Page 72 of A Brat's Tale
“You have a brat’s curiosity, but you also know the appropriate way to ask questions. It is my decision as to whether or not it’s time to discuss things or if it’s time for you to focus on the task at hand. You will follow the rules if I have to paddle them into you.”
“Yes, Master Strobavik.” I hope he can’t see me smirking.
“To answer your question, yes. It’s common with Elves. We do like chastity,a lot. But don’t deny it, you do too. I can tell by the minute way your body responds at the mere mention of the idea.”
I amnottelling him how right he is. Smug bastard.
It gets harder to hide my responses to his finger. It’s slow and deliberate, which means it’s slowly and deliberately driving me mad. It takes all my energy not to give in like I want to, and I thank the Gods that when it’s Corrik doing this to me, I’ll be able to let loose.
Because itwillbe Corrik and he will come home.
As strict as Strobavik is, he’s good about praise. “That’s better. Focus, naughty kitten.”
I didn’t know there were cats in Mortouge, another question I asked out of turn when Strobavik first began calling me that. After hespanked me for it, he told me about the cats in Mortouge. They sound more ferocious than the cats we had in Markaytia.
As soon as Corrik is home, I’m demanding a tiny killer kitten.
Strobavik adds a finger, I whine. “I know, but you can do this. I am pushing you today, but I know you can take it. Think of how much it means to please Master Alrik, or if you need to, think about pleasing me.”
I’m supposed to spend time focusing on Alrik, thinking about worshipping and pleasing him, but I’m too angry with him. I know none of this is his fault either and he must act in the ways he feels the crown prince in his position should, but I need someone to take it out on and Alrik’s it. Strobavik knows I have a harder time when thinking of Alrik and will sometimes allow me to think of him instead since we have built some rapport between us.
I want to please Strobavik, I want him to tell me I’ve done well but I don’t use him for my muse either. I use Corrik. I pretend it’s Corrik behind me, adding another finger. At first this only serves to torture my cock further, but when I think about how much I’d like to please him, how much I want to give him this power over me, the edges of the world disappear. I float off into another world where this is still torture, but I can do it.
I complain by way of an indeterminate noise. “I want to keep going too,” he admits, “but then we will be beyond what you can handle. You know I don’t promise fair but I’m not a total arsehole.”
“That’s debatable, Master Strobavik.”
He smacks my arse for that. “You need another spanking, but you pulled it together and have done well for your first day so not getting the spanking is your reward.”
Only I would have “not getting spanked” as a real thing on a list of rewards. “Thank you, Master Strobavik. Are you sure there isn’t something that says if Tristan goes on to behave himself, he can orgasm?”
“I am sure that if Tristan doesn’t stop trying to circumvent the rules, he’s going to end up over my knee and lose his orgasming privileges for tomorrow too.”
I don’t even grumble about that—a feat in and of itself.
“In addition, you will spend one hour like this, thinking about how you can improve for next time and focusing on how much your cock aches.”
How is that supposed to help me? Answer is it’s not. It’s supposed to subtly make me hornier.Fucking sadists.“Sadists get to have fun too,” Strobavik often says, which only strengthens my assertion that they have brat in them too.
Which makes me think.Yeah.We all have a portion of each of these designations within us, but it’s the amount that teeters the balance and makes us spin out as one classification more dominantly than the other. It doesn’t mean an aspect can’t be brought to the surface from time to time.
I get it now. This is what Master Strobavik has been trying to teach me.
The next day, Strobavik brings an assortment of toys. “We will work hard today, Tristan. I hope you are prepared.”
I tilt my head from the spot on the floor where I’m kneeling for him, already dressed in the shorts and harness.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m going to use your pretty mouth, and we’ll see how long you can go with one of my special dildos.”
My cheeks heat at the mention of dildos and it’s nice to know I have some Markaytian sensibilities left in me. But I want to know what Strobavik’s cock looks like and I’m good at sucking dick so it can’t turn out to be a terrible day. Plus, I vow to get just a little bit of payback for the torture he’s put me through even if I end up in a meeting with his Tristan Paddle. It’ll be worth it.
“We’ll begin there,” he says, untying his leather pants and pulling out his cock to sit erect before my lips.
Like all Elven cocks I’ve seen, it’s thick and long. His alabaster skin allows the veins to show through, dark in contrast and the head is a thick mushroom-shape, covered by foreskin. I look it over, analyzingit, planning my attack. First, I’ll show him I’m not a total idiot. He hasn’t taught me the protocol for this, but I can guess from what I know.
Not to mention, I need to orgasm pretty badly by this point—I could use some good favor.
I gaze large eyes up at him. “May I suck your cock, Master Strobavik?”
