Page 63 of Tristan
“Stand up.”
I do, keeping my eyes to his polished boots and my arms behind me, fingers interlaced. His long, slender fingers reach to the waistbandof my pants, and I inhale sharply. He’s deliberate, yet primal as he undresses me, releasing my throbbing, bouncing, cock—no I’m not wearing any underthings.
When I’m standing naked before him, he gently caresses my cock and fondles my balls—if he doesn’t fuck me tonight, I think I’ll die.
“You like this very much, don’t you? Answer me.”
“Yessss, Corrik,” I hiss.
His eyes are feral, and his posture is taut as a spring; he’s holding himself back again. “Kneel.”
I stifle a groan, not wanting to get back into the painful position, the short reprieve not enough relief for my tired muscles, but I sense we are on the verge of the things my cock wants and I’ll not tarnish the opportunity. I sink down and urge him by nipping at his cock that is barricaded by smooth leather. Corrik almost gives himself away when his hips push minutely toward me, but he refrains and grasps my chin, so I look up at him. “Do you want me to fuck your mouth, beautiful boy?”
“Please, Corrik.” I hope he’ll do much more than that.
He allows me to watch him unzip the leather pants that are a muted, almost grey-black and releases his large Elven member. He’s proud of that cock and he should be. It’s magnificent. I lean forward to take him in my mouth and he pulls back. “I don’t think so. There will be rules.”
Rules?
“You will keep your hands behind your back. Do you need me to bind them for you?”
“No, Corrik.”
“The punishment for failure will be severe. Are you certain?”
“Yes, Corrik.”
He smiles. “My ambitious little Markaytian. You please me.” He moves forward so his cock is against my lips; I can smell him, but I don’t dare lick him.
“Open your mouth,” he says, as he grabs a fist full of my hair inhis hand so he can control my head. I do and he slams his cock into me. It reaches the back of my throat. I gag. He keeps going.
“Hold still,” he growls when I squirm as I fight for breath with tears streaming down my cheeks. “Relax, Kathir. I know your limits. I will not harm you.”
Harm is different than hurt, I know that. There is pain involved in this, but I will not be damaged. I want to make it through for him, so I force myself to relax, and it gets easier, but I still gag, and it still elicits tears.
Finally, he’s coming down my throat and I drink him in greedily—his cock doesn’t lose its hardness, even once I’ve sucked it dry.
My cock hurts. Corrik is gone and I’m alone with a hard on from the sixth level of the underworld. I’m still naked, but I’m lying in darkness with only the light from the moon to play across my copper skin. He’s unhappy, my cock that is. He’s thinking of the times from before when I would have to wait for Corrik to send word that I could relieve myself. He would ache and plead with me to touch him. This isn’t much different.
Before he left Corrik made it clear that if I so much as looked at my cock, he’d know about it, and he’d make me regret it. Not that I would have touched my cock anyway, I’ve long since grown used to Corrik controlling what I do and what I don’t do with my cock. I try to sleep after that, but no such luck. Instead, I spend close to an hour thinking over this new side of Corrik I’ve been experiencing.
This is who Corrik really is. He’s been withholding this from me. The restraint I saw on our wedding night, his leniency with me, he’s been allowing how I might react to decide how much “Elven lifestyle” he introduces to me.
He’s realized that does us no favors and I’m glad for it. This is my life now, to do as Corrik says, and I wish he’d been this way from the beginning.
I love being this for him and I’m enjoying the exploration.
With my thoughts in order, I’m able to drift off to sleep but a noise wakes me. When I open my eyes, a large Elf is sitting there, but it’s not Corrik.
I know danger and I can sense it before it happens.
“Calm down, human,” a deep voice says. “I will not harm you,yet.”
The Elf is decidedly a ‘he,’ though I cannot make out more than his silhouette in the dark and he sits in the armchair in the corner of the room at the end of the bed.
“How did you get in here?” I calm down but remain on edge. I think about the dagger I know is somewhere among Corrik’s things, but I doubt I can get to it. I’ve seen Elves move in battle, they’re fast, much faster than any human.
From what I can see of his profile, he’s got long hair like most Elves, and a set of wide shoulders. His fingers are steepled with his elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t seem in any rush, and I can tell he’s thinking about what to do next, like he’s making things up as he goes along.
