Page 106 of A Brat's Tale
The Gods help me but I am. It will please him, he’ll be proud. I want to see that gleeful smugness on his face—the good spirits only know why. “Still interested, sir.”
I feel the head of his cock line up with my entrance and then it’s pushing inside. I have to relax to make room for the thick shaft. Corrik hooks his fingers into the crease where the bottom of my hips meet the top of my thigh, he snaps back and then forward and sinks deep, finally pushing against my prostate.
“Mmmmm, ngggggghhh. Feels good, sir.” I breathe and I enjoy, floating on my happy little cloud of subspace as he pumps in and out.
Corrik says he doesn’t think our energies will truly mesh until I am an Elf, but right now I feel meshed with him.
“Sir, sir! I’m gonna … gonna come if you keep that up.”
“No. You’re going to hold back for me aren’t you, Tahsen?” Even the way Corrik’s Elvish accent curls around the words is erotic. How does he expect me to hold back? “You’re doing so good, my darling. Come on, a little longer. Just a little…”
Corrik releases into me and by the Gods the sounds he makes. I don’t like not getting to see his face. The nice thing about Elven magic is that he has me unraveled from my confines and has his naked body wrapped around my sweaty one quickly. He sucks on my neck and I close my eyes riding out the bliss of subspace with a hard on from the deep, dark depths of the underworld.
He massages me, rubbing healing salve into my arse and thighs but he doesn’t heal the markings. My heart beats into a hickey he sucked onto my neck; I run my hand across it. Slowly the edges of the world become crisp again and I’m just tired rather than ‘away’. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to keep that my darling.”
I smile and pull him to me, breathing him in. “You don’t mark me enough, Cor.”
“Since when does a Markaytian become more addicted to marking culture than Elves, hmmm?”
“Maybe it’s like everyone keeps saying, I’m destined to become one so maybe it’s already there.”
“Maybe.” He kisses my head from behind. He’s spooning me again and I intend to have him lay here with me for the rest of the day.
“Is that what you want all the time now, Cor?” Strobavik was training me to be slave for Alrik which was a twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-days-a-week gig.
“No, not all the time. I like the more playful relationship that’s grown between us and don’t wish for that to end. I will need your submission some of the time, Tristan. Or something like it. But I’d rather we let even this expression of us grow organically too, like we did with the other aspects of our dynamic.” He fiddles with my collar.
“Me too. But how will I know when you want…?”
“When you’re Elf, you’ll sense it. For now, I’ll simply tell you when you’re mine for the day.”
“I’m yours every day.”
Corrik glows. “You’ll know the one I mean.”
“How long do I have to suffer with this?” I try to reach for my cock, he stops me.
“Till after dinner. If you behave yourself, I’ll take you in my mouth how you like.”
“Corrik.” Yes, I’m whining. “You’re evil—that’s a long time to behave.”
“You’d think it would be easy after a strapping like that.”
“I am Tristan Kanes, arse of steel,” I tease.
He turns me to face him. “I love you, Tristan Kanes. I can’t wait to make you a Cyredanthem again.”
“I love you, Corrik.” I place my hand on his chest. “You’re my favorite.”
Training with the Mortougian army is different than training with the Aldrien one. It’s limited of course and it’s not going anywhere—I’m forbidden a post in the army, even when I’m an Elf—but it’s better than my previous situation.
The only unfortunate aspect is I’ve made a new enemy—Zelphar. He does not want a human training on his field. He couldn’t give a fuck as to said human’s past as junior Warlord, or who the order has come from for me to train with him; he’s determined to prove them wrong. It’s unsaid of course, and it’s only something the two of us know. I could, of course, tell Corrik that the reason I return beat to shit every day is not because I’m human, but because I’m worked beyond what I should for my capabilities, but I won’t. Because Zelphar would win if I do. Instead, I take the beatings and let healers heal me so that Corrik doesn’t have to and all his power can continue to go to healing him (apparently the magic he uses during sex is small enough, it doesn’t negatively impact healing—of course it doesn’t).
When I was in Aldrien, even Bayaden got tired of watching his men beat me nearly to death each day, and it’s wearing on my husband-non-husband, faster. I try to hit up the Healing Centre before I let him see me, but I have a curfew to keep and if I’m going to be late, I have to notify him. This brings him to the Healing Centre where he can view my battered body and after one too many of those days, the request comes.
“Tristan.”
He doesn’t have to say it, I can see it in his tired eyes. “I will take a break,” I say heaving my sword off my back to set it against the wall. I stride across the room, cursing Elven Warlords in my head. He won. This is exactly what Zelphar wanted, but while there are some things I can push for from Corrik, this is not one of them.
