This is Not a Collar

"You are damn right I am. What about it?" He looked up, with a resigned smile.

"I'm still begging, am I not?"

"Well stop begging, and get naked already."

She waited, leaning carelessly against the column. He kicked off his boots, and stood barefoot on the ground; he undid his belt buckle, and his trousers were flung impatiently into a corner; it was a struggle to keep a straight face when he slid down his underwear, and his cock swung free, swollen and stiffening. He reached for the torc.

"No, keep the collar on. And get over there." With her chin she pointed him to the empty ground by the door, where the sunlight was.

"It's not a collar. It's a torc." He obeyed her. The clay floor was cool under his feet. He glanced outside -- just an empty corner of the pasture and a forest wall, no trespassers likely any time soon. "Collar. Sheesh." He exhaled and faced her.

She did nothing, just scrutinised him with her arms folded. He shifted from foot to foot. Her blue eyes seemed almost black from here. The sun was warm on his skin. His mouth felt dry. He was suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. She dragged this on, as if she wanted him to grow really conscious of what he was doing. Under her unyielding gaze, he became more and more aware of his own nakedness, of the panging of his exposed cock, of the burning in his cheeks. He focused on his breath, and waited.

Just a naked boy in his metal band.

Two of the ways the light played on him were her favourite, she decided. One was the clean, intense gleam in his eyes. The second was the sharp narrow shadow cast by the vein which went down the middle of his semi-erect shaft. The gleam was beautiful, but available to all who met him; the shadow was a treat just for the lucky select. One corner of her mouth curled up a little.

"You're fucking stunning, Aerin. You're just the most fuckable guy in all of Old Gebra."

He exhaled, and his gaze dropped to the ground. "Um."

Yeah. Stew on that. There is nothing more torturous than a sincere compliment.

Right behind him was an empty stall used for storage. Like the other ones, it was separated out by wooden posts set wide enough for a horse head to pass through. She looked at it, and suddenly knew how she'd be having him.

Through the light and the shadow she walked up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him. The fabric of her dress grazed against his naked skin. Her lips still on his she gently pushed him, backwards, to the stall. Once there she broke off, looked him in the eyes, and smirked.

"On your back, boy."

His knees bent too quick for his brain to argue that she shouldn't, like, be allowed to just order him around like that. He winced as his shoulder blades and the small of his back touched down on the cold hard clay. He'd point that out later, he supposed. For now he looked up, eager for her to join him on the floor.

She just raised her eyebrows, turned away from him, and went into the storage stall. He lifted his head, confused.

"Gabrielle?"

"Stay." The sound of her rummaging around was vaguely ominous.

"What are you looking for?"

"You'll see." A lid of a chest creaked open. A spare cart wheel was rolled aside. He looked to the rafters high above him, and grinned.

"If you're looking for a whip, we don't use those. Also, in this case I'm fucking leaving."

"You worry too much." She reappeared above him. "And you're not going anywhere."

She pulled her hand from behind her back, and he saw what she'd been after -- a coil of thick, hempen rope. She let its end slip. The rope unfurled, heavily, and hit his chest.

"Oh," he said.

"Yes," she confirmed. "What do you think? Shall we take away your defences?"

She dragged the rope's frayed end along his breastbone. His parted lips gave out no sound, but his eyes said everything. She stepped over him, the sole of her boot passing just an inch over his chest, and tapped one of the stall's wooden posts.

"Hands," she said. Without hesitation, his wrists blindly flew to two neighbouring posts behind his head. She took his arm and gently twisted it outwards, wonderfully unresisting. She pressed the rope to his skin; and in this moment, memories, shadowlike, crept into their minds.

She'd seen these wrists bound for real. Back when she saw him for the very first time, at that fucking castle -- a prisoner of war, terrified and lost. He'd been expecting death at the hands of her countrymen then.

He'd struggled against those ropes, struggled until he bled. Those bruises were now gone. The beatdown he got from that ferret-faced fuck left no lasting damage. His body was not hurt -- and yet he did carry a wound from Harmen.

He was a creature brought up with love. Taken into that dungeon, he deep down simply couldn't grasp the reality he'd been confronted with: that he was suffering and the people, the human beings around him, were indifferent to that -- and maybe even enjoying it. It broke his conviction that humans, by nature, were good.

He didn't want this trust taken away from him. He couldn't be happy if he couldn't trust. He didn't want to doubt the midsummer sun having suffered the midwinter frost. But witnessing cruelty reign with impunity can crush even the most upbeat nature.

She dropped the rope, took his face in her hands, and gave him one more kiss, close and very personal. Jolted back to the present, he gave her a puzzled look. She shook her head ever so slightly, and got back to her work.

Not everyone had been indifferent to his suffering. Even in that place of stone and iron, he had found a friendly soul. The shadows lessened. He closed his eyes again, his thoughts returned to what was about to happen, and his face cleared with a light, focused smile.

She wrapped the rope tight. The thick coils covered much of his forearm. That's right, she thought. They tried to shackle both of us. You in irons, me in silks. Now what they did with force, you're letting me do for fun. Let us mock them this way.

She tied the knot and pulled hard, and tickled the inside of his bound arm. His fingers twitched, as if startled in sleep.

"Comfy?"

"Mhm." She looked at his smile, at his evenly rising chest, at his cock, lolling heavily on his thigh. Yeah. You're happy and safe now, aren't you, boy?

He felt her grab his other hand, and purred with pleasure despite himself. She could tie a pretty knot. He'd seen her use it to tie horses to trees. Treat him like a horse. What a horrible girl.

She finished the other knot with a tug, sealing his fate. She ran her fingers along the inside of his arm, his armpit, and his flank -- a long stretch of sensitive, defenceless skin.

"Excited?" she asked. Anticipation choked him; he could only nod. She kept caressing him, thoughtfully. "Yeah, you should be." She straddled his abdomen, and dug her ankles into his flanks. "I'm going to fuck you so thoroughly your mind will break, you lovely thing." She looked him in the eyes, and her upper teeth glinted in her predatory little half-smile. "You have the cutest scowl in the world, by the way."

It was difficult to maintain the scowl when his insides were curling up with glee, but he did try. "Do your worst, you fucking beast," he said. She laughed with approval.

"Keep up the fight, it's so much hotter this way."

She rolled over, and sat cross-legged at his side. She placed her hands on him, and breathed in.

"Are you going to undress or what?"

"Eventually. First I'll play with my pretty boy toy for a while." She seized him by the shaft. "You can pretend you're not loving my teasing, Aerin. But male bodies are very honest. I can grip your inmost feelings," she squeezed him, very lightly, "with my hand. You can't hide from me." She gave him a friendly smile. "And now, you will betray all your weak spots to me."

He lay enthralled as, holding onto his cock, with her other hand she set off to explore him. She caressed, fondled, tickled and pinched every inch of his skin, and the strength of his throbbing told her exactly where he liked being handled. His deeply personal, intimate inner workings, his vulnerable sexual self -- all lay open before her to study. It was a complete surrender of the privacy of his body, and it was exquisite.

She enjoyed a total command of his nerves -- with her touch she could control the pace of his heartbeat, the depth of his breath. If she wished to, she could make him climax just like that, whether he wanted or not. He didn't understand why this should turn him on so much; but, oh well, understanding is overrated anyway.

He got so hard under her fingers. Gods, this willingness in him, to accept her power in good faith, to allow himself all this vulnerability... before her, her whose people who wanted to torture and kill him. Bent to his skin, she heard him moan. She soaked in his warmth, she soaked in his trust, she soaked up bhis pleasure. And her desire sharpened, and she grew greedier.

She wanted to tease this body to its limit. She wanted to fill him with as much joy as he could take, and then to cram even more down his throat, until he fucking passed out from bliss. She wanted -- she needed -- to shatter his mind, kiss every shard, and hold him safe in her hands as they slowly melted down together and reassembled into one happy whole.

But first, she needed to fuck that precious face of his.

She stood up, and reached to undo the lacing of her dress. "You're making me too horny to think," she said. "First you'll make me cum, then we'll see what happens to you." She pulled the thing off, and stood in her underwear alone. "Hold this."

The cool tan fabric dropped on his head, and surrounded him with darkness. "I'm rolling my eyes, for your information," said his muffled voice.

"I can guess." He waited patiently for the cover to be lifted; and when it finally was, he was rewarded with the sight of Gabrielle naked, kneeling astride him. She'd taken her time to admire him before, so it was only fair that she'd give him time to admire her in turn. He certainly thought it fair: her toned, slender body was a sight to relish at length. She lifted her arms to adjust her hair, and her breasts were pulled up along her chest; when her arms dropped, so did the breasts, with a happy little jiggle, perky and full. The only thing that was not fair was that he couldn't reach out and give them a proper greeting squeeze.

She shifted forward, knees along his shoulders. Now he saw how wet she'd gotten -- as wet as he was hard. She propped herself against the wooden bars of the stall, and looked down on him.

"Open your mouth. Tongue out." He obeyed, with a glint in his eye. "That's right, your favourite dish." She grabbed him by the hair, and her thighs closed in around his head. "Hold still." She touched her clit down on his tongue, dragged it along, and groaned with pleasure. Oh shit. Okay. This wouldn't take long.

She adjusted her angle, and hummed when she found just the right spot. She dug her fingers deeper into his hair and ground hard into his face. The surface of his tongue was just perfect, sleek and warm and firm.

It did not take long at all. His jaw barely even started to ache before her muscles begun tensing up all around him. He chuckled in his throat. He really, really enjoyed reading these tells of her body.

High pressure, a perfect aim, a sleek tongue, a helpful boy. Sparks, like steel dragging on flint. She tilted forward and bit into a wooden bar. With a deep, satisfied moan she came, a solid, honest, heart-warming orgasm, thumping right in her core. She rode it out with a long satisfied groan, until it left her limp, leaning against the wood.

As she sat slack, eyes half-closed, teeth on the bar, he slid his numb tongue back into his mouth. Her labia, flushed and swollen, were right at his lips. Unable to do anything else, he gently nibbled at them, gave them a series of featherlight kisses.

She giggled, and patted him on the head. It was so nice of him to initiate that little show of affection, even when restrained and a little crushed. He deserved nice things to happen to him.

Eventually.

She stood up rather shakily, and stretched. He took a deep breath and looked up at her. She smiled at him sweetly, turned away, and walked toward the entrance. Abandoned for the second time on the floor, Aerin blinked.

"Hey," he said. "Hey, where do you think you're going?!"

She snorted, and took a look outside. There was nobody in sight. A few horses grazed in the pasture's high grass; all around it, the forest whispered in the calm wind. She stepped out, and leaned with her back against the door. The sun and the breeze caressed her skin. She closed her eyes.

"Life's amazing after a good orgasm, isn't it? No pressure, no edge, just pure satisfaction."

He took a look at his cock, throbbing uselessly in the air, and his exasperated sigh let her know that he wasn't even going to dignify that with a reply. She licked her lips.

Yes. This is what her plan called for. Let's cultivate the part of him that wants to get back at her, a counterpoint to his excitement. Let that part watch the rest of him enthusiastically succumb to her. Let it heat up his mind from the inside, let it bother him like a pebble in boot, and once his nerves flare up with his orgasm -- let it explode, wild and ecstatic. Let it take him to peak intensity, that beautiful place where all emotions blur into one, anger with delight, sadness with joy; a perfect tiny kernel of utter, glorious chaos.

And as a bonus, his dominant side won't forget this villainy. When the time is right, he will straight-up revenge-fuck her in half. But that's a treat for another great day.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You'd like some of my pussy, right?" He pulled at his ropes and glared. Precum dripped piteously down his shaft. She slowly reached down and slid two fingers into herself. "Oh, fuck, yeah, it's especially lovely today." She smiled, and with the free hand fondled her breasts for a good measure. "So tight and snug. It would feel so amazing on your cock, Aerin."

"Are you getting a kick out of my misery?"

She slid the fingers out and spread them at arm's length. Sunshine caught in their liquid sheen, strands and droplets glittering gold.

"Clearly," she answered. She lay down on her stomach, over the threshold. She propped up her chin on her hands and wagged one shin lazily in the air. A slight but dreamy smile unravelled on her face. "You see, I really enjoy looking at naked, helpless boys in mild distress. You're such a treat."

He sighed and thumped the back of his head against the floor. "Man, no wonder you fell for me in Behem."

"Nah. Behem was too much distress, not enough nakedness. Right now you're at the exact level of distress and nakedness that I like." She tilted her head, and her teeth glimmered. "Cock out, chest bare, collar on."

"Torc." His voice was like cracking ice. She giggled, rolled onto her back, and pressed on her clit with the base of her hand.

"Peevish, helpless boys in collars. Thank you, o gods, for creating something so delicious."

"Ugh. Alright." He craned his neck towards his bound wrist. "Let me just gnaw through this and I'll show you a peevish helpless boy—"

Lust and laughter glittered in her eyes. Now. He was perfectly riled up. Time to bring him down. Her ancestral royal blood stirred. She'd always wanted to suppress a rebellion.

Not hurrying too much, she stood up and walked over to him.

"Aerin." He eyeballed her, teeth on the rope. Her hands were clasped behind her back. There was a soft scolding in her voice. "Aerin, you unruly creature, spit that out." He hesitated for a moment, let go -- and suddenly, something tightened in his throat.

She'd been brought up to deny her instincts, to be a chaste and devoted and haughty twig on the great family trees of Harmen. She'd been given cultivation, and denied warmth. He truly understood that during their first nights together -- in how she'd cuddle up to him and just lie pressed to him, too giddy to sleep. She had been bold enough to have a good deal of illicit sex in the Kingdom, but this -- peaceful hours in the arms of someone she liked, not on high alert for once -- this simple human pleasure she'd never experienced before. And so, even though a summer night can get oppressively hot with an entire girl pushing up against your skin, he gleefully held her tight, safe from her stern and sterile homeland.

And despite all that denial, she'd secretly kept her inner flame alive. She was like an absurd rose that had bloomed in winter frost. Her sexuality was powerful, bright and playful, she was determined to enjoy it, and her affectionate spirit would always drive her to share this joy. And within that was her dominant side, unstifled and uninhibited, vibrant and shameless and unstoppable, and currently impending upon him like a gorgeous ravaging shark that's sensed fresh blood in the water.

He almost teared up. He was so fucking proud of her.

She sat on his thighs and rubbed his belly. "Now what's this silliness? We both know you're not held down by these ropes." She leaned forward, and his glans brushed wetly against her. "You're held here by your own wish to be fucked senseless, like the delicious bitch boy that you are. And," she tapped at his shaft, pointing out the strength of his erection, "you're loving every moment of this. You're welcome to admit it now."

"M... maybe?" he said, in a very tiny voice. She grinned. Both hands flat on his abdomen, she pressed down. His abs flexed to resist her. She pressed harder, and all he could do was flex stronger, his muscles the only line of defence against the crush. She did not relent, did not stop until they supported her entire upper body weight, strained, hard, and pressed out against his skin, like a stone wall. She pushed her fingers into the grooves between them.

He whimpered meekly, just for the pleasure of having her ignore his complaint. His erection tapped, supplicant, against her skin. Nothing mattered anymore. He just wanted her to utterly claim him; and if her gratification required him to be teased to oblivion, it was his sincerest wish to suffer just that.

"Admit it," she said. She shifted from his abs to his chest, and he breathed out with relief. Down below, her labia pressed against his cock and slid up, along the underside of his shaft, firmly and very, very slowly. "Admit it, apologize for acting up, and promise to be a good boy from now on."

The look she pinned him with was knowing and fond. How did she manage to be so mean and so friendly at the same time?! He tried to glare, he just looked on with delight, he gave up. He started to speak—

"Hey, everyone!" Gabrielle shouted towards the horses in the stalls, and dug her nails into Aerin's chest. "Watch now! The boy is about to swallow his pride and grovel before his mistress!"

Vidar's dark head poked out into the open. What was all this? It looked like the humans were mating, though the way they were going about it seemed to him very inefficient. But then again, humans are very wise creatures. No doubt that whatever was happening on that floor was in fact very wise.

Aerin's blush got deeper, but he was on her hook. "I'm sorry that I forgot myself. I'm yours to tease. I'll be a good boy from now on." He strained his upper body and lifted it up, to bring his face closer to hers. He was a melted thing, and yet forceful and single-minded like an avalanche. "Please forgive me, and fuck me into the ground. Please claim me like the obedient bitch boy that I am."

His pale blue eyes were just inches away. His muscles struggled to keep him up. She let him hang like that for a moment.

"You added some grovelling on your own accord," she noted.

His stare was half-dreamy softness, half-steely resolve. "I know."