Page 128 of A Brat's Tale
Slave and Master is the ultimate power exchange. We chose submissive as the official role I would serve for him (there was a collaring ceremony and everything) because there is some flexibility in a submissive role—we can move between extremes.
We don’t do this often, which is a stark change from what it was meant to be, in the twenty-four-seven deal, had we married. Alrik knows this isn’t me, not to that extent anyway. I’ve learned I have the capacity for it, but a permanent role like that that would drive me crazy. I know when Alrik chooses this, I’m spinning wildly out of control. Doesn’t mean I won’t fight him every step of the way. He wants me to yield? He can make me yield.
“I see you’re going to be stubborn,” he says. “We’ll start with an hour.”
“Alrik,” I plead.
“An hour and a half,” he says, brows furrowed, looking down at me. “Forget the appellation again and it’s two.”
I want to cry. An hour and a half is a long time to kneel like this. Sure I did two as a human and sure it’s easier physically as an Elf, but I don’t do peaceful silence well. “Yes, Master.”
Yes Master is the only answer he’s looking for.
The hour and a half is torture. He won’t allow any small breaks in form. Each lapse is met with a whack from his special toy. Elves have special implements made for Elves. They’re magical and have an effect on Elven flesh unlike the non-Elven counterparts, which would no longer have enough impact on me. It’s a single, leatherwhip, attached to a thin stick; a delicate-looking item, but it packs a sting.
“Mmph,” I grunt, trying not to cry out when he lashes the top of my arse for slouching. “Thank you, Master.”
“You’re not focusing on what you should be focusing on. Tell me, what should that be?”
“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 wasbeing 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 fightaboutme, 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.
