Page 8 of A Brat's Tale
Tom looks at me like I’m crazy and he’s right; I am crazy. What I’m not is stupid. “Won’t he notice one less shirt in his closets, Tristan?”
“Are you kidding me? That pompous arse has more shirts, pants, and boots than he knows what to do with. He’ll never miss one plain, non-unique blouse when he’s got at least seven more.” My lips curl around the Elvish words and while I don’t ever think I’ll have command of the language like Tom does, I’m proud that I can speak Elvish fluently. It’s not easy to learn.
As for Bayaden’s blouse, there's no way I'm bringing it back with a large red stain on it, especially when it would be the second one this week. As long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of laundry. This time it honestly wasn’t my fault. I made a point to separate thecolored fabrics from the whites, but somehow one white blouse ended up with the colored clothes. I swear, it had a life of its own and made its way into the wrong pile.
“If you say so, Tristan.”
I get on well with Tom, but both our royals keep us busy and we don’t see each other often. It always seems to be when I run into Tom that I’m in the middle of trouble. The guy probably thinks I'm loony. Maybe I am a bit; this place can make any sane man go a bit 'round the twist. “Don’t worry about me. I know exactly how to handle Prince Bayaden. He thinks he’s so smart, but I’m always three steps ahead of him,” I say tapping my noggin. “That’s the secret.”
“I’ll take note,” he says. I don't think he believes me.
“As you well should.” I grab the last bit of Bayaden’s laundry, poke at the ash that was once his white blouse with a fire poker, and salute Tom before I make my way back to Bayaden’s chambers.
It’s early. Bayaden is sleeping soundly in his four-poster bed while I’ve polished boots, gathered laundry and ordered his breakfast. I used to have to bring it to him as well, but I seem to either get sidetracked on my way to the kitchens or Meren would stuff me full of whatever goodies she’d made that day (despite Bayaden’s orders) and I wouldn’t be hungry enough to eat with Bayaden. It irritated him when he couldn’t feed me. He likes to have me eat with him, claiming it gets lonely with just him in his chambers. I suggested he go eat with his family if he wanted company, which did not go over well. I spent that meal hanging by my wrists from a chain slung over the rafters in his chambers, with some phallic-shaped thing stuffed in my mouth as he ate divine-smelling food and lectured me on the importance of speaking to him respectfully. He also said I could either eat with him at the table, or he’d string me up just as uncomfortably every mealtime, where I could watch him eat then take my meal from the floor once he’d finished his. I kept my mouth shut after that. Bayaden can be grouchy, but if I’m obedient, he’s good to me.
I take a moment to stare at his almighty form. Elves are massive. The whole lot of them. I was considered tall in Markaytia at six feet.Baya is a good three and a half feet taller than I am. He’s tangled in the blankets—he always twists them up and pulls them off me—and it allows me to ogle one of his mammoth thighs. He could crush me with his legs if he wanted to. He’s threatened to, yet here I stand.
I set the laundry basket down and move to slide the curtains open. The bright sunshine will wake him—he’ll hate it. I get few pleasures in life now that I’m a manservant. Bayaden’s scowl when he’s forced to wake with the sun is one of them. “Do that and I’ll tan your pretty hide,” he says before I can so much as touch the curtains.
“But, m’Lord, it’s a beautiful day,” I say, deepening my Aldrien, Elvish accent. “The sun is shining, the birds are calling, and the flowers are blooming. Does that mean it’s spring here? Or summer? I can’t tell.”
“Quit your nonsense. You know it’s always summer here.”
“How can it always be summer here?”
“Because it is. Come.” I climb onto the bed and he pulls the covers down. He’s naked of course. “Suck.”
I scowl at him. His eyes are still closed. “Only if you ask me nicely. I’m not your dog.”
“Suck my cock, now, or I’ll put a leash on you, and you’ll know exactly what it’s like to be a dog,” he says, his dark eyes glittering. He can be such an arse in the morning.
I move to his cock. It’s large. All the Elves seem to have gigantic members, the thickness of tree trunks and the length of human arms. Okay, I might be exaggerating about that last bit, but that’s what it feels like when I swallow the thing into my too-small-for-it mouth.
“Mmmmm … You’re good at that. It’s my favorite reason Andothair gave you to me.”
I want to bite him for that. I don’t though. I’ve only bitten Bayaden once and I’ll never do it again. I don’t like to think about why. Coming awake now, he pushes his hips up into my mouth, and when I hit a nice spot, he grabs the short hair at the nape of my neck, so he can move my head how he likes.
My beautiful long hair is gone, has been for some time, sinceAndothair lopped it off. They won't let me grow it back. I lick up his shaft and to the underside of the head of his cock then swallow him up again and suck and suck and suck. It’s not long before he’s releasing into my mouth and I’m doing my best to swallow around his engorged cock. I lick him off and wipe my chin with my fist.
“Well, I guess you’ve had your breakfast then,” he says.
“Bayaden.”
He laughs.I’ve come to love his laugh.“Not to worry, little human, I won’t allow you to starve. Come up here.”
He won’t. He’s oddly attentive.
I crawl into his arms and he cards his hand through my short hair, as he lazily strokes my hard cock. I enjoy. His hand is large, able to fit my whole cock inside like it’s got its own cave and Elves have wonderful uses of magic for sex, like getting the body to stimulate the release of a fluid to act as lube, which he coats the shaft with. I push my hips upward, fucking his hand, moaning.
Suddenly, his hand squeezes too hard around my cock. I pant and freeze, tears spring to my eyes and I have to wait until his thought passes. “B-Baya, what’s the deal?” I grit out.
“You said you’d always stay, no matter what. You made a trade: You for him.”
Well, that’s something we’ve not discussed in a while.Byhimhe means Diekin who is safely in Mortouge. “I’m staying,” I cry. “I’m yours, remember?”
He releases my cock, which hasn’t wilted. Why not, you ask? It’s just had the life squeezed out of it. But I am a fool who likes danger; it turns me on more and I’d fucking like to finish what he started. Only now he’s in a mood. He climbs out of bed, ready to set the room on fire. “You aren’t really mine.”
“What in the name of the Gods has gotten into you? I never leave this room without some kind of marking on me.”
