Chapter 15
There are good things and bad things about my new keeper.
For the bad, definitely the part where I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of here.
I’m the dirt on the bottom of his boot, he has no use for me other than whatever husbandly duties I’ll have to perform and the ones for Mortouge as Crown Prince Consort.
He decides I should learn proper slave protocol, but he’s not going to teach me—that’s beneath him—and so he sends the most terrifying Dungeon Master Elf, Strobavik, to do it for him. He specializes in training slaves.
At first glance Strobavik is terrifying, even though he’s not as broad shouldered as Baya or Alrik. His muscles are lithe like Corrik’s but he’s thinner, leaner and in general smaller by comparison.
He’s still a lot taller and larger than I am.
He wears black leather everything—black pants, an open leather jacket and tall boots.
His long blond hair is wavy, and his tall Elven ears are decorated with earrings and jewels.
Also, I’m pretty sure he’s wearing black eyeliner under his vivid blue eyes.
“Put this on,” he says, tossing a pile of leather and buckles at me. “Lose the robe.”
His accent is different, he can’t be from this part of the realm.
I approach him like I would any battle—I don’t know this guy; I don’t give benefit of the doubt. Not with the mood I’m in.
The shock has far from worn off, I’m still processing Corrik’s disappearance and my subsequent engagement to the crown prince. And now there’s this guy.
As much as I’m a fucking brat sometimes there’s another side to me, one that needs to please.
There is a theory that we respond and react to energy, this notion is even stronger with Elves. It doesn’t occur to me to disobey the Elf, especially when I know where his orders come from. Even Corrik was quick to obey his brother.
I snatch up the pile of leather. It turns out to be the smallest pair of black leather shorts I’ve ever seen and a harness, which means I have no clue how to put the fucking thing on. I’ve worn a harness before, with Baya, but he was the one to dress me in it.
I’ll give it my best shot. How hard can it be?
Turns out, really fucking hard.
After watching me struggle with it for several excruciating minutes, visibly growing annoyed, he stops me. “I will show you how to put this on,” he says in his thick accent. “I expect you to take note. Next time you will be punished for delay and ignorance.”
Jeez, this guy.
I’m quiet as he prepares me, looping the crisscross harness onto my body. It carries around and down my back, cinching with a single buckle in front. It’s covered with rings.
The shorts just fit over my arse and cover my dick, but they’re comfortable, and I can move in them surprisingly well. “Tell me you know how to kneel properly,” he says like I’m the most uncouth creature he’s ever encountered, and I guess to a Mortougian Elf that is the epitome of uncouth.
I didn’t kneel for Baya, not really. It just wasn’t that way between us.
Yeah, we did some kinky stuff and there were formal times when kneeling was appropriate, but it’s not something he spent time training me to do.
We used “the room” for spanking and bondage type stuff rather than having me spend a lot of time kneeling for him, like Tom did for the Aldrien king.
However, once upon a time, Corrik taught me how to kneel.
“I know how but I’m rusty, sir.” Even I can hear the sadness in my voice.
“At least you know how to use ‘sir,’” he says continuing to buckle me in.
I should be throwing a fit, in the least protesting against this but something much deeper’s longing for it. “I am an avid learner, sir.” I push my chest out and stiffen my lip.
He analyzes me and I hold my breath as his thoughts seem to pierce through to my soul.
I grow frustrated and analyze him right back, the Warlord in me taking over, burning through me.
He cracks a half smile and there’s a smirk in his eyes.
“All right Tristan, if you will work hard, I will work just as hard for you. I’m going to hold you to your word. ”
Strobavik doesn’t have the innate disdain for humans most Elves I’ve encountered seem to, but he doesn’t like his time wasted either, even if it’s under orders from the crown prince.
I know he’s going to push me beyond endurance, but it will be because he thinks I can take it. That earns him the mark of my respect.
“I am here to teach you non-sexual, Master-slave protocol, but Alrik has given his consent for you to learn some sexual protocol as well. Even though it’s within his rights to make such a decision for you, he says you are of Markaytia and that it’s important I acquire your consent on the matter.
I do not have permission to penetrate you anally, but we could do some things involving my cock.
We’ve also got use of a large range of toys.
If you consent, the organization of such things will be up to me and you won’t know what we’re going to do until we do it. You will still be expected to obey.”
I consider all he’s said. I’m surprised Alrik has given me the opportunity to say no, and for a moment I consider saying no out of spite over the whole thing.
Then I remember a conversation with Corrik; we haven’t carried on our special lessons because he’s wanted to leave time for me to study so that I could become Elf and be released from confinement sooner.
I refuse to believe Corrik’s not coming home. I prefer to believe that any day, he’ll waltz in the door and then wouldn’t it be a nice gift for him, if could I submit for him in all the beautiful ways Elves submit?
It would also show him how much I trust him, how much I’m devoted to him—I haven’t been good at that.
Yes, I had a right to be angry, but I took it out on him and that was poor behavior.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that when Father agreed that keeping me locked away was what was best until I became Elf, I didn’t argue.
I didn’t like the idea any more than I had, but I worked to accept it.
I didn’t even try for Corrik or for what was between us.
Corrik must have noticed, but he didn’t say anything about it.
It’s time for me to do something for him.
Engaging in sexual acts with Strobavik won’t be a hardship. He’s beautiful and terrifying, which is one thousand percent my type. “I consent, sir. I would like to learn both protocols.”
He nods. “Then do you agree to obey me?”
“I do, sir.”
“All right, then we shall begin. From here on out you will refer to me as, Master Strobavik. You will be punished if you do not.”
As promised, Master Strobavik teaches me things like formal protocol for the royal court, formal protocol for meals and even relaxed protocol for semi-formal meals.
There are informal meals too, like what Corrik and I had with his parents when we first arrived, where protocol is not required and can be instituted or not at the Dom or Top’s discretion.
I am surprised to learn there are special allowances for the king’s consort, even though in some cases protocol is more restrictive.
For instance, when meeting with dignitaries from beyond the realm, I’m permitted full dress should my husband allow it, versus the half or “no dress” protocols at other levels of the royalty hierarchy.
Strobavik explains one of the marked differences between slave designation and submissive. “You will exist for his pleasure and his pleasure only, Tristan. This is the way of things with Master and slave. Someone who is slave inside doesn’t need to be told this, it’s what they long for as well.”
“Then why are you telling me, Master Strobavik?”
I get one of his piercing glares for that, because yeah, I’m being cheeky. I’m not supposed to speak unless I have permission. I’m not good at following that rule and often earn punishment for my big mouth.
“That. You are not slave. You are brat.”
I don’t need a reprimand to look to the floor for that one.
He tilts my chin up to look into his eyes.
So far, it’s been learning how to kneel for long periods of time and being tied up in various positions so I could build endurance.
Master Strobavik warned me that today he plans on taking it to a new and sexual place.
Training hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.
It’s not been easy and Master Strobavik is a grueling taskmaster, but instead of inspiring despair, I’m driven to do better, to get it right.
Most of the things we do bring me to a calm and grounded place.
It reminds me of being on the field with my father.
His declaration is true and previously I had been proud of my brat status.
I love everything about being a brat but when I’m striving to be the perfect slave or submissive, locking the brat in me away, it’s difficult.
I’ve had the wish that my inner brat would just go away.
“I know you are doing the best you can,” he says in his thick accent, “but you need to fake it better. The prince will not be pleased if you talk out of turn like that.”
“Yes, Master Strobavik.”
“That doesn’t change what you are. This is why I’m telling you so you can work to create it within you.”
There’s a lot I want to say to that, but I don’t, behaving like a good “slave” should.
“But you know, naughty kitten, just because you are brat, this does not mean you don’t contain aspects of both slave and submissive within your character.
You can get to levels of deeper submission—you have the skill for it, I’ve seen glimpses.
I may not be the one to bring it out in you but it’s there. ”
I’m not sure I agree with that. Yes, I’ve reached some intense levels of subspace, but could I go deeper than I have?