re getting that.”
Arse!
He circles his large finger at my hole, I’m powerless to do much more than lay back, surrender, and attempt not to be too needy, but it’s hard.
He knows all my buttons. He whispers the spell and somehow my body makes a slick that lubes my entrance and allows his finger to slide in.
I breathe through the initial burn, sighing happily when he’s all the way in.
As he relaxes my opening, he leans over top of me, his hot lips meet mine and he sighs into them.
I tug at my bonds, not trying to escape, trying to chase his lips, get closer, feel him.
The throb in my cock turns into an ache, the arousal already getting too much.
It’s like this whenever he ties me up—the sensation of being vulnerable sends me reeling.
I start to get just a tad floaty. His fingers pump in and out, I feel both his calloused knuckles and can’t help pushing down, spreading my legs wider.
“Bet you’d like my cock in here, uh?” he says, breathless. My moaning and writhing are affecting him too; he can’t fool me.
I want to be snarky, but as he always says, I don’t have to come, and I want to. “Please, sir. I’ve been so good.”
“You have, for you anyway.” He’s not wrong.
I did throw his shirt in the fire, but that’s nothing.
He smiles into my lips continuing to kiss me, still broadening my entrance so I can take his large cock.
His fingers pull away and his mouth makes its way down my torso, sucking hickeys along my ribs, making me laugh when it tickles and cry out when he uses teeth.
A lot of our fucking is rough, as rough as he can be with a human.
It leaves me marked and bruised up most of the time.
In Elvish culture, the amount your lover marks you is a sign of how much you’re loved—you would only mark up someone you can’t resist. Conversely, your partner bears the marks proudly and can give you some of their own.
Most slaves are lucky to get any marks. It happens to Tom, who is adored by the king, but it’s never been to the extent I’ve had.
Bayaden can’t resist marking me, sinking his teeth into the tender skin of my inner thigh, enjoying my yowl. That’s going to stick around. He uses his tongue to lick up my taint and to the base of my cock and laughs when I whimper and struggle. “Be still my pet human. I’m not done with you yet.”
Ooooh!
He pulls out a soft flogger. He’s intent on being gentle today—not that the tails don’t hurt, they sting against the places he’s bitten me—showing me a kind of worship.
The flogger licks over my body, raising the skin in a pleasant way, still bringing enough pain to keep me interested, otherwise it would be too much of a snooze.
I arch and move with his continued whacks, tugging at my bonds wanting him to stop and keep going at the same time. Sweat drips off me and marks form from pulling on the wrist straps too tightly.
Finally, Bayaden can’t take it anymore either, which is not like him. Usually, the large Elf can tease me into the seventh realm of hell for hours. But already, he’s lining his cock up with me and sliding in. “Put your legs around me.”
Starting slow, he slides in and out, picking up speed as I cling onto him with my thighs, my legs still tied.
Using what little leverage I have, I pull him to me as he starts to pound hard, and it’s a good thing I’m tied to this bench and have straps to grip, or I’d fall off.
Bayaden’s at full force, lost to lust, his sharp teeth glinting.
He’s a sight to behold when he’s like this; I crane my neck to watch his massive body heaving and his strong arms flexing to hold the weight of my hips since I can’t take the full weight with the way my legs are tied. I love the way his long hair flies and whips with his movements.
He’s magnificent.
Everything builds, all the sensations together; the hot skin, the bruised flesh, Baya’s cock against my prostate. My cock is leaking. “Baya, Baya. Sir. Please. Please say I can come.”
His dark eyes get darker as he bites and licks his lips. “Come, my Tristan.”
I come hard and have to pull on the straps as my back arches like a wheel, Baya maintaining his grip on my thighs so he can keep me linked to him and his cock inside me. He moans in ecstasy as he releases inside me and then collapses on top of me.
I’m spent, far away on the floaty clouds of subspace as he unties me, and it barely registers that I’m free and he’s carrying me (bridal style this time) back to his chambers. I realize I’m on his bed when he nudges me to drink water. “You passed out,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “That’s what you get for doing that to me after training.”
“You enjoyed yourself, don’t deny it.”
I beam at him. “I did.”
He feeds me fruit and we lie together a long time—not our usual. He has food brought up for dinner rather than having me go get it—and it reminds me that something’s up. Horrible as I may be at my job, that’s still my job.
I continue to avoid the topic knowing it’s something I don’t want to hear. I remember something I wanted to ask him earlier. “Will you want me when I’m old and grey?”
The creases of his eyes constrict. “What kind of a question is that?”
“I’m not going to become Elf, I’ll get old and die while you preserve your gorgeous luster.”
“I am gorgeous.”
I whack him. “Answer the question.”
“I will always want you. Even if you grow spots, or all your hair falls out.”
I grab my hair like it’s about to fall out now. “No. It’s short enough as it is. You can’t let that happen. Can’t you do some kind of Elven voodoo to make it stay?”
He tilts his head. “You miss this don’t you?” He cards a hand through it.
“I do. I loved my hair as much as I love Markaytia.”
“That’s a lot.” He pauses. “Speaking of things you love, do you still love Corrik?”
And there it is. The question that’s been building. The Corrik box was opened and he won’t be denied any longer, it’s a breathing, living thing that wants to know. My stomach tightens. “I love him. I’m sorry. But it doesn’t detract from what I feel about you.”
It really doesn’t. In the same way a Mother loves all her children, I love Corrik and Bayaden the same. The relationships are not the same, but the amount of love is.
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve destroyed many things being upset about my love for Corrik, including my arse.”
“I know. But in my defense only when I was aroused.” Aroused Elves can be territorial. “I’ve remembered I’m an Elf and we Elves are polyamorous creatures. You can love us both.”
“Then why all the possessive posturing?”
“Because I am. Can’t help it sometimes, doesn’t mean I don’t understand it when I’m of sound mind.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Corrik’s not here … or is this your strange way of telling me you want someone else in on this?
He squeezes me to him, tightly. “No. No one else. It’s time for sleep, Tristan.”
“But it’s barely—”
“—don’t argue.”
A bit of the old Bayaden seeps into him, the cool Warlord who hated humans. But this time I know it’s because he’s guarding himself from breaking apart. “You’re staying with me?” I ask. I’m not sleeping by myself tonight, not after all that.
“I’m staying with you.”
I nod and close my eyes.
It’s dark and Bayaden’s shaking me awake like he often does. “Tristan, I need you.”
From there, it’s teeth and hot lips and bruising fingers. Bayaden is consumed with need. His dark eyes glitter in the moonlight, as he sinks into me and he’s wild, flipping me over, tossing me, covering me with marks not caring where he places them.
I do the same. I always give just as much as I get when we fuck.
I scratch down his back and he cries out, I bite into his flesh hard enough to draw blood.
You have to bite hard to sink your teeth into Elven flesh and even then, you’ve got to be careful as a human.
I’ve had my teeth mended through magic a few times from biting Baya in places that are too tough.
Their skin is softer just above where the neck meets collarbone and a few other places.
I also suspect some areas are specific to Bayaden.
He love-hates when I bite where the inner thigh meets crotch.
It makes him hard, but it also fucking hurts if the sound he makes is anything to go by—he won’t admit it though.
It’s not until I’m on top looking down on him, fucking away on his cock that I notice.
Hair. My hair.
It’s surrounding me, everywhere, already sticky with sweat.
Sex is halted while I run fingers through, admiring the silky texture.
He gave it back to me, my gorgeous dark hair, only, there are improvements.
Mixed in with the black are streaks of blue and purple.
I stare at it in awe, relishing in the way it feels to run my fingers through it again and I never run out of hair as my arm extends to full-length; there’s another solid few inches below that point which I allow to fall away from my fingertips. “It’s beautiful.”
I cry, the tear drops thick because if he’s given me this, I know it’s time to say goodbye. This means I have a station again—can’t have station as a slave.
“Yes. They represent your colorful personality, or perhaps the colors your arse turns after a run-in with my paddle, haven’t decided.
” He succeeds in making me laugh through the tears that stream down my face.
“But really, it’s so that you have something of me, surrounding you, forever.
No one can cut this. Well, they can try, it will grow back by nightfall. ”
I bend down to kiss him, sniffling; it’s a wet, messy kiss.
Bayaden must see I’m about to fall apart, he flips us so he’s on top again, taking over. “Are you going to come for me, little human?” he whispers, hot into my ear. Bayaden hits my prostate just so, reaching out to stroke my cock until all the sensations are too much and I come despite my crying.