Epilogue #2
“On you, Master.”
“Very good. Unfortunately for you, I know how good you are at this. Your time starts over.”
Ugh! But he’s right. I’m not doing this properly and as much as this is for him, it’s equally for me.
A total power exchange is a two-way street.
There is something amazing that can happen for those who are wired like me when we surrender completely.
I know as well as he does how it works, in part focusing on serving him is to take my mind off other heavier things.
As much as Alrik can grind my gears, I trust him completely; this is something I can give to him.
“Breathe, Tristan, remember to use your breath.”
“Yes, Master. I can do better, Master.”
I still earn lashes, because he’s a strict bastard, but now that he sees I’m trying, he doesn’t begin the time over again and I make it to the end. I get so many stripes after the hour and a half, I’m surprised when he tells me, “You have done well, Tristan.”
Hotness creeps across my face. “Thank you, Master.”
“On your hands and knees. I would like you to take ten of these to your arse because it should please me.”
I want to shout at him about how unfair that is when he claims I’ve been good, but I know that will only add to my total.
I also know it’s not about how well-behaved I’ve been, it’s purely about submission; about taking what he gives me because he wishes it.
Whatever he should wish—it’s the only place I have to give my energy to right now.
Of course, sadism is a bloody Cyredanthem trait and that plays in too. Diekin confided in me that Ditira is the same. “Two, you have committed to two Cyredanthems?” he said laughing at me when he found out I would also have a something with Alrik. “Now I know you’re insane.”
I stick my arse out ready for Alrik. The first lash falls and sends a sharp sting through my body, head to toe, even though the pain begins in my arse. “Ahh! One. Thank you, Master.”
“Good boy.”
Again, I flush at the praise, which is a kink all its own and I only want to take more for him already feeling the floaty bliss of subspace taking me away.
He carries on with another, and another and another, each leaving hot lines across my arse, each radiating through me, and by the time we’ve reached ten, I’m sailing.
I could take a hundred more, but he stops.
His large hand runs through my hair. It’s a reverent hand and I absorb the care—he’s so much different than I expected him to be than he threatened he’d be. I’ve come to realize his bark is bigger than his bite. Crossing him is still not advised. “Get on the bed, Tristan. On your back.”
I comply quickly, as he removes his pants and he’s on top of me in one swift motion, his long white hair a curtain drawn around me.
My arse is already leaking for him, the new secretion of a slick-like substance signature to Elves is flowing.
“I had so much more planned, but I’m sorry Tristan, I need to be in you. ”
I nod staring up at him with adoration. I’ve grown fond of Alrik, despite my best efforts to keep this relationship somewhat business-like.
Originally it was lust, energy and designation.
I would sub for him when he called for me, we would have passionate hate-sex, but as seems to be the way in the relationships I cultivate, things changed before I could stop them and there was real worship developing during our sessions from both sides.
In the beginning, I would leave as soon as he was done looking after me and go on with my day, or night as the case may be, but soon I was staying longer, nestled into his chest as he ran kisses along my neck and spent time doing innocuous things like brushing out my hair and massaging lotion into my sore muscles; pretty much anything he could think of to keep me with him a moment longer.
“If you want my company, Alrik, all you have to do is ask,” I said to him one day.
I got the standard Alrik grunt and smack to my arse and yes, I was being a bit cheeky, but I was also serious.
Alrik didn’t like his feelings for me anymore than Bayaden did at first. He did end up inviting me to sit with him while he did his work in the Great Hall after that.
I kneeled at his feet, of course, but it was no small thing.
That day began to crystalize my place in his life.
I wondered all kinds of things, like how they would share me.
It wasn’t like that though, I’m not a toy they fight over, even if I sometimes (willingly) am a toy.
I also thought they might fight about me, but while they do disagree from time to time, it’s never a fight over me thing, even with their barbaric ownership markings, which…
…well I kinda love them.
Corrik did give me a tattoo, of a “C” on the back of my neck in Elvish and I was equally drawn to asking him if he would get a “T” on the back of his neck in Markaytian.
I didn’t realize I could mark my men too, not permanently anyway, but I can and I’m wild about the idea.
I think about Bayaden’s tattoo of my name under his eye often.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see Bayaden again, but I like the thought that he has something of me on him forever.
The head of Alrik’s large, Elven cock lines up with my entrance, it’s so hard it’s purpling; he wants me.
He begins to slide in slowly, allowing me to adjust to this size.
It’s different adjusting as an Elf than it was as a human.
It happens faster, my passage relaxes and Alrik can slip into the hilt, brushing up against my prostate immediately.
I moan, my cock trying to get hard but failing, caged as it is. “That’s it, take my cock. You like that, don’t you, my delinquent one?”
“Love your cock, Master,” I say smiling up at him, delirious. My arse still stings from his nasty little implement, same with all the places on my body that suffered the treatment, but the sting mixes with the pleasure his cock brings and it sends me reeling.
“Good boy.”
I moan. Fuck. I love being called “good boy.” Not that I’ll ever admit to that out loud, but they know. Alrik slams his cock into me at a steady pace, all the while looking into my eyes. “You going to come around my cock, sweet boy?”
I nod lost in the bliss. For once I don’t even care if I come or not.
I’m enjoying his responses and seeing his pleasure.
The large Elf has sweat breaking across his brow and over his ears, dripping into his white hair.
Alrik is an old Elf. Thousands of years old, but you wouldn’t know if not for his silver eyes that are pure pools of an ancient story.
His eyes crinkle with happiness as he gazes at me all the while fucking me, getting closer to me, hitting my prostate over and over.
“C’mon sweetheart, come. You can come for me like this can’t you?”
I think I can today. I know I want to, I’ve wanted to all month. “Please,” I cry. “Please, Master.”
I can tell he’s straining, holding back his orgasm for me, which is unheard of.
It’s usually, ‘if you want to come, you’ll do it before I do or not at all’, but he wants me to win this one today.
The sensation of his cock against my prostate is overwhelming, combined with just the right amount of pain and I finally fall over the edge.
And it’s exactly like that, a falling versus an explosion. Come does dribbles out of my cock, but the orgasmic sensations come from my arse instead, casting out and vibrating through me as I squeeze around his dick. When it’s over, I’m boneless as he pumps sticky come into me.
Still on top of me, his hands pressed into the mattress, he cranes his head down to kiss me, his tongue slipping over mine, tangling and caressing. “You did it,” he says, proud of me.
I’m still far away in subspace, I nod everything around me buoyant.
“Come. Time for a hot bath and then we’ve got work to attend to today.”
He makes sure I’m cleaned up and that salve is rubbed into my lash marks and then he helps me dress in the world’s smallest pair of shorts, which I make a note to complain about later, even deep as I am into my sub-haze.
I kneel for him as gracefully as I can at his feet in the Great Hall as he works, enjoying how my hair surrounds me as he places it just so.
He occasionally runs his hands through it and tells me what a good job I’m doing, encouraging me, “just a bit longer, sweetheart,” when my endurance begins to wane.
At the end of the day, he carries me back to his bed and massages my feet until I return to the land of the living. I stretch and smile, feeling a world better. Fuck. I always fight it but surrendering brings me freedom. “Fucking hell, Alrik. That was intense.”
“Not as intense as it was going to be,” he says picking up my foot, to press a kiss into the wrinkles on the bottom of it. “But you’re too irresistible for your own good.”
“I can’t believe you made me wear tiny little pants. I’d like to veto these.”
“But you look so delightful.”
I grumble rolling my hot face into the pillow. I’ll never see the last of them, will I?
“Tristan, you sure you don’t want to take my title? You could do a lot of good for the realm. You’re good with people and you would make a good mate for me. I have come to realize, I’m happy with a part-time husband, I’m too busy for someone full-time. What you and I have works for me.”
A pit forms in my stomach. I’m drawn to make him happy, to please him, it kills me when I have to turn him down. Plus, doing things for the good of the realm is my weakness.
“It won’t interfere with you and Corrik, I’ll make sure,” he continues. “We would need at least one child, but I’ll bear the responsibility of raising him or her and I’ll find a partner to satisfy my other, deeper, total power exchange needs.”
Wow, he really wants this. I bite my lip.