Page 35 of Steel & Thunder
“The next two positions are variations on what you have already learned.” He takes a step back. “First is ‘Kneeling Rest.’”
I think I can figure that one out at least a little on my own. I straighten my back and grab my wrist behind my back, eyes forward. Ironstorm walks around me, inspecting my progress.
“Good boy.” His hand cards through my hair. “You are a quick learner. Next is ‘Kneeling Inspection.’”
My hands move from my back to my neck. I spread my arms, elbows pointing out as I puff out my chest a little.
“Square your shoulders.” A hand against my lower back helps correct me. “Keep your arms in line with your hips.” When he circles around to my front, I can see he’s picked up the not-riding crop.
“Good. Now arms down. The next position is ‘Display.’” He walks around to my left side. “First, sit back on your heels.” I feel the cool leather of the crop brushing against my ass, and I shiver, lowering my weight onto my feet. “Now, spread your thighs.” A foot taps the inside of my thigh after I comply. “Wider.”
I spread my legs even wider, almost uncomfortably so, but that seems to please him. There’s a hum of appreciation, and the riding crop begins to slowly rub against the inside of my thigh, traveling up my leg and almost brushing against the pouch of my thong. My breath hitches, then it’s gone and he’s walking around me again.
“Lay your arms flat over your thighs, palms facing up.” I move my arms, my hands stopping just above my knees. I shift the weight in my legs without thinking about it, earning a quick swat on the ass.
“Oww!” I move back into position.
“What was that?” He cocks his head.
“Oww, Sir,” I grit out.
“Better.” He walks around me slowly, lightly running the end of the crop over different sections of my body. I can feel goosebumps rising in its wake, and I have to hold back a shiver or risk another swat. I’m finding I don’t really mind how the leather feels otherwise.
When he comes back around to face me, he kneels down on one knee so we’re closer to eye level. “Normally, I would allow you to use my first name in private.” He brings his hand to my chin, lifting so that I’m looking at him. “For now, it will still be ‘Sir’ until it becomes second nature. But soon enough...” He traces his thumb lightly across my lower lip before pulling back and standing, giving me one last long look.
“Beautiful,” he mutters to himself and my ears go pink. “Only one more for today. ‘Prostrate.’”
I stutter in my movement as I’m not actually sure what I need to do, so I look up for instruction.
“Still on your knees, bend all the way over, laying your arms straight out in front of you.” I fold myself over, my hands running along the wood floor as I move forward. “Rest your forehead against the floor. Good.” I can hear him walking around me again. “This isn’t a position I would use often, certainly not in public. But it is a nice view.” I hear the last part coming from behind me, and the warmth in my body spreads downward. “Okay, stand up.”
“Is that all?” I dust off my knees. “Sir,” I tag on to the end.
“No.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, a grin growing on his face. “Now, we practice.”
For the next hour, Ironstorm—or Sir, as he is intent on being called now—continues to pace around me, barking orders. At least I think it’s an hour; the only clock in here is behind me. It starts simple enough: he says a position and I take it, with him giving nudges and light taps to perfect my pose. Then I have to hold each position for longer and longer periods of time. The standing ones are fine, but I can see why some of the kneeling ones would bother someone after a while, especially Display.
The longer I hold a position, the more my mind wanders to other thoughts, which results in me falling out of position. The nudges turn into love taps, which get progressively harder and harder until they’re full-on swats. Every time the leather of the crop smacks against my skin, I bite back a whimper, and my annoyance grows into something angrier.
Once he’s satisfied that I can humiliate myself in place long enough, we take things in the other direction. The orders to change poses start coming in faster and faster, as does the damn crop. Things are already moving rapid fire, then he starts to hit me for moving too slowly. I’m falling onto my knees when I see the crop coming in on my left, and I just fucking snap.
“AAAHHH!” I yell, catching the crop mid-swing and ripping it from the orc’s hand. I fling it across the room, watching it smack into the wall and land with a thud. “No!” I lock eyes with Ironstorm and point sternly at the offending object like I’m scolding a pet. Apparently my skills in articulation went flying too.
He looks at me then the crop. I’m expecting a fight, some yelling—you know, anger—but all I get when he turns back is a deep belly laugh. What?
“That was...” He wipes a tear from his eye. “I mean, I will have to punish you for grabbing and throwing that, but you held your composure much longer than I anticipated.”
“...What?” Was all of that just to fuck with me? “Did you just make all of that up?!”
“Oh no, the training was very real.” He walks over to pick up the crop. “But toward the end, I was pushing you for a reaction. You lasted almost ten minutes longer than I expected. Now, more training or shall we break for lunch?”
Are you. Fucking. Kidding me?
“Aaahhh!” I yell again, throwing my hands up and falling backward onto the floor. “I quit.”
“So lunch first then?” I hear the response coming from the kitchen.
“Nope. I quit everything.” I sprawl my limbs out like a snow angel. “Just drop it on my face.”
