Page 69 of A Brat's Tale
I love that he thinks I care if he comes or not.
He storms out but leaves all the darkness he brought with him. When I hear the last lock click shut, I fall apart. I don’t know anything for a while; I sob till my throat hurts and my eyes burn until I feel like I’m drifting out to sea in a fog.
Chapter 15
There are good things and bad things about my new keeper. For the bad, definitely the part where I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of here. I’m the dirt on the bottom of his boot, he has no use for me other than whatever husbandly duties I’ll have to perform and the ones for Mortouge as Crown Prince Consort.
He decides I should learn properslaveprotocol, but he’s not going to teach me—that’s beneath him—and so he sends the most terrifying Dungeon Master Elf, Strobavik, to do it for him. He specializes in training slaves.
At first glance Strobavik is terrifying, even though he’s not as broad shouldered as Baya or Alrik. His muscles are lithe like Corrik’s but he’s thinner, leaner and in general smaller by comparison.
He’s still a lot taller and larger than I am.
He wears black leather everything—black pants, an open leather jacket and tall boots. His long blond hair is wavy, and his tall Elven ears are decorated with earrings and jewels. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s wearing black eyeliner under his vivid blue eyes. “Put this on,” he says, tossing a pile of leather and buckles at me. “Lose the robe.”
His accent is different, he can’t be from this part of the realm.
I approach him like I would any battle—I don’t know this guy; I don’t give benefit of the doubt. Not with the mood I’m in.
The shock has far from worn off, I’m still processing Corrik’s disappearance and my subsequent engagement to the crown prince. And now there’s this guy.
As much as I’m a fucking brat sometimes there’s another side to me, one that needs to please.
There is a theory that we respond and react to energy, this notion is even stronger with Elves. It doesn’t occur to me to disobey the Elf, especially when I know where his orders come from. Even Corrik was quick to obey his brother.
I snatch up the pile of leather. It turns out to be the smallest pair of black leather shorts I’ve ever seen and a harness, which means I have no clue how to put the fucking thing on. I’ve worn a harness before, with Baya, but he was the one to dress me in it.
I’ll give it my best shot. How hard can it be?
Turns out, really fucking hard.
After watching me struggle with it for several excruciating minutes, visibly growing annoyed, he stops me. “I will show you how to put this on,” he says in his thick accent. “I expect you to take note. Next time you will be punished for delay and ignorance.”
Jeez, this guy.
I’m quiet as he prepares me, looping the crisscross harness onto my body. It carries around and down my back, cinching with a single buckle in front. It’s covered with rings.
The shortsjustfit over my arse and cover my dick, but they’re comfortable, and I can move in them surprisingly well. “Tell me you know how to kneel properly,” he says like I’m the most uncouth creature he’s ever encountered, and I guess to a Mortougian Elf that is the epitome of uncouth.
I didn’t kneel for Baya, not really. It just wasn’t that way between us. Yeah, we did some kinky stuff and there were formal times when kneeling was appropriate, but it’s not something he spent time training me to do. We used “the room” for spanking and bondage typestuff rather than having me spend a lot of time kneeling for him, like Tom did for the Aldrien king.
However, once upon a time, Corrik taught me how to kneel.
“I know how but I’m rusty, sir.” Even I can hear the sadness in my voice.
“At least you know how to use ‘sir,’” he says continuing to buckle me in.
I should be throwing a fit, in the least protesting against this but something much deeper’s longing for it. “I am an avid learner, sir.” I push my chest out and stiffen my lip.
He analyzes me and I hold my breath as his thoughts seem to pierce through to my soul. I grow frustrated and analyze him right back, the Warlord in me taking over, burning through me. He cracks a half smile and there’s a smirk in his eyes. “All right Tristan, if you will work hard, I will work just as hard for you. I’m going to hold you to your word.”
Strobavik doesn’t have the innate disdain for humans most Elves I’ve encountered seem to, but he doesn’t like his time wasted either, even if it’s under orders from the crown prince. I know he’s going to push me beyond endurance, but it will be because he thinks I can take it. That earns him the mark of my respect.
“I am here to teach you non-sexual, Master-slave protocol, but Alrik has given his consent for you to learn some sexual protocol as well. Even though it’s within his rights to make such a decision for you, he says you are of Markaytia and that it’s important I acquire your consent on the matter. I do not have permission to penetrate you anally, but we could do some things involving my cock. We’ve also got use of a large range of toys. If you consent, the organization of such things will be up to me and you won’t know what we’re going to do until we do it. You will still be expected to obey.”
I consider all he’s said. I’m surprised Alrik has given me the opportunity to say no, and for a moment I consider saying no out of spite over the whole thing. Then I remember a conversation with Corrik; we haven’t carried on our special lessons because he’s wanted to leavetime for me to study so that I could become Elf and be released from confinement sooner.
I refuse to believe Corrik’s not coming home. I prefer to believe that any day, he’ll waltz in the door and then wouldn’t it be a nice gift for him, if could I submit for him in all the beautiful ways Elves submit?
