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

by Christine Blackthorn

  It was automatic for her to assume the position of submission, to arrange her body in the familiar posture. Her long legs folded underneath her, thighs parted more than was demure, the curve of her ass touching her cold heels. Her palms rested open on her thighs, her back straight, her head lowered in automatic supplication. The floor was soft under her knees, the thick pelts shielding her from the smooth ice of the stone floor. The warm air of the room caressed her skin with the slightest breeze. She knew this position, had spent many hours in it over the course of her adulthood. At times, she had alternately hated and been indifferent to the emotions, the sensations, created by the symbol of submission -- but she had never been content in it. Here, with everything new, everything different and confusing, she suddenly calmed in its familiarity.

  He let her settle, let her sink into the position without disturbing her, allowed the moment to stretch. Then, before the calm could be washed away with worries about the future, he reached for her. His long finger stroked along her throat, gentling her gaze to his. She shuddered under the soft touch, its impact racing electric tingles along her spine. There was heat in his eyes, and open appreciation. She felt the moment when his long thumb claw slid from its sheath. It was a curious sensation against her cheek and for a moment she wondered if it would hurt, how its edge would feel against her skin. She did not have long to wonder, its sharp edge stroking over her lips, painting their contours with exquisite care.

  It brought her skin alive. She could feel her lips, could feel her own heartbeat as a heated pressure against them -- and his touch a soothing balm. She had never known the shape of her lips in this way, now their edge burnt under his finger. Without thought she wet her lips, his taste, warm spice and dark wood, trickling into her awareness, joining the scent of his skin surrounding her.

  "You are mine, body and soul, by your own choice. Every aspect of your existence, every second of your life, will be under my control. There is nothing you can do, nothing for you to decide, nothing for you to worry about but how to best fulfil my demands."

  His voice was deeper, darker, speaking to something in her soul. But it was his eyes which caught her, captured her, held her. Their heat a touch on her skin, a match lighting a fire in her, barely glowing embers for the moment, but with the potential to ravage her. She had never felt this way. He leant closer, his breath whispering over her lips, conquering her with the memory of his taste.

  "You will eat what I give you, sleep when I tell you to, move where I put you. You will take all the pleasure and pain I give you, you will take it and endure because I give it to you."

  By rights, the words should have frightened her. They were stark and confident, expressing the utter certainty he held in himself. This promise of pleasure and pain, so full of conviction and dark intent, should have left her huddled in a corner, catatonic in fear. But the effect it did have on her was the opposite. His eyes burned with the anticipation, the sheer joy of what he wanted, what he expected would happen. What he would make happen. Something clicked in her, slotted into place, quieted. Her mind, its surface a whirlpool of emotion at the best of times, calmed, rested. It was as if some weight had been lifted from her. And as she had felt when she had come to him, when she had made the first free decision about her own future, she felt as if she could breathe, unencumbered for the first time in her life. His smile grew deeper, the harsh lines of his face softening.

  "That's it, little one. Let it take you. Give in, just let it go."

  Elena wanted to ask what he meant, wanted to protest out of sheer principle, but her budding words were stroked away by the caress of his thumb spreading the taste of his skin over her lips. Back and forth, the movement mesmerising and soft. A moan fell from her mouth before she could censor it, before she even knew it was there, waiting in her to break free. Arousal, an emotion she had rarely felt in her life, swirled through her veins. The strong fingers holding her chin trembled, his chuckle a sensation on her skin.

  "I will draw every sound possible from you, moans, and cries, and screams. I will mark your skin so that my possession is visible to all. You will writhe and fight under me and then, when you think you have given me all, you will beg for more."

  Reschkar's voice wrapped around her in a licentious cadence of heat and arousal. His thumb's caress was replaced by the touch of his lips as he teased her mouth with the same rhythm his fingers had established. Back and forth, never pressing in, his mouth sliding over her skin with sinful patience. It drew her, a magnetic pull of pure sensation. Without conscious thought she angled her head and tried to follow his lips, to catch that tantalising taste she had become familiar with over the last few days. She could not, his fingers holding her chin, holding her in place for his own delectation. Her very inability to deepen the kiss, to either withdraw or demand more, shot a spike of heat through her. Teeth nipped her lower lip, a gentle reprimand reminding her of her lack of power, of control.

  It was ironic, but it was that inability to move towards him which made her strain against his hold. It was a compulsion, previously hidden, a need to test the hold. There was no give in the hand holding her face at just the angle he wanted, the tips of his claws threatening to break skin. Why were his claws out anyway? Would he hold her even if she managed to draw blood against that sharp edge? She pushed a little further, strained a little more. He growled.

  "If you, for just one moment, think I will allow you to harm yourself against me, you are thoroughly mistaken. Heed this rule, for there are no excuses: if you hurt yourself intentionally and out of pure spite, I will not only put you over my knees and spank you until you cannot sit for days, but I will also think of the most effective way to make sure you never, ever, consider that action again. Is that clear?"

  Violence threatened in the gravel of his voice, leaving her in no doubt he meant each word he said. For a moment she felt the fear in her heart, the shot of adrenalin in her muscles -- and doubted her sanity in all seriousness. Because what she wanted to do most, was push.

  He saw it in her eyes and the smile he gave her was full of challenge and anticipation.

  "Try it -- just try it. I dare you."

  She wanted to, oh God, how she wanted to! He was close enough for his taste to be renewed against her lips with each breath. The taste was tempting, the need to reach for the salty spice, essence of which covered her skin, almost overwhelming. She yearned to lean into it, to meet that challenge -- but in the last moment her courage deserted her. He saw the moment she withdrew, decided not to meet the challenge of his words and his smile told her of his regret.

  "Too bad, little one. I would have enjoyed it." His lips stroked over hers again, too quick to sate that strange need in her. "More importantly: you would have enjoyed it too."

  Was that a threat? Why did he make her want something she should not want? Why did she hear it as a promise instead? And why did the next sentence not make her scream in terror?

  "And then, just when you would have thought you could not take more, I would have pushed you deeper. I would have taken all you are into my keeping. I still will -- in time."

  Reschkar covered her mouth with his, the kiss commanding her attention and compliance. It was not a shy kiss, nor was it the kiss of a man unused to such activity. It was the kiss of a master and she was mastered by it. His lips were firm, his tongue demanded entrance without any doubt of its welcome. He delved and discovered, stroking along her skin, across the roof of her mouth, as if he needed to claim every inch of her. Then he invited her to play and like a starved child she could not help reacting, duelling his tongue, nibbling and nipping. In the kiss, she could taste his smile.

  He took his time, let her take hers, but eventually they parted, panting breaths filling the air between them. His hand still spanned her chin, his thumb returning to spreading his taste over her moist lips. But his voice was rough with emotion when he said:

  "Gods, I cannot wait to take you."

  She believed him. For the first time in h
er life she felt desirable. Moreover, she felt desired.

  Elena was not a beautiful woman, had been aware of this fundamental lack in female worth early on. She was too tall, but not in a slender, elegant way, or even with a strong, athletic character -- no, her body was gawky and fragile at the same time. She had retained the echoes of her childhood's chubbiness. Some of her skin was less subtle than it should be, her rapid growth spurts as a teenager leaving her with stretch marks barely discernible now, but still there in the right light. Not even her features, which, though not unpleasant, were bland at best, fit the ideals of beauty. Her best feature might be her hair, long and thick, however, it's colour was washed out, somewhere between brown and blonde. Her eyes matched the rest of her in boring normality, brown and unexceptional. She knew she was no monster, but she was no beauty either. At best she was unexceptional.

  For close to seven years she had shared the beds of some of the most powerful and/or beautiful men in the country but every single one of them would not have looked at her twice had she been anything other than an ErGer, not even out of pity. This man, on the other hand, made no secret out of wanting her, not just for the power she could give him, but because he wanted to lose himself in her body.

  A more conceited woman might have thought it was because he was an orc and his access to beautiful women was limited -- but there was a deep beauty, alien and ferocious, in the orcs themselves. She had spent too much time with them now not to be aware of it and there was none who held it more deeply than this man. She doubted there were many women -- orc, human or vampire -- who would have denied him a single night, or even an eternity.

  "Mine." The word wrapped around her, bound her with its deep command. Elena could come to love the gravel in his voice.

  It was a declaration of possession, one designed not to warn off others but to repeat to her, once again, that she had become his, body and soul. And with each time, with each declaration he imprinted the sensation on her mind, the knowledge of his power over her. And every time he spoke it, she believed it a little more. He would not let her escape, not even in her mind. She was ashamed to admit the thought reassured more than frightened her.

  Elena did not hear the knock on the door. What did that say about her state of mind? Outside the cold wind was battering the thick stone walls, snow whirling in its force, all life, all demands from the outside world cut off by the realities of winter in the Alps. The castle had become an island in a white sea, inaccessible and self-contained, the only sounds and realities those of the ones dwelling within. But her own, personal world seemed to have narrowed even further then that, narrowed to a point where the only thing of importance was him.

  The realisation of another presence in the room took Elena by surprise, her sense mute to it until Reschkar acknowledged it with a fleeting smile over her shoulder. All of a sudden her mind caught up with what it had heard but had not manage to process -- the timid knock, the cautious shuffle of feet, the change in air currents in the room. Someone had entered. Someone else. A potential threat at her back. It washed away her preoccupation with the man before her, woke the vigilance familiar to her mind. Her muscles locked, readiness to move swirling with the adrenalin in her blood. But she could not move, could not turn. There was no physical restraint holding her in place, no bond, no chain -- only his desire. She knew Reschkar did not want her to turn. She was caught, not by his hand cradling her chin, but by the steel of his will shining through those yellow eyes.

  Trust

  Elena felt the other presence come ever closer, felt it halt in its step, close enough for her to hear the even breathing. She gritted her teeth. She was only too aware why the other person had paused just out of her sight, but close enough to let her anxiety bubble up and threaten to overwhelm her calm. She had seen the movement with which Reschkar had stopped the other, without ever taking his attention from Elena. He watched her, studied her, enjoyed her battle, relished the expression of his power over her.

  Anger rose in her and was quickly suppressed. Anger was not a wise emotion, not for an ErGer who, by definition, spent her life in the power of others. But she could not suppress the rhythmic shivers shaking her body. What a difference to even a few minutes ago, when she had only been aware of him, had been lost in the intimate familiarity of his touch. Now, the world intruded more on her with every second, every sensation acquiring the harsh edge of trepidation and fear.

  Where only moments before she had been aware of nothing but him, now she felt the cold draught against her skin, causing her muscles to lock as if it were a snake waiting to strike. The soft fabric below her knees, protecting her against the cold of the stone floor, started to chafe, the soft folds of the fabric turning into sharp edges. The sound of breathing, hers, his, even the intruders, was overshadowed by the roaring in her ears as her heart rate increased. And throughout it all, Reschkar simply looked at her, that infuriating smile of impending victory tugging at the corners of his mouth. She would have loved to scratch his eyes out, the desire so strong she felt her own nails pricking her thighs where her hands had rested in complete relaxation before.

  Then the tension broke. She would have preferred to say her rational mind reasserted itself -- and there was an element of that, but in reality something deeper, on a more subconscious level, occurred. In the depth of her being she realised there was no reason for her to fear whomever had entered, the biggest threat, the only threat to her, was looking into her eyes. Reschkar would not allow her to come to any harm from any source other than himself. Nothing else mattered. No one else did. And in that there was the deeper realisation, one underlying all, her absolute state of dependence on him. On an exhalation, suddenly and without hesitation, her body relaxed, her mind cleared. The smile tugging at his lips was given free-reign.

  "Thank you, Elena."

  It was the first time he had used her name. Elena tried to concentrate on that, on her name, rather than on the reasons for the gratitude underlying it. He knew what had happened. So did she. She had accepted his rule, not on a rational level, as she had done that night she came to him first, but instinctively, deep in her soul.

  His attention shifted to the person behind her and the smile shifted with it, becoming less predatory, less scalding, without losing its appreciation.

  "And thank you, Keren, though I am surprised you have been drafted into service already."

  There was humour in the tone, but also a hint of reprimand. The disapproval bothered Elena more than it should have. She watched one of the female orcs, the one responsible for their provisions throughout the journey, set down a tray with food on the table besides them.

  Keren was a sensible woman, large and more orcish than the other females, with shoulders almost as broad as some of the men. Even though the disapproval was neither directed at Elena, nor its reason known to her, its existence shimmering through Reschkar's voice made her uncomfortable, let tension seep along her sides. The fingers cradling her face began to soothe a slow path of warmth over her cheek, the caress calming, not erotic. It was enough to settle her and make her listen to the actual verbal exchange.

  "No, Sir, we have not been assigned duties as yet, but we offered to serve up here."

  Reschkar's raised eyebrow was enough to make the female orc elaborate:

  "We thought it might be easier for the ErGer to have some familiar faces around. In the beginning."

  The woman busied herself with arranging the food she had brought on the table, embarrassment tingeing her every move. Elena swallowed hard. When she had thought to sacrifice herself for her family, with the strange hope she might be able to help these people too, she had never thought she would receive kindness for it. How conceited had she been? How sanctimonious to think her presence would in some way civilise these people. They did not need civilisation, did not need to learn to act with thoughtfulness and consideration. Despite all the cruelty they must have suffered, despite slavery and subjugation, all they needed was time. Elena's eyes met
Keren's and she knew the other woman saw the gratitude expressed there. But it was Reschkar who spoke:

  "A kindness which is appreciated, and I will gladly accept in her stead, for the moment. But I will not allow anyone to isolate her from her duty as ErGer -- or from me. No matter what."

  There was a distinct threat in that last part, though his voice did not rise. The other woman cringed as if in expectation of violence before she caught herself.

  "Of course, Milord."

  The words were spoken with such and air of automatic obedience, it was only too obvious they were an established habit. The title, Milord, fell from her lips without inflection. It was a title used for any higher level member of a court, but one Elena had never heard in conjunction to Reschkar. Not at any time over the long days of travel, by no one but herself. It was the title of a slave master.

  Keren's eyes had filmed over with remembered pain, not seeing the here and now. Her breathing becoming shallow, panicked. Elena wanted to go to her, do something to snap the orc out of those images only she could see, to reassure -- and it would have been the wrong thing to do. Sometimes all you have left is pride and it is the only thing that keeps you together.

  Reschkar seemed to know that. He waited, body relaxed, unthreatening, patient; though Elena felt the tremor, the way he readied himself to act without any outward sign of his vigilance. And just as quickly as she had fallen into the horrors of her past, Keren pulled herself from her fugue, her eyes clearing to return to the moment. It was over in a second and Elena doubted the other woman was even aware they had witnessed her moment of weakness. As she set the last item on the table and turned to leave, her demeanour was deferential and calm once again. Elena watched her go, amazed at the fluidity of her movements, no sign of the fear left.