Page 45 of Tristan
A moment ago, I wanted him gone, now that he’s leaving, I want him to stay. “Corrik! You can’t leave me like this.Please.”
“You asked for time alone and that’s exactly what you’ll get.”
In no mood to be generous with me, he turns and stalks out, a slamming door all he leaves behind; while I fume on the bed tied like a hog ready for roasting.
Bloody straps are all I can think about.
I have another thought that ferments inside my brain; part of me wants him to beat me, to feel his strap on my bare skin, to feel my skin heat red and the endorphins circle around in my blood—to cry until I’m physically exhausted.
I’ve been thinking about Papa and his final message to me.The result? The inside of me is chaos.
I fight my bonds. I tug, wiggle, pull and hop around on my stomach and it’s at least thirty minutes later that I realize they were secured by an Elf, a clever Elf who apparently knows something about binding a person. Once I realize the decision to be still has been made for me, something else takes over and I relax. I sink into the bed and let the bonds hold me—like it’s Corrik holding me—as I think.
I think about Father and Papa. All the times my father beratedPapa and all the times Papa would say, “Yes Arcade. Of course, Arcade.” Was that part of how he submitted? I also think about his words to me on the day after my wedding.It’s my fault, Tristan. It’s all my fault.Is he the reason I’m like this? Did he raise me to be this way without my knowledge? What is “this way?”
Whatever it is, I don’t like it. As much as Papa raised me, I was also raised by my father to be a strong warrior—I’ve got the blood of a dragon in me—if Corrik wants me to submit to him he can earn it.
The door opens and Corrik returns to see I’m not much better off than I had been.
“I demand you let me go, Corrik.”
“I see you need more time alone.” He pretends to be irritated, but he’s not. He’s in a much better mood than when he left. I wonder if it has something to do with me being bound?
“Fine leave. Who needs you?”
I wiggle around on the bed likeIintend to leave but of course I can’t.
“Enough, Kathir. I’m going to release you and then we’ll talk about what’s bothering you.”
I’ll talk with him of nothing, but I’m silent so he’ll unbuckle me. I sigh relief when he removes the strap from around my forearms; I didn’t realize how sore my shoulders had got. I don’t have time to rub them; however, before he turns me over his knee without releasing the strap around my ankles. In one motion, my travel pants are pooled around the strap at my feet and my underthings too; my bottom is at his mercy.
“This isn’t talking, Corrik,” I brat at him.
“You’re a slow learner then, my little Markaytian—this is how I talk.” Without further preamble, he makes quick work heating the cheeks of my bottom with his hand. When it starts to sting, I wiggle and squirm to get out of target range but he’s too strong and my arse is further assaulted. He doesn’t say a word and I wonder how he can define this as talking? It doesn’t take long for the tears to comebecause of the sting, but also the frustration of getting spanked without any choice in the matter.
My feelings turn to my real problem. I think of Papa, Father, what Diekin’s said to me … They’re right. There’s something different about me that’s clear to Corrik and Diekin, that has been left undiscovered by me until now. It’s a strange realization because I know submission is part of me—I think I’ve known for a while—but I’m learning about what it means to me.How it threads into my identity.
I know I feel better when Corrik gives me what he seems to know I need even if I don’t know I need it myself. I cry, releasing my anger and frustration, succumbing to the pain. I let the tears drown the chaos until I’m soothed.
Corrik seems to realize I’ve reached this point. He flips me up and makes short work of removing the rest of my clothes and the last strap around my ankles. He tosses me on the bed and undresses himself as I watch him and try to sneak a hand back to cool the fire on my cheeks.
“Do not touch your bottom—just feel the burn,” he instructs.
I don’t know if this is meant to be more punishment for mouthing him off or if there’s a reason for it—either way I have no choice but to do as he says. I enjoy the view of his naked body and let the pain wash over me.
Corrik takes a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and flips me over to slick the crease of my hot cheeks. I inhale, sharply. “Ow! Corrik,” I protest.
“No. Take it.Feel.”
I do. I let him press his finger into my sore cheeks, the ones that still burn, and then two fingers and then three, and when I’m prepared, he turns me on my back. “Up.”
He switches places with me and sits on the bed. His cock is rock solid, and the skin looks like it’s going to burst open. “You’re going to ride my cock, Tristan.”
I look hesitantly at the thing that will impale my sore ass butapproach him anyway—like I would an angry dragon. “This isn’t about punishment, Tristan. I need to be inside you.”
“But it will hurt.”
“Yes. I want you to take my cock anyway.”
