Chapter 15 #5
My stomach stirs at the thought of what I’m about to do.
I’ve been given a little magical device that will tell me when an hour has passed.
In Markaytia, we had sun dials to tell us the passage of time, but they are not precise enough for sex games, apparently.
I only have an exact amount of time to make myself come.
My lips twist at it, but my cock springs to life. “You do not help,” I say to my crotch. It won’t be a sword that defeats me as Corrik’s vision predicted, it will be my penis.
Before Strobavik left, he placed the chair where I’m to sit. “These are not my orders,” he said. “They are Alrik’s. You will follow his directives categorically. And Tristan? You will think of him this time.”
Initially my dragon blood raged. How can that Elf expect me to pause my grief over Corrik to think happy little thoughts of him so I can get off?
Sure, I’m not actually grieving, not yet, but he can’t know that.
Can he? Even still, I am mad with worry and I think that’s enough of an excuse thank you very much.
But I suppose that’s very Alrik.
I don’t believe Alrik’s doing this for me but Alrik, like my father, has many responsibilities. He knows neither of us have the luxury of grieving especially if I do become Crown Prince Consort. He probably views us moving on as a duty to our people.
Strobavik gripped my chin his hand. “Remember that this is a reward from him. He is pleased with you, Tristan. He’s said so a few times.”
He has?
Fuck, that got me. I’m a fucking sucker for pleasing someone. Especially when that someone is a piece of jagged rock—the harder they are to please, the more I want to. Yes, I know, but I’m complicated.
I can do this.
Done with dinner, I get up. “You’re to strip naked,” Strobavik said. “Then you’ll sit in that chair with your legs spread wide as they’ll go.”
I remove my blue, silk robe and sit, my bare arse hitting the cool leather of the chair. I swear to the Gods everything in Mortouge is cool.
It occurs to me that I don’t have to do this.
It’s a reward. I can refuse a reward, but fuck, I need this.
Particularly after today—my poor cock deserves this.
I spread my legs as far as they’ll go. I’m conditioned to please Strobavik.
I imagine his smile of approval—unlike some Elves (Alrik) he actually smiles—when I tell him how well I’ve followed orders.
Thinking of Alrik is an order. How am I going to do that? He’s a pompous ass.
He’s also attractive. All Elves are but Alrik is something else.
He’s a good foot larger than Corrik and nearly as tall as the doorframe.
Back home in Markaytia I was considered tall.
I am nearly as tall as a Markaytian doorframe, but here, I’m lucky to reach halfway.
With Alrik, it’s like looking up the side of a tower.
His hair always glistens, and its whiteness speaks to his age.
I wonder if it was once blond like Corrik’s?
It’s hard to imagine him without any bit of aging.
Of course, he doesn’t have any wrinkles, but his skin has some mild weathering and several menacing scars.
There’s no way Corrik would ever allow a scar on his perfect face.
Alrik takes pride in them like Baya did.
I wouldn’t mind falling asleep on Alrik’s chest. Not that he’ll let me, but it’s broad and barreled and the skin looks soft. As we rode home from where I came out of the veil with Uncle Taj, my eyes were drawn there more than once.
Plus, he’s a human shield.
He dove in front of a wildaboar intent on eating me.
Corrik had gone off to pee which meant Alrik was responsible for me, and he made me sit near him.
The thing surprised our entourage coming out of the brush at full tilt.
Wildaboars are magical creatures known for sneaking up on prey, even an Elf if he’s not paying attention.
Alrik was. He rolled across the path in front of me and stuck his sword clean into its chest.
I couldn’t help it—my heart raced, and my cock sprung to life.
Sure, I take care of myself, but I would not have heard the creature coming.
I would have been Tristan paté. Watching something as massive as Alrik move as smoothly as he did …
Corrik could have done the same. I know how formidable he is with a sword but combined with Alrik’s abrasive energy I was ensnared.
There was something desperate and powerful there too.
He had to do it. Had to, I repeated over and over to myself, but Corrik’s mention of his affection for me has echoed beside the memory of it.
Works for me.
I grip my cock with a lube-slicked hand and the magical timer begins on its own. I don’t know how it works, I don’t know how it knows I’ve grasped my cock, but it does. Elves have far too many magical sex toys and gadgets for their own good.
My heart rate speeds up as I stroke with a firm grip. I almost forget the other things I’m supposed to do, one of which is to fondle and tug my balls. Honestly, how bloody controlling? I can’t even masturbate how I want to; it’s scheduled, approved, granted and dictated by Alrik.
I cry out. That’s, that’s, Gods. It’s—why’s that so fucking hot?
“You’re allowed five quick strokes before you slow for ten,” Strobavik said. At the time I thought nothing of it, I was so fucking horny I expected to be done within the first few tugs. But I’m not and this pace is maddening.
I haven’t had someone direct my masturbation session since … well since Corrik before our wedding and that seems so long ago. I’d forgotten.
This time, as I think of Alrik, it’s an escape.
I leave sad and horrifying thoughts in a box for later.
I break from melancholy. His dangerous form tumbles gracefully across my mind, his battle cry echoing in my head.
I spread my legs further—would he like that?
—and stroke at the pace I’ve been granted. Five fast, ten slow.
“You will keep proper decorum. Enjoy yourself quietly as if Alrik was stroking you under the table at a fancy event,” Strobavik warned. “Your arse will remain on the chair and your feet on the floor.”
I want to moan, I want to mumble all kinds of gibberish, but I don’t. The restrictions strike me more than usual. My blood is hot as my orgasm builds. When I slow down, the building orgasm wanes, still sending scorching flames through my body but keeping out of reach.
Worry that I won’t orgasm in time creeps in, which doesn’t help.
I’m tempted to think of things that Corrik and Baya have done to me.
Stop it, Tristan. It’s not like Alrik’s not my type.
I imagine his massive hand stroking my cock.
Him towering above me. I imagine his deep voice, the annoying, commanding one saying, “Good boy, Tristan. Behave like that, just for me.”
Alrik would never say any of that, but this is my fantasy and I’ll imagine what I want to.
“Spread your legs wider. No, don’t move your hips. You’ll take what you’re given, boy. Yes, like that.”
My toe pads press into the ground, I’m in the middle of the room on a chair, exposed.
Let me tell you, it’s much different masturbating like this than tucked away under blankets.
No one is here. No one is likely to come in (and besides I’d hear them in time to stop and cover myself with how many fucking locks are on the door).
But my brain can’t help thinking, “What if they do?”
They’d see me desperate to come, tensing so that I’m behaved, obeying Alrik’s orders. I want to fuck into my hand so badly. That would help. It would really fucking help.
“No. Control yourself for me. I want to see how prettily you can behave.”
The Gods help me, that’s what makes me come of all things. Gods, I want to behave prettily for him. Come spurts from my cock as my belly contracts and I exhale slow and shuddered. Hot come seeps down my hand as I recover, head back, eyes closed.
I open my eyes to the thrill of the tiny, magic timekeeper.
I’ve spaced out. I forget where I am for a second but then it comes barreling back—I’m on a chair in the middle of my room.
My limbs are whippy-wisps that could blow away with the wind, and my head is hollow like my brains have been sucked out.
I don’t want to admit that I liked it.
But I liked it. I’d do it again. Okay Strobavik, you win. I’ve got a spark of submissiveness in me. It can be called forth with the right energy and the right cues. Still a fucking brat though.
And if Corrik would just come home, I’d fucking crawl to him with a hairbrush in my mouth so he could spank me and put me to bed.
Ifall into a rhythm with Strobavik. When I’m following orders, I don’t have to think.
It brings me some amount of peace. Thinking leads me to thinking about Corrik or even Bayaden.
Thinking also leads me to thinking about what awaits me in a life with Alrik.
So I’ve discovered I have a submissive in me after all, but do I want this for every day, all the time?
No.
At least Alrik gets the reports he wants to hear—I’m a well-behaved pet.
“You still have no heart in it,” Strobavik says to me one day.
It breaks my heart because I’ve been working hard, but I know he’s right. “Am I doing something wrong, Master? I can do better.”
“Silence,” he says using his whippy little stick to carve a line in my back.
I don’t respond as wildly as I used to. My two lovers adored my responses, but Alrik will not so I’ve learned to take what I’m given quietly.
“I’m not sure you’ll ever have the heart for it. If I were you, I’d learn to fake it.”
I don’t know what that means, but I take his advice seriously. “Yes, Master Strobavik.”