Page 8 of Shadowbound

“We are better—for we have not succumbed to your wicked ways. We do not practice magic, nor have we given in to the lusts and temptations of the flesh as you NightBorn have done,” I growl.

“Are you quite sure about that?” She looks pointedly down at my cock, which is so hard it fucking hurts. By the Old Gods, what is wrong with me? I feel my cheeks growing hot with shame. I don’t know why I’m hard—why being restrained and taunted like this causes my body to react.

“You’re doing this to me,” I accuse her. She must be. “It’s your evil magic that causes my body to…to do what it’s doing.”

She raises her eyebrows delicately.

“You think I’m doing this? Perhaps you believe I cast a lust spell on you?”

“You must have!” I say, glaring at her. “There’s no other reason I should be hard when you’re holding me against my will.”

The gem at her temple pulses with evil green light.

“But what about the Sisters of Correction?” she murmurs, giving me a knowing look. “What about the way your shaft got so hard when they lashed you? The way you went out of your way to disobey…to earn more punishments. Especially from Sister Beatrice…”

Her words bring up a shameful memory and suddenly I am plunged into the past.

Sister Beatrice with her long brown hair and stern green eyes. She was younger than the other priestesses and her plain white robes draped over her full curves enticingly. I could see the way her big breasts jiggled when she walked. Her hips were wide and her thighs were deliciously thick.

She was so stern with me…forcing me to kneel and kiss her feet when I was bad. Sometimes she even bid me kiss between her thighs. Through her robes, I could smell her sweet, feminine scent, calling to me, though I knew it was a call I could never answer.

Sister Beatrice often warned me that she would beat me if I didn’t behave myself. Sometimes she’d grip my shaft through my trousers and squeeze it tight as she spoke in my ear…

“I’ll strip you naked for all to see—is that what you want, Alaric?” she would murmur. “Must I whip you for you to behave?”

And all the time she’d be squeezing me—giving me the Grip of Chastisement which all the sisters learned but few used. I was a young man by then but still so impressionable. And Sister Beatrice was scarcely older than me.

But the way she gripped me, with such authority… I was taller and bigger than her but I knew better than to use my superior strength to resist her. She was punishing me in the only way that worked and I must take her chastisement if I wished to become a knight worthy of the Celestial Fire that indwelled me…

“And so you submitted to her—to the pain and the pleasure she gave,” a voice murmurs in my ear.

I jerk, startled. For a moment I had been transported back in time—I not only remembered being flogged and gripped—I relived it!

“How…how did you do that?” I growl, looking down at the Sorceress.

She smiles up at me, her red lips parting once again to show her fangs, and taps the gem at her temple.

“I told you—the Jewel of Knowing. It’s most useful in determining someone’s motivations, dear Paladin. Or may I call you by your name—Alaric.”

“You had no right to look inside me!” I growl.

The shameful memory—one I’ve long suppressed—has made me ache with need. Gods, if only she would free me, I would find my sword and cleave her lovely head from her soft, curvy body…

“Ah, now your thoughts have turned bloodthirsty. And you accuse me and my kind of thirsting for blood,” she remarks, smiling again. “Such a beautiful man, but so conflicted…”

She reaches up and I see her lovely pale hand coming towards me, possibly to touch my cheek. My heart leaps. Now I’ll have my revenge! The moment she makes contact with me, she’ll be sorry.

The Sorceress hesitates for a moment, as though reading my triumphant thoughts…then reaches for me anyway. I feel her soft hand—the first hand that has touched me willingly in too many years to count—brush against my cheek. I wait for her reaction.

But…she doesn’t immediately jerk her hand away. She doesn’t exclaim in pain or shock. Instead, she strokes my cheek gently, her soft touch sending shivers through my entire body.

I can’t understand it…why isn’t she being burned?

As one indwelled by the Celestial Fire, I am always alight from within. The Holy Flames that course just under my skin burn anyone who touches me. It’s the same as though they laid a hand on a hot stove—they jerk away, unable to make contact for more than a second.

But Sylvanna seems to have no trouble at all.

“How…how are you able to do this?” I ask hoarsely as she continues to caress me without a single sign of distress. “Even my own Mother couldn’t touch me! She sent me to the GodKing’s Temple when I was only seven because she couldn’t handle me anymore!”

---