By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (14 page)

For a moment she hesitated to
take the offered hand. It hovered there in the air before her eyes,
the skin pale, the thin lines of myriads of scars painting
intricate patterns over the skin whilst the long, black points of
nails, the protruding edges of claws able to shoot out and rend
with less than a thought, reminded her more than anything that she
had given herself to something utterly alien.

By silent compulsion she raised
her eyes higher, to his intent gaze. Nothing there held any
reminder of humanity. His yellow reptile eyes fixed on her, held
her without any pretence as to what and who he was or how much he
anticipated what was to come with pleasure. Strangely it was that
last which made her reach for his hand, gave her the strength to
set her cold fingers into the warm heat of his palm. Men had looked
at her with want before, even with anticipation and covetousness --
but never had a man looked at her with pleasure.

He held her gaze as he pulled
her up, pulled her closer only breaking the eye-contact when he
turned her gently to the bed. She knew what he wanted of her and
before he could demand, could urge her, she stepped close to the X
he had created with the straps. Almost challenging she offered her
wrist up to him. When his fingers closed around the cuff she did
not turn her head but it was impossible not to watch him stretch
her arm to the straps, weaving it through the hook. His touch was
careful and confident, his fingers testing the tightness of the
cuff at any moment in time.

His large hands stroked down
her arms, with gentle pressure examining the tension of her
muscles, the response of her skin. She knew what he was doing. He
was testing her body, familiarising himself with it in order to
judge the amount of damage she could physically take. It had been
done before. It was the soft kiss against the valley between her
shoulder blades as he stroked her hair over her left shoulder which
surprised her. She shuddered under the touch, its gentleness in
such stark contrast to the pain her body was girding itself to
receive, to endure. That touch, the soft stroke of his lips, broke
all her fortification, sent them tumbling down, leaving her bare
and without defences as to what was about to come.

"Elena, I am less familiar with
your body and mind than I would like to be whilst holding a
flogger."

She heard the concern in his
voice, but also the resolve as he continued:

"Under normal conditions I
would have to depend on you telling me when I come to a limit you
cannot bare, but I doubt you are even able to recognise them."

Another soft kiss on her back,
lips travelling along the edge of her shoulder blade. She felt his
words play over the moist heat his mouth left on her skin.

"We will go slow and I expect
you to trust me to prepare you sufficiently before your punishment.
When I am satisfied that you are prepared to take it, I will
administer three strokes of the flogger for each of the infractions
you named: three for your disobedience, three for refusal to answer
and three for lying to me. You will count the strokes and before
each set you will tell me what it is you are being punished for. Do
you understand?"

Nine strokes with the flogger.
She had never felt its true bite. Adrianus had never allowed
anything harsher than the switch to be used on her, either in
attempts to force a bonding or for correction. But she had seen the
devastation a flogger could cause. She remembered that orc from so
long ago and had she forgotten it, Reschkar's body displaying the
jagged scars of its cruel power would have reminded her.

Did she trust him not to damage
her? Her rational mind wanted to scream
No
. Did she want to
do this? Yes. She wanted it, wanted to see if she could be more
than just an ErGer, at least for this man. And that is where the
rub lay. An ErGer did not have the luxury of trust -- a woman did.
A woman could choose to trust where an ErGer was never given a
choice. There was a high probability she would not survive the next
month anyway. This was not news, not a surprise. When she had not
bonded as a teenager that probability had increased each month a
little more. But Reschkar had shown her something about herself,
given her something essential. He had let her see herself through
his eyes as something more than an ErGer. Adrianus never had done
so. So here was the chance to find out if her inability to bond was
her own fault -- or not.

He had been right, she had
spent her whole life trying to please others, to do what she was
told not to make others happy, not to give them something -- but so
that she would finally be able to take her expected place in this
world. And with every year she had become more angry, had railed
internally against the unfairness of fate, her fate. She had begun
to hate them all. She had begun to hate herself. That realisation
sat in her stomach like a cold lump of day-old porridge.

She still hated herself, now
possibly more so than before. She might be defective, might even be
an arrogant, emotionally distant woman unable to serve the ones she
loved; but to a large part she might be that because she had
sabotaged herself. She deserved any punishment he meted out. If it
made her bleed, hell, if it killed her, it was nothing more or less
than what she had been expecting from the hands of even the man she
considered a father figure for years and if he did not -- well,
then she might have the chance for a new beginning, a clean slate
for however long she remained alive and well.

He let her think, let her sort
through all the thoughts in her mind but there was no doubt he
expected an answer.

"Yes, I understand."

She thought he would say
something else, add another admonishment, ask another question. She
heard the expectancy in the silence surrounding them in a heavy
blanket. But in the end, he simply pressed another kiss to her
nape, then bent to attach ankle cuffs to her legs and the bed
posts.

When he stepped away from her,
Elena knew he had picked up the flogger. She could not help the
tension tightening her muscles, the way her breath became shallow.
It was a natural reaction to the expectation of pain taking hold in
her whole being. No matter how much rationality dictated to relax
one's muscles, to allow one's body to go with the pain to limit it,
that was a lot harder to do than one would think. When she felt the
air move, heard the rustle of leather strands rubbing together, she
braced for pain that never really came.

The touch of the leather was a
caress with a little stinging bite at the end. It woke her skin and
warmed the surface where it touched. It was not a blow, but a
patter of little scrapes against the middle of her back. Only the
impact of the ends of the leather strands teasing her nerves with
little stings came close to a hint of pain. Her body was pushed
forwards, more by her instinctive move to evade the blow than any
force behind it, and the smoothness of the leather X supporting her
torso was a sensual contrast to the warmth of her tingling
skin.

Her mind had no time to relate,
in any real capacity, to the sensation, before the sting was
replaced with the warmth of his hands, stroking and kneading the
sensitised skin. It was confusing, more so when he stepped back and
another patter of leather strands, stronger now but still shy of
real pain, rained onto her lower back. The cold touch of the
leather strands mirrored in the smooth straps holding her, the
blooming heat of the little knotted ends biting her skin, the
gentle caress of his hands, all became one, a never ending
progression of sensation across her lower back, slowly moving up
her body.

Elena could not hold onto her
own thoughts and emotions so fast were they moving, little lights
zinging past her own awareness. She was forced to let them go, to
let them slide away under the pressures of constant change. Each
touch of the flogger was a little stronger, held a little more bite
to the caress of the leather, straddling the line between pleasure
and pain. She became subsumed under the sensation of his touch,
both through his skin and the leather wielded by him. The whirlwind
of reality which was her existence fell away, lost in what was the
moment. Even her fear. Even her hate.

Life became nothing but the
next touch, the next reaction to either caress or pain. When the
pain began to overshadow the pleasure, life turned into a winnable
fight. She was expected to endure, the next second, the next
minute, only that -- and for the first time in her life she knew
how to, had a chance to win. She had no idea how to bond, had no
idea how to fulfil her destiny. But she could endure. The weight of
her head became too heavy for the delicate column of her neck to
hold and she let gravity take charge and bow it forward. The next
blow hit higher on her back, was stronger and in instinctive
defence she hunched her shoulders.

"That's it, little one -- stay
like that, keep your shoulders forward."

When his hands stroked away the
pain this time, the slight pressure on her shoulders emphasised the
command. It was another rule she could follow, another way she
could succeed and not disappoint once again. Her mind fixed on
that, splitting its concentration between the burn of her skin and
the gentle arch of her shoulders, holding the second whilst the
first began to dissipate along her body leaving behind only warmth.
She was so lost in her mind, she missed the first two times he
called her name.

"Elena!" The sharpness of his
tone penetrated the hazy preoccupation of her mind, though the hand
on her neck remained gentle, the fingers stroking over her skin in
lazy, calming half circles. She tried to straighten but the weight
of his hand held her in place, her head bowed under his touch. But
it was enough to let him know she had withdrawn from the sensual
miasma she had become embroiled in.

"Nine strikes. The punishment
you chose. I expect you to count them and tell me what they are
for. Are you ready?"

She wanted to nod but his hand
on her neck forced her to speak.

"Yes." The strength of her own
voice surprised her. It woke her to something deep inside herself:
she wanted this, wanted to accept this and know she was doing it
not to bond but to make up for a mistake she understood she had
made, not for some nebulous infraction found in her genetic
code.

And she wanted it for him,
wanted to show this man that she was willing to give herself into
his care. She finally could admit it to herself -- what had changed
was not so much her attitude to bonding but her need for the man
with her. She wanted him to love her, a stupid, pathetic desire,
but one which was becoming overwhelming. She wanted him, wanted to
serve the strength and warmth in his being. And she wanted the
chance to deserve, to gain his love and respect through her
service. She wanted to please him, not because of who she was, an
ErGer in desperate need of bonding, but of who he was: a
fascinating man.

"These will hurt, Sweetheart."
He warned her. And they did, more than a little. The sharp whistle
of the leather cutting air was a warning a split second before the
right side of her back exploded in long lines of pain. The impact
was so shocking it pressed the air from her lungs and let tears
burn behind her eyelids. She gasped but before she could assimilate
the sensation, the shock, the pain on her right side was mirrored
by a second blow hitting along the left side of her back. A whine
broke from her mouth, cut short by almost superhuman effort. The
third blow along her lower back was less shocking, not because it
hurt less, or was delivered with less force, but because she had
expected it with body and mind. Still, her thoughts reeled. Pain
sizzled in her jaw where her teeth ground against each other. The
sound very audible to her own ears.

"Breathe, Lena, just breathe
for a moment."

His large hand stroked away the
rigid tension, if not the pain, as he caressed her back. She felt
him close, his lips stroking along the curve of her neck though he
carefully avoided touching her burning back. When her breathing
evened out her asked:

"Can you bear more?"

"Yes." Her voice was roughened
by pain but still permeated by certainty.

"Good girl." Another soft kiss
to her nape, the caress so much more intimate through the burning
of her back.

"Tell me why you are being
punished."

She had to think for a moment,
so much of the last minutes had been concentrated entirely
enduring, on doing something right, that she had almost forgotten
why she had found herself bound and in pain.

"I disobeyed. I prevaricated
and I lied to you."

She felt the kiss on her
shoulder, felt it as the gentle caress it was.

"These three were to remind you
to follow my orders. Six more strokes to go. You know how it feels
now. I expect you to count the next six."

She bit her lip. Count. Right.
She had to count them. The thought sharpened her mind, gave her
once more a clear goal to follow. She could do this.

"Ok."

The next stroke fell before she
had even finished the word and the sudden renewal of heat and pain
along the curve of her back made her gasp and press into the
leather straps before her. Her fingers found the leather holding
her wrists to the frame, twisted and entwined with it in a
desperate attempt to help her swallow the scream of pain rising in
her throat. Still she was able to say: "Four"

His hand stroked over her neck
again, a silent reminder to hunch her shoulders. Only when she had
done so did the next two blows fall on her shoulders in short
succession, barely giving her the time to count between them. Then
he hesitated again and she knew what he was expecting of her.

"I refused to answer a question
and I lied."