Page 22 of A Brat's Tale
“Because you have a nice arse,” he said, which was not a real answer, which meant I wasn’t going to get one. “All right, brace yourself.”
He increased the intensity and picked up the pace and okay, yeah, then it became a real spanking. I sucked wind and had to do some serious breathwork not to squirm too much. “I take it that’s better?”
“Depends on your definition of better, sir,” I said in sharp tones trying not to succumb to the fire that was building. But when he worked over my sensitive upper thighs, I couldn’t keep still any longer and I squirmed, letting out a groan of misery. “Okay, that’s. Ow. Andothair!”
For the use of his name over sir, I got five heavier smacks, and I cried out. Tears sprung to my eyes. He stopped for a moment and I apologized. “Sorry, sir.Sir.”
“Thank you.”
And on and on it went. Andothair worked over my bare bottom at the same maddening pace and as the spanking carried on, the pain built up. The loudness of each smack, ringing off the marble in the room, defined the quiet. At least no one was around to watch, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t come in at any time and there were always plenty of guards at any particular time who could hear us.
I didn’t have time to give those thoughts my awareness; my world had narrowed to the pain. I breathed, and I kicked, and I squirmed, but nothing eased what Andothair was doing to my backside. The tears flowed freely, and I sobbed. Everything inside hurt too. I didn’t know what had become of Corrik, and I had betrayed everyone.
I wanted Bayaden, I took that for myself.
I’m—I’m justselfish.
The tears dropped in fat rivulets and the agony that had become my arse helped me connect to a place within myself, like fire finding the wick of a candle.
Eventually, Andothair stopped and helped me stand, tossing my pants to me as I continued to sniffle. I could have gone longer. I felt some relief, but it wasn’t complete. But, ugh. I wasn’t going to ask for more.
“There now. I have work to do. Sharpen up, Tristan. It’s time for you to move on from Corrik. The sooner you do that, the better off you’ll be.”
Ionly made it to the fifth boot before I threw it at the wall. I wanted to throw it at Bayaden, who said something scathing to me in Elvish, as I continued to pout. I also had a great need to antagonize Bayaden—I thought it would be fun to see what he would do if I grabbed that book out of his hand and whacked him over the head with it.
Would he turn me over his knee?
My bet was on that or attempted murder.
“You’re not very good at that.” His Markaytian surprised me.
“Course I’m not. I haven’t polished boots since I was my father’s squire. I hated it then too.”
“I’d get used to it if I were you.”
“I thought you weren’t going to speak to me in Markaytian?”
He swung off the bed and I jumped a bit,maybe more than a bit.I’d gone too far.
The man is imposing in a deadly, beautiful way, like oleander, the flower of the underworld and even knowing him as I do now has never diminished these qualities.
I was envious, once again, of his dark hair as it swished around him. “You are driving me crazy. Why must you speak back to me? Do you have any idea what …” He tightened his hands into fists, ones I’m certain he wanted to put around my neck. I didn’t know it then, but disobedience drives a Top (especially an Elven Top) crazy too. They need your submission in whatever way that manifests between the pair of you. “My brother was supposed to sort you out. Can I assume that he didn’t?”
“He did. Some. Not all the way.” I returned to my boot-polishing task, with renewed energy hoping if I did it long enough, he’d disappear.
He swore in Elvish. “You’re going to go mad.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“Why are you so stubborn?” He grabbed my arm and pulled me from the stool, the one that has becomemystool. “Undress.”
I pulled away from him. “No.”
“You are supposed to do what I say.”
He wasn’t expecting it, which was the only reason I was able to do it. There was a knife on the table toward my right. I used every ounce of speed I had, snatching up the knife and putting it to his throat.
I drew some blood. He laughed and grabbed my wrist, the one holding the knife and pulled it away from his neck easily. “Good job, Tristan. If you had just stabbed, you might have injured me. But you hesitated, probably were about to attempt to threaten me—you can’t do that though. I am Elf.”
