One Session
Title: One Session
Fandom: subeta (my pets)
Pairing: none really
Warnings: extensive use of a riding crop with no horses present
Comment: Er... yes. This is not what I usually write or enjoy, but... well. Let's see if I can explain this right: Alrik is a boy searching for his big brother and for the finale I had already written the following quote: "I have had a whole city and its ruler bow to me and I have felt a slave's pain at the end of a whip. I have travelled the world to find you, brother." by which I basically meant that Alrik had lived through a lot of very different experiences that changed him from boy to man (not in that way :P). This is one very unpleasant episode of his life. I have plans to save him, and soon too, don't worry! And yes, I have a thing for riding crops.
Alrik never knew what his tormenter looked like.
He remembered being bought and bound and blindfolded, and apparently given away afterwards.
He knew the man who owned him was older than him, in his midthirties at least, if the way his body felt and his voice sounded were any indication. He was reasonably sure his hair was short, yet full, and his mustache was at all times well trimmed, never had he felt so much as a wayward stubble.
His owner did seem well organized, he had to give him that much. What he did to Alrik was, if rarely even close to pleasurable, well planned and thought out. There was no question or hesitation in his movement, the way he touched, spoke, acted.
And Alrik was always, always blindfolded. Also, most of the time, naked, but the blindfold was his one constant, the one thing he could rely on to be there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the man who repeatedly beat him into submission (literally!) looked like. But sometimes he would have liked to have a name to call him, if only in his head.
“Do you hurt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain.”
Once upon a time, Alrik would have been tempted to sigh in exasperation, but not anymore. No, any kind of judgement had been sufficiently trained out of him, and so he only thought about his answer for a moment before giving his answer, politely and as exact as he possibly could.
“The back of my thighs and my knees, mostly, and my shoulders are sore.”
None of these assessments would be of any surprise to his tormentor, seeing how his own riding crop had caused the burning and stinging in his thighs, and his word had bound Alrik to the kneeling position for hours and his hands raised behind his head.
He got a satisfied hum for an answer, and the tip of the crop in question swept very lightly over his misused legs.
It made Alrik shiver in fear and expectation.
He held perfectly still, his instinct to try and run effectively cancled out by even worse beatings that had followed such actions in the past. Never, ever avoid a blow. So he waited, and sure enough the crop came down hard on his already redened flesh.
He hissed in pain, but no scream escaped him. Not that he hadn’t screamed just moments ago, but he was past that. For now.
“I like your voice, when you cry out in pain. I like when you pass out from exhaustion. Did you know that?”
“Yes, sir.”, he had been told so frequently. Which meant it happened a lot, because whatever his owner wanted from him, he got, one way or another. It was still hard to keep his voice level and free of anger and annoyance, a skill he had quickly acquired but was far from perfecting.
“And I was wondering, is this pain something you yearn for? Can it be something that you want, that gives you pleasure?”
Now that was an easy question. “No, sir.”
“Ah.”, Alrik thought he heard a smile in that sound, a pleased tone, “Perfect.”
There was a bit of a pause and Alrik heard his owner circle him.
“Lower your hands, let them rest on your knees.”
He was glad about that command; his arms had begun to tire and it was a relief not to hold them up anymore.
“Bow your head a little.”, came the next instruction, accompanied by a hand on his neck, and he obeyed, knowing what was about to happen.
Hands explored his back and shoulders, almost like a massage, testing, probing, stroking. Alrik knew these hands so well, knew their smooth scarless skin and the long, slim fingers. When they left him he braced himself for the blow that came only seconds later, delivered by the unyielding crop right to his shoulders.
He gasped and had no time to collect himself as the beating came down on him like rain. Soon he was screaming openly, trying to keep his trembling body still despite the torturous treatment.
He wasn’t sure how long it took untill the torment ceased, but he was out of breath and sweat had collected on his skin. He knew it could be worse; he never bled when the riding crop was used on him; not that it was impossible to break the skin with that particular tool, but it seemed that when his owner picked it, he wasn’t in the mood for blood. That he reserved for the whip.
The man took a few steps back and waited patiently untill Alrik was breathing calmly again, then he let the crop fall to the ground, audibly to make sure Alrik understood the session was over, even though the boy knew better than to give any sign of yearning for an end.
“Stand up.”, came the quiet command and Alrik did so, albeit his knees threatened to give out. It took him a few minutes to stand firmly, but his owner was in no hurry. “Turn around.”, that order, too, was observed instantly. “That was very nice.”, he judged with a pleased voice, “Wait here now, don’t move, someone will pick you up.”
With that he left Alrik, the sound of his departing steps ringing in his slave’s ears. It was always like this, he never saw his owner’s face, nor much of anything else.
He took a deep breath and shivered as a cold breeze waved over his hot skin, telling him a window had been opened.
“Gods. Help…”, he whispered, and the wind took it away.
~end
Fandom: subeta (my pets)
Pairing: none really
Warnings: extensive use of a riding crop with no horses present
Comment: Er... yes. This is not what I usually write or enjoy, but... well. Let's see if I can explain this right: Alrik is a boy searching for his big brother and for the finale I had already written the following quote: "I have had a whole city and its ruler bow to me and I have felt a slave's pain at the end of a whip. I have travelled the world to find you, brother." by which I basically meant that Alrik had lived through a lot of very different experiences that changed him from boy to man (not in that way :P). This is one very unpleasant episode of his life. I have plans to save him, and soon too, don't worry! And yes, I have a thing for riding crops.
Alrik never knew what his tormenter looked like.
He remembered being bought and bound and blindfolded, and apparently given away afterwards.
He knew the man who owned him was older than him, in his midthirties at least, if the way his body felt and his voice sounded were any indication. He was reasonably sure his hair was short, yet full, and his mustache was at all times well trimmed, never had he felt so much as a wayward stubble.
His owner did seem well organized, he had to give him that much. What he did to Alrik was, if rarely even close to pleasurable, well planned and thought out. There was no question or hesitation in his movement, the way he touched, spoke, acted.
And Alrik was always, always blindfolded. Also, most of the time, naked, but the blindfold was his one constant, the one thing he could rely on to be there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the man who repeatedly beat him into submission (literally!) looked like. But sometimes he would have liked to have a name to call him, if only in his head.
“Do you hurt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain.”
Once upon a time, Alrik would have been tempted to sigh in exasperation, but not anymore. No, any kind of judgement had been sufficiently trained out of him, and so he only thought about his answer for a moment before giving his answer, politely and as exact as he possibly could.
“The back of my thighs and my knees, mostly, and my shoulders are sore.”
None of these assessments would be of any surprise to his tormentor, seeing how his own riding crop had caused the burning and stinging in his thighs, and his word had bound Alrik to the kneeling position for hours and his hands raised behind his head.
He got a satisfied hum for an answer, and the tip of the crop in question swept very lightly over his misused legs.
It made Alrik shiver in fear and expectation.
He held perfectly still, his instinct to try and run effectively cancled out by even worse beatings that had followed such actions in the past. Never, ever avoid a blow. So he waited, and sure enough the crop came down hard on his already redened flesh.
He hissed in pain, but no scream escaped him. Not that he hadn’t screamed just moments ago, but he was past that. For now.
“I like your voice, when you cry out in pain. I like when you pass out from exhaustion. Did you know that?”
“Yes, sir.”, he had been told so frequently. Which meant it happened a lot, because whatever his owner wanted from him, he got, one way or another. It was still hard to keep his voice level and free of anger and annoyance, a skill he had quickly acquired but was far from perfecting.
“And I was wondering, is this pain something you yearn for? Can it be something that you want, that gives you pleasure?”
Now that was an easy question. “No, sir.”
“Ah.”, Alrik thought he heard a smile in that sound, a pleased tone, “Perfect.”
There was a bit of a pause and Alrik heard his owner circle him.
“Lower your hands, let them rest on your knees.”
He was glad about that command; his arms had begun to tire and it was a relief not to hold them up anymore.
“Bow your head a little.”, came the next instruction, accompanied by a hand on his neck, and he obeyed, knowing what was about to happen.
Hands explored his back and shoulders, almost like a massage, testing, probing, stroking. Alrik knew these hands so well, knew their smooth scarless skin and the long, slim fingers. When they left him he braced himself for the blow that came only seconds later, delivered by the unyielding crop right to his shoulders.
He gasped and had no time to collect himself as the beating came down on him like rain. Soon he was screaming openly, trying to keep his trembling body still despite the torturous treatment.
He wasn’t sure how long it took untill the torment ceased, but he was out of breath and sweat had collected on his skin. He knew it could be worse; he never bled when the riding crop was used on him; not that it was impossible to break the skin with that particular tool, but it seemed that when his owner picked it, he wasn’t in the mood for blood. That he reserved for the whip.
The man took a few steps back and waited patiently untill Alrik was breathing calmly again, then he let the crop fall to the ground, audibly to make sure Alrik understood the session was over, even though the boy knew better than to give any sign of yearning for an end.
“Stand up.”, came the quiet command and Alrik did so, albeit his knees threatened to give out. It took him a few minutes to stand firmly, but his owner was in no hurry. “Turn around.”, that order, too, was observed instantly. “That was very nice.”, he judged with a pleased voice, “Wait here now, don’t move, someone will pick you up.”
With that he left Alrik, the sound of his departing steps ringing in his slave’s ears. It was always like this, he never saw his owner’s face, nor much of anything else.
He took a deep breath and shivered as a cold breeze waved over his hot skin, telling him a window had been opened.
“Gods. Help…”, he whispered, and the wind took it away.
~end