Page 19 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

Chapter Eight

“Clean her up,” Luthian repeats, “and we’ll let you come.”

Firo’s tongue is dry against my cheek. I wonder if he’s had anything to drink at all during the hours he’s been tied down, because he sucks Luthian’s cum from my face as if it’s lifegiving water in the desolation of the Sorrowlands.

“Don’t forget her mouth,” Luthian commands him. “it’s quite talented. Perhaps I’ll allow you to try it sometime.”

Firo’s lips claim mine with fierce passion that leaves my head spinning. I’ve always thought of kisses as something given out of love and affection, but all I feel from him is desperation to consume me, to be consumed by me. I give in, sweeping my tongue into his mouth as he does to mine, tasting him and Luthian and swooning for more when my Guardian lifts my head away.

“That’s enough for now, Cenere.” There’s an amused note in Luthian’s voice. “Lest we get caught up and ruin our lesson.”

Still holding me by my nape, he pushes me toward the middle of the table, directly in front of Firo’s helplessly bobbing cock.

“He’s had some time to cool down, so it should be safe to touch him now. But if I tell you to stop, you must; he can’t come yet,” Luthian explains.

“Yes, Guardian, but... How will you know?” How will I know?

“There are telltale signs that release is imminent. For example, here,” Luthian cups the fleshy sack beneath Firo’s cock. “Not everyone displays the same signs, but a common one, one that you’ll notice in Firo is that he’ll draw up tightly here. Notice, too, how he drips?”

Luthian takes my hand, curling all but one of my fingers into my palm. He traces that fingertip across the slit in the head of Firo’s cock. The bound faery hisses.

“Are you a bit sensitive?” Luthian mocks him. He straightens my fingers and moves my hand over Firo’s shaft. “You may feel his pulse increase. He’ll rock his hips up to meet you, trying to go faster to reach his climax. But you must always maintain control. Don’t match his speed.”

Luthian wraps our joined hands around Firo’s flushed, straining cock. Instantly, the faery on the table bucks and moans with relief.

“We’re going to practice that control, now,” Luthian explains, gliding my hand slowly up Firo’s length. “You may find yourself growing excited. You might wish to speed up. But we’ll stay at this pace. Even when he’s teetering on the brink. Even when he begs.”

“Yes, Guardian.” I let him take complete control of my hand and commit everything to memory. The slight flick of my wrist to glide my palm over Firo’s tip before beginning the journey down again. The pause at the base before another gentle rise. Firo writhes and groans, bites back pleas. A steady stream of clear fluid slicks my hand and pours freely onto his stomach. Just as Luthian described, Firo tries to lift his hips in his own rhythm.

“Haven’t I warned you already?” Luthian chides him. He releases my hand. “But still, you disobey me. Cenere, keep up what you’re doing. If he moves at all, stop. Take your hand away from him entirely.”

“Yes, Guardian.” I concentrate on keeping my pace steady, just as he showed me, but watch from the corner of my eye as Luthian moves to the end of the table. He produces a long, thin rod and gives it a few sharp swings, slicing the air.

“You know the punishment, this time,” Luthian says, and without any further warning, snaps the reed across the bottoms of Firo’s spread feet.

Firo screams, his body bucking.

“Does that count as moving, Guardian?” I ask.

“It does. Take your hand away.”

“No!” Firo screams. “No, please, I was so close!”

“You won’t be rewarded for disobedience.” Luthian slashes the rod across Firo’s feet again. Another strike, and another, while Firo screams for mercy. And yet, through the pain, his cock never flags. Not even when the strikes of the cane split his skin, arcing droplets of blue-black faery blood over Luthian’s white tunic.

I want to beg for mercy for Firo. I don’t. It has become clear that mercy will not be a part of my training.

Finally, after twenty brutal, cutting blows, Luthian stops. He’s breathing hard, and I note that he’s erect again. Inflicting that pain has aroused him. How many of the faeries at the Court of Pleasure and Torment will be the same?

“And he will hurt you,” Luthian said of the King.

I only hope they take my human fragility into account; faeries, while immortal but not invulnerable, are made of stronger stuff than my mortal body.

Firo sobs, tears running down his face and into his dark hair.

“Resume, Cenere,” Luthian says, wicking the blood from the cane. “And Firo, if you wish to finish, you will hold entirely still. If not, you won’t come until sunset. In three days’ time.”

Firo whimpers. His hands fist with the effort of not moving while I resume his torment. Up, down, slowly, slowly. I don’t speed up, don’t increase the squeeze of my fingers around him. I keep pumping, watching his body for the signs Luthian has taught me, though Firo doesn’t shift an inch. Luthian stands by, not speaking, not showing a flicker of emotion on his face. He observes silently, cane still in his hand, while Firo stares up at the ceiling. His lips part slightly. He gulps in air once, twice, and when it releases, it’s on a scream of rapture as he erupts over my hand.

---