Page 102 of A Brat's Tale
I whine but I might not mind a spanking today. I’ll likely sing another tune later but now it would be a relief. We carry on through the halls, Corrik stops to greet other Elves and I have to kneel at hisfeet and wait at perfect attention. I try to recall how Tom did this, he excelled at maintaining enough sway in his lower back to give him the grace of a swan. I doubt I’m anything like Tom but I can tell Corrik is pleased. He chats long enough, my thighs ache, the floor is unforgiving and my toes are going to cramp if he doesn’t hurry it up. I breathe through the twinges and complaints from my body. The more I do this the more conditioned I’ll get—that’s what I tell myself over and over. It’s not unlike conditioning to train on the field. Training hurts. The strain of lifting a heavy sword, the burn of muscles overworked. Even afterward, I often soak in a hot, salt bath to minimize the aches.
Each new activity brings a new, unique ache. Training for submission is no different physically.
Mentally, there are challenges as well. Pushing myself to be fast as the Elves requires more than the physical stamina I possess. My mind has to be strong to break through to the next level. Submission is the same. It’s a physical, mental battle.
I get distracted.
I’m supposed to continue to focus on Corrik but I can’t help wondering if this is what he’ll want all the time now—me on a leash, obeying all commands whether verbal or non-verbal, naked and on display.
I can’t deny how much I like it. My cock is both a happy participant and admirer, leaking its approval. Apparently, it’s down with the blatant humiliation. But would I want this all the time? I guess my cock would but that bloke’s always had it out for me.
When Corrik’s finally finished the conversation, I do my best to peel myself off the ground and unfold like a fan, but I think I only succeed in imitating the way I’d unravel Bayaden’s linens when I had to make his bed—not near any definition of majestic. Corrik doesn’t add demerits like Strobavik would have.
I see Diekin and Ditira before they catch sight of us but only because they are intent on another direction. Corrik brightens. Gods dammit—it’s the perfect test for me—see if I can behave myself with Diekin present.
Lucky for me Diekin’s in a similar predicament, only his cock is locked away in a fancy-looking Elven cock cage. All of this I’m not supposed to see because I’m meant to be focused on Corrik but of course my eyes stray. “I’m counting that against you, Tristan. Eyes to me and only me.”
“Yes, sir.”
That means no hello to Diekin at all. Fuck. This one is hard. I want to greet him, I want to see what his posture looks like as he kneels, I want to see how Ditira gazes at him with adoration. I’ve drifted further away from subspace, I’m not even in the realm of it. “I will spank you here, Tristan,” he reminds me.
He will.
I readjust my posture attempting to make him proud. Now’s my chance to use the lessons I’ve learned along the way—all of them. I gaze up at him like I remember Tom doing with the Aldrien king. Tom’s adoration for King Caer Gai was something that sizzled through the air, it burned in the space between them and the king was just as drawn to return affections. Because I’m a brat, I tried to distract Tom from his duties to the king—it was at the beginning of my stay in Aldrien when I didn’t understand.
He was too practiced, his eyes never strayed and when I asked him about it he said, “Does a summer’s day ask you to worship it?” He made even less sense.
But one fine day it happened with Bayaden. Just happened. There was no resistance, my mind didn’t lament on questions, I didn’t worry over what else was around me; there was only Baya’s voice and his touch.
I look to Corrik.Does a summer’s day ask you to worship it?No, it doesn’t. It’s just there and you give yourself to it. Corrik, is he beautiful? Yes, but that’s not all. He’s a genuine source of awe. Of all his siblings, (that I’ve met, there are so many I may never meet them all) I’m sure the Gods have shined most upon Corrik. Even on the days he pisses me off the most, I’ll seethe in a rage until I take one look at him and become transfixed by his energy. It’s solid and deadly and yet somehow pure—like a good spirit come to visit from the heavens.
Corrik is affectionate and attentive. Sometimes a little too overprotective for my liking but he’s toned that down significantly since we’ve returned, even though I can tell it’s hard for him. He does it for me because he knows a dragon has to have freedom. I can’t wait to see him with the army, I already know he’s brilliant with a sword but him commanding them is going to be something else.
The blurred edges return. I’m mesmerized by Corrik and I give myself over.
He leads me to the Great Hall and we enter via a private entrance so as to avoid the line of people seeking audience with the royal court. Most of the time it’s the king and queen and Alrik handling these kinds of affairs but Corrik has been known to fill in if needed. Corrik is one of the youngest Cyredanthems and prefers to spend more of his time with the Elven military, but he’s also one of the few Elves who receives powerful visions. Technically any Elf has this potential, but not all of them do and some possess the skill to a greater degree than others. Along with this gift of Corrik’s comes an added sixth sense about things, and the king and queen will often look to Corrik for council because of it even though he lacks experience.
I keep my eyes to Corrik but catch Alrik in my periphery—I might not be an Elf yet, but I have excellent peripheral vision. He’s been avoiding me. I don’t expect him to spare me a glance, imagine my surprise when he does. I know I’m not hard on the eyes and with my bright white collar, firm around my neck, the sunlight glinting off the golden trim, I assume that’s too much for ones like Alrik to resist.
Add my human “condition” (or illness, I’m not quite sure how much of a disease Elves consider being human) and I swear I’m some kind of Elven fetish.
Corrik gestures toward a purple pillow to the right of his throne but it’s also left of Alrik who’s the only one looking after the Hall today. I obey, gliding into position, kneeling to the soft silk. I knew this was coming, I knew Corrik would end his kinky exhibitionism tour here so he can show me off, but I thought I’d hate it.
I don’t. There’s plenty of embarrassment coursing through me, being on display as I am, making my cock throb, but I feel pretty andI’m honored to be Corrik’s, kneeling for him like this. He’s let go of the leash, so it dangles from my neck, the slack curled in a pile next to me. “What are you doing here, Corrik?” his brother says. “You weren’t scheduled to be here today. This is the royal court, not a place for you to play games with your toy.”
I want to bite his shin for that, but if I do, it will only further prove how disobedient he thinks me already and I will submit beautifully for Corrik if it fucking kills me. I tense without moving, my head bowed, letting my long hair surround me. Unfortunately, I lose my grip on subspace, the edges of the world returning—Alrik’s too much of a distraction for me at the moment. “Tristan is in training, brother.”
“Train him on another day—when I’m not here.”
Corrik sighs. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you. Come along, Tristan.”
But before I can move, the man who was next to approach Alrik shouts, “Prince Corrik, oh Prince Corrik! Thank the Gods. I was hoping you’d be here today, but I knew you might still be healing. I’ve come to speak about the abducted halflings. I have information.”
I can’t see them since they’re both behind me but I know Corrik must be looking to his brother for permission. Not only have we been kicked out, but Corrik’s supposed to be healing not worrying himself over the witch wyrm case. “You may go speak with him,” Alrik says.
“Tristan,” Corrik leans to my ear to say. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be. You may relax until I return.”
I know that doesn’t mean get up; I do adjust myself so I’m leaned to one side and sitting on my right bum cheek rather than kneeling. He kisses my lips, and he’s gone. I watch him head into the crowd to speak with the man, privately admiring the way Corrik moves. Corrik is as graceful as a dancer. One so large shouldn’t be so nimble but he is, and truthfully most Elves are, but for Corrik it seems the air parts for him to make movement that much easier than for the rest of us.
