Page 14 of Steel & Thunder
“I know,” his voice is soft, losing the unkind edge from moments ago, his hand on my back. “But right now, this is what you have to deal with. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise that you will be well cared for.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I almost whisper.
“Accept and submit.” He strokes his thumb along my back. “I promise I will take care of you, David.”
The first *smack* against my ass really throws me, and I cry out more in surprise than pain. He’s spanking me?! The second smack quickly proves me right and my hands, tied as they are, are fruitless to block any further blows. I haven’t been spanked since I was a kid! How is this supposed to make me stop trying to escape? The third, fourth, and fifth blows, all of which cause me to start crying out in actual pain, make me reconsider that.
I lose count after that. Around ten, he evidently gets tired of seeing my hands flailing around and pins them to my back, adding a little extra strength to keep the rest of my body from moving. His other hand, his right I think, continues to rain down on my already-abused ass. And his hands are fucking huge, able to cover each half of my poor butt in its entirety. The sting of each blow makes me cry out into the bed below. He changes up the force, the angle, able to seemingly pinpoint a different yet-to-be-touched spot with each strike.
There’s no rhythm, no rhyme or reason to how he’s hitting me. The only thing I know is that more is coming. Always more. I’m not even yelling anymore, barely able to grunt each time his hand connects with my ass. That doesn’t mean I’m not still crying, just that I’ve got nothing left in me to yell about. The hand holding my own loosens its grip at some point after I stop struggling. The spanking stops altogether sometime after that, though I’m not really clear on when.
Too busy being a sobbing, blubbery mess.
Eventually the crying slows down, and I notice the hand stroking my hair as I catch my breath. My arms are still tied, and I’m still naked, still over his lap. Kinda lost myself there for a minute. My ass feels like it’s on fire, so much that I’m afraid to look. Ironstorm says nothing, content to pet my hair and back as I return to the land of the living.
“Let us get you cleaned up and fed.” He helps to ease me to the floor on my knees before helping me stand. Holding me by the cuffs behind my back, he ushers me out of the room and back to the kitchen. He walks me to the sink, turning it on and using a washcloth to wipe the tears and snot from my face.
“Wait here.” He leaves me in the kitchen next to the table, heading back down the hallway. I don’t have the energy to even think about escaping, so I just sort of numbly stare at my feet while I wait for him to get back. When he does, I hear a familiar metal rattling—he’s holding a chain. He moves into the living room, lighting lanterns in the house as he goes. Didn’t even notice it was getting dark. He grabs something out of the drawer he keeps his keys in and a very large pillow from the pile in the living room.
He throws the pillow on the floor when he returns to me in the kitchen. Then, after pulling me closer to the wall, I realize what he’s doing. There’s a metal ring on the wall I didn’t notice earlier. He slips a padlock through one end of the chain and attaches it to the ring, then does the same with the other end and my collar. I’m being leashed again.
“Seriously?” I mutter. It’s a long chain, nearly touching the floor when I stand, but that doesn’t make it better. “Is this really necessary?”
“I am afraid so, pup.” He tweaks my nose and I try to shake his hand off. “Until I can trust you not to run, you will be kept secured when I am unable to do so myself. You can earn your freedom of movement back the same way you can earn the privileges of wearing clothes or having your hands free.”
“I don’t get to wear clothes?” Well, that sounded whiny.
“I do not see why I should make it any easier on you to leave. Besides, nudity suits you.” He winks and ruffles my hair, and I try to shake his hand away again. Why is he being so friendly? “Go ahead and rest while I make dinner.”
I huff and think about continuing to stand just to spite him, but I really am exhausted. I gingerly lower myself onto the pillow, hissing as soon as the fabric makes contact with my ass. Right, that. It takes some effort to find a comfortable position, and I’m reminded of the way our old dog used to try and find a comfortable sleeping position on the floor. I’m even wearing a collar. I end up leaning on my side, able to keep my eyes on the orc while keeping the pressure off my poor butt.
I watch Captain Ironstorm as he moves about the kitchen. He places a large skillet above the still-lit stove before pulling a few vegetables from a basket on a shelf under the counter. I recognize the onion, but there’s also some round and bumpy green things and something that sort of looks like an orange potato that I’ve never seen before. He opens the chest again, and now that I’m closer, I see there’s frost on the inside of the lid. An icebox. He pulls out a slab of meat—more meat than I’ve seen in a long time—and closes the lid.
I actually like cooking, for the small amount I’ve been able to do it. I used to help my mom a lot back home, and I’d sign up to be on kitchen duty whenever I could at the academy. I don’t know if I’ve done enough to say I was good, but I enjoyed it. It also usually meant getting extra food. Have I mentioned that I used to weigh a lot more?
The orc knows what he’s doing, chopping the veggies and throwing them in the skillet followed by the cubed chunks of meat. I’m not sure what it is, but I know it’s not fish. Given our location, I’d guess some kind of venison. It’s a little more difficult to see from the floor after that, but a few of the other small jars are grabbed and added here and there. It starts to smell pretty good. I mean, I’m starving, but I’m actually looking forward to eating this. Also being able to use my own hands again will be nice.
I watch as the skillet’s contents are emptied onto a single large plate. The stove is put out, hands are washed, and what appear to be a fork and a pitcher of water are grabbed. Everything is set on the table to my right before finally, the orc turns to me. I stand as he approaches and retrieves the keys from his pocket. Lifting my chin, he unlocks the padlock holding the chain to my neck, snapping it shut once it is clear and letting the chain dangle freely against the wall.
Ironstorm returns to the table, pulling out and taking a seat. I follow, aiming for my own chair when I am grabbed and pulled onto his lap. I try to buck off him immediately, both from the weirdness of being a grown man on another grown man’s lap and the pain radiating from my ass. But no matter how I squirm, he’s adamant about keeping me in place.
“Are you serious?!” Will the humiliations never end?
“Well, I suppose I am very curious to see how you intend to feed yourself with your arms behind your back.” He loosens his grip as the words slow my struggle.
“Are... Are you going to make me eat it like a dog or something?” My stomach sinks, and I can barely even bring myself to ask.
“What? No.” He sounds offended. “I am going to feed you myself.”
“Uh, no thanks? I can feed myself.” Now I sound offended.
“You can feed yourself when I know I can trust you.” He grabs me by the waist and adjusts me so I’m sitting over one thigh, facing the table with him. “Now can we eat, or do you enjoy your food more when it is cold?”
I say nothing, content to wallow in my misery. Which is hard to do when someone is holding really good smelling food in front of your face. My mouth waters and my stomach groans as I take in the scent. I was wrong before—that’s beef. Where the hell did he find a cow around here? Any remaining willpower I had has just left the building, and I open my mouth, nearly diving from my perch to grab it. Holy shit it’s so good. I actually moan when the taste hits my tongue.
“Easy,” Ironstorm chuckles before bringing me another forkful. “You can have as much as you would like. I made extra and can eat whatever is leftover tomorrow.”
I take him at his word as he alternates bringing forkfuls of food to each of our mouths. Once I stop thinking about the specifics of how and why, I don’t actually mind being fed all that much. I’d still rather do this on my own, but I don’t know—he’s not being a dick about it or anything. The food keeps coming and every now and then the water is brought to my lips. I do notice he’s making sure I get a lot more of the vegetables than he is.
