Fae Apoc, unwilling Keeping, bondage, nudity.
He had not been this clean since last he knelt to the Gyrfalcon, and he was known as a man meticulously groomed and tidy. She had enjoyed every moment of it, of course, but, in a less common move for her, his former Mentor had made certain that he enjoyed it as well.
“She’s not a bad person, as far as these things go.” She ran a brush through his hair, although it was already smooth and shining. “Not cruel. But she is going to be raw, and you’re going to have to be able to handle her being edgy sometimes, and uncertain others.”
He cleared his throat. “She will Own me. There’s…”
“If I hadn’t taught you how to top from the bottom when your mistress needs, then clearly I haven’t taught you nearly enough. Should I bring you back home, first, and educate you?”
First would mean weeks, months, added to his sentence, more time away from the business. “No, Ma’am. I will do as you say.”
“Of course you will. You’ve always been a good boy.” Her lips brushed damply over his forehead. “Here she is now. Stay there.”
He was bound hand and foot, thigh and bicep and chest and cock. To do anything other than stay there would have been to use Workings, and that would only mean that he’d quickly find himself gagged. “Yes, sa’Gyrfalcon.” He bowed his head as much as he could and listened to her heels click on the floor as she walked away.
She didn’t return. The feet that returned were quiet, sandals or slippers, shushing across the floor as if wanting to be unheard. He held very still.
“Oh.” It was a gasp, just as her feet came into view. Ballet flats, pink. Pink. “Oh, wow.”
Oh, wow. Really? “Mistress?” He didn’t let anything but subservience show in his voice. The Gyrfalcon was listening, he was sure of it.
“Andra?” She knelt down next to him, giving the impression of more pinkness – a dress, gods help him, with flowers – and long hair, dirty blonde. “I’m Deitra.”
What, she wanted to make friends? “Pleased to meet you, Deitra.” The Gyrfalcon was listening. The Gyrfalcon would not be pleased if he was rude.
“You Belong to me now.” She caught up some of the ropes holding Andra, seemingly at random, and gave them a very light tug. “For the next year, you are Mine.”
It wasn’t the most elegant of phrasings, but it avoided some of the things he didn’t really want her thinking about that came with the formal wording. What I have belongs to you… “I Belong to you now.” He comforted himself with the fact that he really had no choice in the matter. “For the next year, I am Yours, body and soul.”
She ran a hand over him, pinching one rope and pulling another. “You’re not very mobile like this. Am I supposed to get to know you here, do you think?”
Yes. Here, where his former Mentor could supervise. “I wouldn’t presume to know sa’Gyrfalcon’s motives.”
“Let me see. If I undo this and this, and this,” she plucked three ropes, “that ought to let you walk. Assuming you can?”
That was an interesting question. “I can walk, mistress.”
“Good.” He never saw where the knife came from, but it dealt with the ropes far too quickly for his comfort. When she had loosened his bonds enough that he could stand and walk – albeit hobbled – she tugged him to his feet. “Come on. It’s a short drive but I’d rather get to it sooner rather than later.”
He swallowed an urge to apologize. “As my mistress requires.”
As he walked with clipped, short steps, he realized he was terrified. Terrified, and so very exposed. How was he going to keep her from ruining him?
How was he going to make her happy with him?
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