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

by Christine Blackthorn

  The long, elegant fingers unfolded the cuffs in what was an invitation and command in one. She knew he expected her to put her wrists on the broad, padded leather so that he could close the straps and tighten them around her wrist. She could almost feel the soft padding against her skin, the gentle rub as it closed over her, the way it would slowly absorb the warmth of her skin to become a part of her. But it was an imaginary memory, not a real one.

  "You have worn cuffs before, there are no surprises hidden in these." Her hesitation had been too long. His tone was teasing, a soothing timbre underneath it all. He smiled at her, a smile which slowly slipped away when she did not budge.

  "Elena?"

  "No." She did not really expect him to understand her answer. He frowned again and she did not like the disquiet churning in her stomach when looked at her like this.

  "Elena?"

  "I have never been cuffed before." There, finally she had surprised, even shocked, him. Wide-eyed he froze, for a moment.

  "You have never been cuffed?" She shook her head, watching as disbelief and amazement warred on his face.

  "You are trained in submission, have been so since before you even reached adulthood. According to all sources your skills are superior and you are telling me you have never been restrained?"

  "No." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, embarrassment beginning to outweigh the fear at the thoughts of being restrained.

  "How?" Did he not believe her? She studied him but he gave no signs of disbelief, only intent interest, astonishment colouring his eyes.

  "Adrianus did not let anyone tie me down. He thought it was too dangerous. Not even when it was only people from his own circle who had access to me did he let them use restraints whilst trying to engage the bond. He argued that it was the reason why he had me so well trained, so that it would not be necessary."

  She remembered those excruciating days. It had been not long after her nineteenth birthday. Elena had not been a child anymore by a long measure. Three years of bonding attempts by Adrianus had also made her no stranger to sex, but there was nothing which could have made the intercourse with men and women who she had grown up with any less embarrassing -- for them or her. Then, she had still had the hope she would be able to develop the ErGer bond in Adrianus's court.

  "And before? When only he himself tried to bond you?"

  With Adrianus? The mere hint of the memory made her shiver in prolonged disgust.

  "It's not his thing -- I mean, it was hard enough. More often than not he could not ... I mean ..."

  She slapped her hands over her heated face. Could this conversation get any more embarrassing? Whatever heat there had been earlier between them, whatever arousal or even fear, was washed away under the discomfiture, the humiliation of the memories. She heard his chuckle and it was hard not to give into the ridicule of the moment, the whole situation, her whole life.

  "Lay back and think of England?"

  The well known quotation broke the dam of laughter. Elena hoped in all seriousness that the first person who had ever said it had done so in jest, but since that long-forgotten day that comment must surely have lightened more than one awkward moment. Her eyes met his amused gaze through her fingers and the shared understanding of the faintly ridiculous gave them the ground to revive some of the previous intimacy, of the growing warmth between them. Gently he pulled her hands from her face and lifted them to his mouth, the kiss with which he caressed them still holding the remnant of laughter.

  She fell into his eyes, the amusement and warmth, the intensity and confidence in them. When he snapped the cuffs around her wrists a strange calmness rose in her mind. There was not anything she could do anymore and it gave her a quiet peace. Still she felt the need to defend her guardian, a complicated need to protect the dignity of a man she had once loved before she had come close to hating him.

  "Adrianus is known as a good lover." The moment the words left her mouth she realised how ludicrous they sounded. His lips twitched and she was lured into adding: "Really!"

  "Sweetheart, the man has brought you up -- the fact that he had problems engaging in any kind of sexual relationship with you does merely raise him in my estimation." Underlying the words was a clear sense that Adrianus had a long way to go to approach a level of even basic respect in Reschkar's estimation. He closed the last clasp on her left cuff and held both of her wrists in his large hands. Even with the heavy leather surrounding her wrists, or possibly because of them, her hands looked impossibly fragile in his. His pale fingers closed over the leather, bringing home to her the feeling of restraint.

  "You don't really need them, you know." She said it more out of a desire to say something, than in an attempt to dissuade him from his course. Her whole body, every inch, every pore, every thought and sensation were centred on his hands over the cuffs, on the emotions it evoked in her. There was safety in them and her body had grown heavier, more languid with the simple closure of the snaps. The arousal, the heat, the anticipation were all coming back.

  "No, Lena, I don't need them. You do." She felt a mild flush of insult though there was only gentleness in his eyes as he said it. She glared at him.

  "I don't. I have never needed them. I have been well trained and I will stay in whatever position you order me to, without the need to restrain me."

  He met her crisp, proud tone with another smile.

  "Ah, but they are not to keep you from fighting me -- the cuffs are so that you can fight without risking injury."

  At his words his fingers pressed on the cuffs. The effect was electric. As if a rope of heat ran from them to her core she felt herself moisten, her breasts growing heavy and tender. Automatically she shifted to close her legs over the wet heat blooming but the move only made her aware of how sensitive her swollen folds had suddenly become. The cuffs held a tacit permission just to be, not to control each reaction, be aware of each single muscle at all time. It was a from of freedom. And he knew it, his too knowing gaze taking in every move, every twitch, every reaction.

  She could not help pulling against his hands, testing the grip he had on her wrists. Reschkar did not budge by even a centimetre and she felt that awareness in the almost painful tightness of her nipples, the aggravating sensation of moisture seeping from her core.

  "Not yet, little one. We get to play later -- now you will take the punishment you asked for."

  Why did this sound like a promise and not a threat?

  He made her kneel on the floor besides the bed. She had sunk into the familiar position with barely a flick of his hand whilst he moved around the room to assemble a confusing collection of objects. Here, far from the fire, the air was cooler and she could feel the cold stone through the thin rug below her knees. Elena could not suppress the shiver at the sudden touch of cold.

  Immediately, his eyes snapped back to her, his gaze intent and concentrated. He scanned her, her surroundings. After a moment he dropped what he was doing to add some wood to the fire. It made her realise how closely he watched her, how aware he was of her smallest movement, even when he seemed otherwise occupied. It was a reassuring thought -- and a frightening one.

  When he returned to the bed he held two straps, both a few meters long and broader than his hand. He dropped them onto the bed, let them join the wide assortment of leather already collecting there. With slow, deliberate movements, Reschkar attached the two straps on the top of each post -- then spanned them to tie to the opposite lower end so that they formed an X. He then carefully checked their tension twice before attaching shorter, softer straps on all four ends. Only then did he turn to her again, offering her his hand to help her rise.

  For a moment she hesitated to take the offered hand. It hovered there in the air before her eyes, the skin pale, the thin lines of myriads of scars painting intricate patterns over the skin whilst the long, black points of nails, the protruding edges of claws able to shoot out and rend with less than a thought, reminded her more than anything that she had given
herself to something utterly alien.

  By silent compulsion she raised her eyes higher, to his intent gaze. Nothing there held any reminder of humanity. His yellow reptile eyes fixed on her, held her without any pretence as to what and who he was or how much he anticipated what was to come with pleasure. Strangely it was that last which made her reach for his hand, gave her the strength to set her cold fingers into the warm heat of his palm. Men had looked at her with want before, even with anticipation and covetousness -- but never had a man looked at her with pleasure.

  He held her gaze as he pulled her up, pulled her closer only breaking the eye-contact when he turned her gently to the bed. She knew what he wanted of her and before he could demand, could urge her, she stepped close to the X he had created with the straps. Almost challenging she offered her wrist up to him. When his fingers closed around the cuff she did not turn her head but it was impossible not to watch him stretch her arm to the straps, weaving it through the hook. His touch was careful and confident, his fingers testing the tightness of the cuff at any moment in time.

  His large hands stroked down her arms, with gentle pressure examining the tension of her muscles, the response of her skin. She knew what he was doing. He was testing her body, familiarising himself with it in order to judge the amount of damage she could physically take. It had been done before. It was the soft kiss against the valley between her shoulder blades as he stroked her hair over her left shoulder which surprised her. She shuddered under the touch, its gentleness in such stark contrast to the pain her body was girding itself to receive, to endure. That touch, the soft stroke of his lips, broke all her fortification, sent them tumbling down, leaving her bare and without defences as to what was about to come.

  "Elena, I am less familiar with your body and mind than I would like to be whilst holding a flogger."

  She heard the concern in his voice, but also the resolve as he continued:

  "Under normal conditions I would have to depend on you telling me when I come to a limit you cannot bare, but I doubt you are even able to recognise them."

  Another soft kiss on her back, lips travelling along the edge of her shoulder blade. She felt his words play over the moist heat his mouth left on her skin.

  "We will go slow and I expect you to trust me to prepare you sufficiently before your punishment. When I am satisfied that you are prepared to take it, I will administer three strokes of the flogger for each of the infractions you named: three for your disobedience, three for refusal to answer and three for lying to me. You will count the strokes and before each set you will tell me what it is you are being punished for. Do you understand?"

  Nine strokes with the flogger. She had never felt its true bite. Adrianus had never allowed anything harsher than the switch to be used on her, either in attempts to force a bonding or for correction. But she had seen the devastation a flogger could cause. She remembered that orc from so long ago and had she forgotten it, Reschkar's body displaying the jagged scars of its cruel power would have reminded her.

  Did she trust him not to damage her? Her rational mind wanted to scream No. Did she want to do this? Yes. She wanted it, wanted to see if she could be more than just an ErGer, at least for this man. And that is where the rub lay. An ErGer did not have the luxury of trust -- a woman did. A woman could choose to trust where an ErGer was never given a choice. There was a high probability she would not survive the next month anyway. This was not news, not a surprise. When she had not bonded as a teenager that probability had increased each month a little more. But Reschkar had shown her something about herself, given her something essential. He had let her see herself through his eyes as something more than an ErGer. Adrianus never had done so. So here was the chance to find out if her inability to bond was her own fault -- or not.

  He had been right, she had spent her whole life trying to please others, to do what she was told not to make others happy, not to give them something -- but so that she would finally be able to take her expected place in this world. And with every year she had become more angry, had railed internally against the unfairness of fate, her fate. She had begun to hate them all. She had begun to hate herself. That realisation sat in her stomach like a cold lump of day-old porridge.

  She still hated herself, now possibly more so than before. She might be defective, might even be an arrogant, emotionally distant woman unable to serve the ones she loved; but to a large part she might be that because she had sabotaged herself. She deserved any punishment he meted out. If it made her bleed, hell, if it killed her, it was nothing more or less than what she had been expecting from the hands of even the man she considered a father figure for years and if he did not -- well, then she might have the chance for a new beginning, a clean slate for however long she remained alive and well.

  He let her think, let her sort through all the thoughts in her mind but there was no doubt he expected an answer.

  "Yes, I understand."

  She thought he would say something else, add another admonishment, ask another question. She heard the expectancy in the silence surrounding them in a heavy blanket. But in the end, he simply pressed another kiss to her nape, then bent to attach ankle cuffs to her legs and the bed posts.

  When he stepped away from her, Elena knew he had picked up the flogger. She could not help the tension tightening her muscles, the way her breath became shallow. It was a natural reaction to the expectation of pain taking hold in her whole being. No matter how much rationality dictated to relax one's muscles, to allow one's body to go with the pain to limit it, that was a lot harder to do than one would think. When she felt the air move, heard the rustle of leather strands rubbing together, she braced for pain that never really came.

  The touch of the leather was a caress with a little stinging bite at the end. It woke her skin and warmed the surface where it touched. It was not a blow, but a patter of little scrapes against the middle of her back. Only the impact of the ends of the leather strands teasing her nerves with little stings came close to a hint of pain. Her body was pushed forwards, more by her instinctive move to evade the blow than any force behind it, and the smoothness of the leather X supporting her torso was a sensual contrast to the warmth of her tingling skin.

  Her mind had no time to relate, in any real capacity, to the sensation, before the sting was replaced with the warmth of his hands, stroking and kneading the sensitised skin. It was confusing, more so when he stepped back and another patter of leather strands, stronger now but still shy of real pain, rained onto her lower back. The cold touch of the leather strands mirrored in the smooth straps holding her, the blooming heat of the little knotted ends biting her skin, the gentle caress of his hands, all became one, a never ending progression of sensation across her lower back, slowly moving up her body.

  Elena could not hold onto her own thoughts and emotions so fast were they moving, little lights zinging past her own awareness. She was forced to let them go, to let them slide away under the pressures of constant change. Each touch of the flogger was a little stronger, held a little more bite to the caress of the leather, straddling the line between pleasure and pain. She became subsumed under the sensation of his touch, both through his skin and the leather wielded by him. The whirlwind of reality which was her existence fell away, lost in what was the moment. Even her fear. Even her hate.

  Life became nothing but the next touch, the next reaction to either caress or pain. When the pain began to overshadow the pleasure, life turned into a winnable fight. She was expected to endure, the next second, the next minute, only that -- and for the first time in her life she knew how to, had a chance to win. She had no idea how to bond, had no idea how to fulfil her destiny. But she could endure. The weight of her head became too heavy for the delicate column of her neck to hold and she let gravity take charge and bow it forward. The next blow hit higher on her back, was stronger and in instinctive defence she hunched her shoulders.

  "That's it, little one -- stay like that, keep your shoulders forward
."

  When his hands stroked away the pain this time, the slight pressure on her shoulders emphasised the command. It was another rule she could follow, another way she could succeed and not disappoint once again. Her mind fixed on that, splitting its concentration between the burn of her skin and the gentle arch of her shoulders, holding the second whilst the first began to dissipate along her body leaving behind only warmth. She was so lost in her mind, she missed the first two times he called her name.

  "Elena!" The sharpness of his tone penetrated the hazy preoccupation of her mind, though the hand on her neck remained gentle, the fingers stroking over her skin in lazy, calming half circles. She tried to straighten but the weight of his hand held her in place, her head bowed under his touch. But it was enough to let him know she had withdrawn from the sensual miasma she had become embroiled in.

  "Nine strikes. The punishment you chose. I expect you to count them and tell me what they are for. Are you ready?"

  She wanted to nod but his hand on her neck forced her to speak.

  "Yes." The strength of her own voice surprised her. It woke her to something deep inside herself: she wanted this, wanted to accept this and know she was doing it not to bond but to make up for a mistake she understood she had made, not for some nebulous infraction found in her genetic code.

  And she wanted it for him, wanted to show this man that she was willing to give herself into his care. She finally could admit it to herself -- what had changed was not so much her attitude to bonding but her need for the man with her. She wanted him to love her, a stupid, pathetic desire, but one which was becoming overwhelming. She wanted him, wanted to serve the strength and warmth in his being. And she wanted the chance to deserve, to gain his love and respect through her service. She wanted to please him, not because of who she was, an ErGer in desperate need of bonding, but of who he was: a fascinating man.