By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (10 page)

"As much as I enjoy your eyes
on me -- this is not the time. As yet, I do not know what you like,
or dislike, and I cannot read your body when all you react to is
what you see. Like this, blind, you will tell me what you
need."

"You could just ask me."

There was definite snark in her
tone. Had she gone mad? She must have, or the warm scent of forest
and wood emanating from his skin was drugging her rationality and
waking her recklessness. At home she would never had dared to used
this tone when kneeling before a Master. She would have been too
proud of her ability to obey, her well trained submission, to even
consider it. And now, here, she had just snarked an orc, a being
who could break her neck with the merest flick of a talon. She
desperately needed to start thinking before she spoke! No, she
desperately needed to think. She was being drawn into some strange
maelstrom of sensation, an unbridled force ripping away each
thought before it could take root and lead to another.

"I could." He purred, entirely
unfazed by her tone. "But it would be a lot less fun."

Fun for whom? She suspected
that their perspectives on fun might differ markedly, but was glad
her verbal filter had reengaged and kept her from giving the
sentiment voice. Elena was afraid he might suspect what she had
been thinking anyway. She felt the kiss to the top of her head
before he let her go.

The moment he broke physical
contact with her, the compulsion to open her eyes reasserted
itself, became an almost painful itch on her skin. She gritted her
teeth in the desperate attempt to control the impulse, to keep
herself from at least spying out between her eyelashes. He was too
smart, too observant, not to notice and she was too smart not to
see this as the test it was.

Reschkar let the time stretch,
let her fight her own inclinations without moving, without letting
any sensation, or sound, distract her from her rising anxiety. She
had no idea what he was planning to do next. The uncertainty
weighed on her. It was excruciating, with each second she could
feel her muscles tighten a little more, adrenalin collecting in her
limbs, readying her for the threat she could not see, a threat she
knew in her rational mind was not there. When a light touch stroked
over her lips, she jumped, rising on her knees, quivering with the
need to escape, to throw her weight back, away from him. However,
she managed not to open her eyes. It left her shaking, weak in her
bones as the adrenalin subsided faster than it had risen. Slowly,
her body settled back into its familiar position, still tense. But
she was also left with a strange feeling of triumph.

"Good girl."

The tone was that of praise,
the sensation of warm pride contained in it, enough to let her
ignore the words. It was pathetic, really. She had heard
uncountable nobles praise their lowest pets with this endearment --
and just as with those dogs, the words made her want to perk up,
made her happy. Had she had a tail she was sure she would have
wagged it. And instead of despair and disgust, emotions she should
be feeling, emotions that would make sense, she only felt a wave of
calm pleasure.

"Good girl." He repeated, his
voice warm and confident, bringing home the lesson he wanted her to
learn.

Praise had not been a common
occurrence in her adult life. She longed to allow herself to
luxuriate in it. Was there any point in questioning her own
emotions? This was all too different, too new -- she was losing all
mental hold on the situation. Why fight? Why not just give in and
settle into it? When another touch on her lips reminded her of the
demands of her stomach, she opened her mouth to receive the next
offering from his hand.

If he had thought she would be
less aware of him without her sight, he was mistaken at a
fundamental level. Every move his large body made, the smallest
shift in his position, communicated itself to her through changes
in air currents and heat reflecting from her skin. She became
exquisitely sensitive to him, his breath, his touch, his taste. Her
breasts grew heavy and taught, swollen by the rising tide of
arousal and even without sight she knew her nipples were hard, her
areolas sensitised to a level of near pain.

When he bent forward to offer
her another bite she thought she could feel his movements against
her skin -- and when he leant back to let her swallow, she felt
bereft. Since he had ensured the room's temperature was comfortable
in her nudity, the shivers along her spine could not be attributed
to the climate. Heat pooled between her legs and she felt the
moisture gather at her entrance, seep out to coat her swollen folds
with a sheen of arousal.

She wanted to shift, to rub her
thighs together, to allow her body some relief from the rising
pressure of arousal. It had never felt this way. In the past she
had been aware of the reactions of her body in an almost
scientific, an academic way -- noting the physical signs of
pleasure, of a rising orgasm with detached interest. Under the
hands of men, and women, who had spent decades, sometimes
centuries, to perfect their technique, her body had found physical
fulfilment, but her pleasure had been as remote as that of her
partners. They were there to bond her, even though they held no
particular attraction to her body, and it would have insulted their
own sensitivities had they left her unsatisfied. She had been there
to be bonded and to deny them the satisfaction of having brought
her to orgasm an unnecessary insult in the face of her certain
failure to bond.

With him there was no
detachment -- she felt the pleasure of his touch in her mind, her
arousal not a warm sea of pleasure but a tidal wave threatening at
the horizon. For the first time she wanted to come, almost needed
to come, to find the stimulation which would bring her to orgasm.
But his will held her immobile, kneeling at his feet, whilst her
body's hunger for food was replaced by another hunger in torturous
little steps. So she took bite after bite.

It did not take long for her
stomach, used to small amounts of food in short intervals, to
signal an end to its demands. How he knew, she had no idea, but as
soon as she began to wonder how to tell him of her satiation
without drawing his anger, he ceased to feed her. His thumb stroked
over her lips, spreading the spicy taste of the last bite, mixing
it anew with his own on her lips. And just that immediate, the
tingling need for his touch was renewed on her lips. When his hand
slipped around her head, tangling with the fine strands of hair at
her neck, she knew what would come, anticipated it, angled her head
to allow him better access. His mouth touched hers, the coolness of
his skin was a soothing balm, a relief for the tingling need
coating her lips -- there and gone too fast again.

"Open your eyes."

His voice was hoarse, almost
strangled, as he gave her the command. Elena opened her eyes. What
she saw was breath-taking and sexier than hell. She had never seen
a man so aroused. The heat in his eyes was shielded by heavy lids,
his pupils dilated with the force of his arousal, his lips wet and
trembling under panting breaths. The tightly wound muscles of his
chest and shoulders gleamed with a sheen of sweat. Her eyes
travelled lower. Against the thin trousers, his erection was
starkly delineated, its hard length straining against the woollen
fabric.

For the fist time in her life,
her mouth watered at the sight of an aroused penis. She wanted to
reach for him, to free his cock and taste it as she had tasted his
fingers. Wanted to find out if the moisture staining the fabric
darker at its tip tasted of the same dark spice, the same
temptation as his mouth. But she could not move, could not make her
body shift even a millimetre. She was mesmerised. He wanted her to
stay still, she did not need to him to say it, she could see it,
feel it. It was enough to make it impossible for her to move even
the width of a hair. She was caught in those yellow eyes, each
breath, each heartbeat at his will -- or so it felt to her.

"I will break you."

It was not a warning, nor said
with any tenor of remorse, or doubt. It was a statement of fact,
nothing more, nothing less.

"I will break you. I will
possess every aspect of your being, enter every niche of your mind
until there is nothing in you which is not touched by me." He had
to take a deep breath. "And I will enjoy every single moment of
it."

"I know." She had no doubt on
the veracity of the statement.

Her voice was strangely calm,
too normal for her own ears. She had accepted the end of whatever
independence she had been able to preserve as an ErGer long ago --
had accepted, even expected, she would in all probability die by
his hand the night she went to meet him. There was no need to
reiterate the issue, no need to warn her. She knew what she was. He
leant close again, his lips stroking hers, replacing the remnants
of the taste of food with a sense of him.

"No, little one, I don't think
you do know."

What was there to say? She
could only tell him, once again, that she knew what she had gotten
herself into and it would not ... the thought gave her pause. Her
mind turned over and she looked at the situation from his point of
view. Why did he tell her again and again he would be breaking her?
Regret? Did he need her forgiveness before the fact? She had grown
up among beings who saw power as the ultimate goal, willing to
sacrifice anything and everything in its pursuit, no justification
necessary. He was a monster, his nature violent and unrestrained --
could it be he had more scruples than all the ones before him?

Elena wanted to tell him it was
not necessary, that no matter what would come of it, she had gone
into this with her eyes wide open. She was bound not only by her
word, the promise of absolute obedience, but by her own will as
well. She had spent all her existence as a burden, never quite good
enough. Her parents had abandoned her to the care of a supernatural
court because they could not face the dangers of bringing up an
ErGer child. She had been loved and cosseted in that court -- and
then she had failed them. Every year she had failed them again, her
genetics promising something her mind seemed to be unable to
fulfil. She was tired, tired of being a loved burden. He would
break her? Possibly, but he also would give her a use, her life a
meaning. She started to tell him, but he stopped her with his
finger across her lips, just as he had at the start of the
evening.

"No, Elena, I think it is time
to show you." He took another kiss before rising.

A Beginning

"Kneel in front of the fire,
please."

His voice had changed. It held
a deeper quality, smooth hardness surrounding her, making her move
before she had even realised there was a demand in his words. Her
reaction was a puzzle to herself. She was not a biddable woman, not
even a little. Elena had learnt, long ago, to follow the rules of
submission because it was what was expected of her, because she
wanted to bond, to be useful and to fit into the hole that had been
made for her before she had been able to speak.

The need to please was an
intrinsic part of submissive nature, or so she had been told, and
she was conscious of that need in herself. Sometimes she thought
she could not breathe for the desire to make the ones she loved
approve of her, be happy, love her. She wanted to belong, to be
safe -- her need to please an integral part of this, linked to
these desires because if you pleased others it was less likely they
would hurt you. And this is where she differed from a true
submissive. She suspected this is what made her defective. She was
only too aware of her own motives, her own selfishness. All she did
was a direct result of her desire to live as long as possible. But
just now, at his order, she had moved without a thought for
survival or belonging.

Her body settled into the
familiar pose before the fire, on autopilot whilst her mind turned
that thought over and over in her head. What did it mean that with
this man, the orc, the only desire in her mind was to satisfy his
demand to the best of her ability? Elena was so caught in her
thoughts she jumped when his large hands came to rest on her
shoulders.

"That busy mind of yours is
still running in circles. How long, do you think, will it take me
to switch it off?" If there ever was a rhetorical question, this
was it.

Over her shoulder, Elena could
see him on one knee behind her, his large shadow surrounding her.
She felt him lean in, felt the touch of his breath whisper over the
naked skin of her neck, before his velvet voice stroked her
ear.

"Look into the flames,
sweetheart, see them dance. Just see them. Don't look away."

His voice made her turn her
head to the flickering fire, the dance of flames catching her
attention, mesmerising her. But before she could get lost in the
sight, his sharp teeth scraped over her shoulder toward her throat,
breaking the spell. Her head whipped around, every muscle tensing
in anticipation of punishment, her body straightening under the
fight or flight impulse. What was he doing? His teeth so close to
her jugular were a dangerous reminder of his predatory nature. She
expected censure, or feral lust, in those alien eyes, but when she
met his gaze there was only amusement. And an uncomfortable
satisfaction. He had realised, before she herself could even do so,
how her mind was still ready to flee. So he had set her up, had
given her enough rope to hang herself by defying his command. What
form would her punishment take?

"The flames, Elena. Look at
them."

His warm hands rested on her
shoulders, their pressure moving her body into the familiar
position with calm persistence. Did she move? Did he make her move
by force? She was not entirely certain, nor was she certain it
mattered. Caught in his gaze, it remained the same: she moved for
him.