Page 46 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Silver drew in a breath. “Please, sir, spank me harder.”

“Good boy.” The words sent a thrill through him, and Silver closed his eyes and went blissfully quiet in his head as Ferrin spanked him. He did it perfectly, a steady, even rhythm across his ass and upper thighs, varying only the placement and not the pressure. It was exactly what Silver needed to fall under, and he could feel the last of his tension slipping away as Ferrin reddened his backside.

“That’s good,” Ferrin praised, pausing to lightly scratch his nails over the freshly-spanked skin. It felt amazing, and Silver gave a shuddering gasp as he inadvertently pushed his hips forward, seeking friction on his hardening cock. Ferrin stopped scratching and immediately pressed his hand on Silver’s lower back, holding him still. “No, you’ll take it for me. That’s all you have to do. If I want you to come, you will. If I don’t, then, you’ll have to wait.”

It was so strange how much that settled him, having the choice taken away. It let Silver drift on the thud, thud, smack, smack of Ferrin’s hand, the pain that was settling into a warm buzz, like drinking wine before dinner when he hadn’t eaten lunch. It was so easy to fall into the quiet place that only Ferrin ever managed to send him, with his firm dominance and his perfect control and oh, fuck, Ferrin was shifting now and lifting his thigh just enough to put pressure on Silver’s cock. It would be so easy to grind against that muscular thigh with every smack, but Silver was so close to going under from the spanking that he didn’t want to do something wrong.

He wanted to be good. He loved being good, loved being good for Ferrin, and so he didn’t push or grind his hips or wriggle his ass. He just closed his eyes and let the sensations wash over him, the pain and pleasure both, dimly aware he was making soft sounds and grabbing at the fabric of Ferrin’s pants to keep from sliding off his lap into a puddle on the floor.

“Do you think you can crawl and bring me the cane, my good boy?”

Silver lifted his head, blinking hazily, and thought about it. If he said no, he wouldn’t get in trouble. Ferrin asked because he wanted to know if Silver was able to follow protocol, because if he wasn’t, then Ferrin would readjust the plan accordingly. All Silver had to do was answer the question honestly.

“Yes, sir,” Silver said, because he wanted to, even though part of him thought it wouldn’t be bad at all to let Ferrin use his hand. But as close as he was to going under, he knew he wasn’t quite there yet. Following this last order would probably do it, and if not, a few strikes of the rattan cane would absolutely put him there.

Silver slid off Ferrin’s lap, ass burning, and crawled toward the trunk in the corner of the room. The floor was simple, polished hardwood, but Silver had found a few slightly-damaged rugs at some of the consignment shops around Duciel, and had lovingly restored them so they were thick enough to provide adequate padding for his knees. Silver liked kneeling, and didn’t always love being uncomfortable while doing it. But the slight twinge in his muscles as he crawled toward the trunk where they kept the canes and paddles? That, he fucking loved.

Silver knelt before the trunk and opened it, deftly removing the thin, rattan cane that could have him sobbing if he needed it. He didn’t think he’d need it quite that hard tonight, but he wouldn’t mind a few well-placed strikes to send him into subspace.

Silver put the cane in his mouth and crawled back, keeping his gaze lowered, though he appreciated how gorgeous Ferrin looked in the chair by the fire. Unlike Silver, he was still dressed, and he’d done up his trousers after Silver sucked him off, so he looked stern and in charge, and oh, Silver sometimes couldn’t believe this was his man.

You’ll have to ask him, you know—to marry you.

In that moment, if he hadn’t had a cane in his mouth, he might have thrown caution to the wind and just asked Ferrin right then and there.

“Look at me,” Ferrin said, warmly, and Silver glanced up as bidden to see Ferrin giving him that smile that was for Silver and no one else. “Kneel properly, like you’ve been taught, and ask me for the cane. Tell me how many you need tonight, how hard you need it to put you under.”

Silver straightened on his knees, hands behind his back, falling into the calm, comforting familiarity of proper form and protocol. Ferrin took the cane and used it to tip Silver’s chin up. “I’m waiting, pretty boy.”

Silver cleared his throat, lost in Ferrin’s dark eyes. “Three, each side, I think. Not like the last time. Enough so I feel it when I sit down.” The last time he’d asked for the cane, it’d been after a frantic two days of redoing an entire commission for a very picky noble, who’d then forgotten about it entirely and left it gathering dust for two weeks in Silver’s workshop. This wasn’t quite the same situation, though Ferrin had taken care of him then, too.

“Three it is,” Ferrin said, and patted his lap again.

The cane was so much different than a bare hand, and in some ways, Silver preferred the former. It was more intimate, and Ferrin had amazing hands. Silver loved the way he touched Silver after he was finished spanking him, how he’d lightly scratch the sensitive skin, then rub calming circles with his thumbs while Silver gasped and settled for him. When Silver wanted the cane, the appeal was less the sharp, stinging pain and more the controlled, precise way Ferrin wielded it.

When he was comfortably settled again, ass still stinging from the spanking, he closed his eyes and let himself relax in anticipation of the first strike. Ferrin murmured something Silver didn’t quite catch and rubbed his ass once more, and then he felt a slight woosh of air before the cane landed on his upper thigh. The pain blossomed like a flower a second later, and Silver gasped and sank into it, finally sinking under by the second strike.

He was barely aware of Ferrin finishing with the cane, a pleasant sting on his skin and muscles as relaxed as water. Ferrin carried him over to the sofa, and lay down with Silver sprawled naked and half-hard on top of him. He knew that he’d get off eventually, either here in front of the fire or upstairs in Ferrin’s new bed, a large, comfortable mattress with soft, new sheets and a warm comforter Silver had made for him as a birthday gift.

For now, it was enough to be under and let the cares of the week drift away, with Ferrin’s hands rubbing up and down his back. Silver drifted in the quiet place inside his head, aware of only sensation—Ferrin’s hands, the warm fire, the buzz of quiet where there were sometimes too many thoughts.

Silver didn’t doze, exactly, but when he finally blinked his eyes opened and raised his head, it felt like he’d had a nap. A nap for his brain, maybe, which was the best part about being under. He smiled at Ferrin, who’d retrieved a book and was reading it with one hand, idly stroking Silver’s hair with the other. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Ferrin said, closing the book. “Feel better?”

“I do.” Silver stretched, grinned, and gave a suggestive push of his hips. “A lot better. Thank you, sir.”

Ferrin gently touched him on the nose with the tip of his finger. For him, that was practically playful. “Good.”

“Think I’m ready for the rest of the evening’s activities now,” Silver added hopefully.

“What would those be?”

He laughed, leaning in to nuzzle at Ferrin’s shoulder. “Whatever you want, sir.”

Ferrin’s laugh was quiet, but Silver could feel it rumble through him, quiet like the thunder of a distant storm. “Of course.” He ruffled Silver’s hair. “Suppose I want to fuck you on all fours in front of the fire until you’re begging me to come?”

Silver widened his eyes and gave a comical gasp, leaning up again to stare down at Ferrin as his cock grew harder in anticipation of the night to come. “I must have been a very good boy.”

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