Fancy Man and the Black Lion's Mark by Julian Keys

Author:Julian Keys
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781622340262
Publisher: ForbiddenFiction
Published: 2012-05-04T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

The Lion’s Den

Too late, he remembered. His face went gray and the hands came back up.

“I told you, white man!” I said in the bodyguard’s voice and grabbed him by his skinny arm. I snatched up the crop and I shoved him over to the back of the couch, bending him till his scrawny ass was high in the air. I’ve been told that my enormous, heavy hand, hot on a man’s bare back, feels very powerful. I’ve been told that it’s even more exciting when that hand is holding a man down for a whipping.

“No, I’m sorry!” he gasped for air.

“You’ve earned my admiration and that of the king,” I added, angling myself and the crop for just the right slap. “But you’ve also earned this punishment.”

The crop cut with a whistle through the air and he screamed as it stung his ass. Again, and again. Guessing that his poor behind hadn’t felt anything like this since childhood, I went easy, but he cried out quite piteously each time it landed.

“No, no, please—”

I hit a little harder, a little sharper. His ass reddened and I knew he was feeling the burn. He screamed and struggled quite futilely against my hand. The huge native guard was holding him helpless. There would be no evading this punishment.

Nine... ten.... I counted in my head. Imagining the stings, as the whip struck and Leo squirmed.

“I won’t do it again! I’ll obey the king!” he wept.

Twelve... thirteen....

“I want to obey the king!”

Fifteen. I stopped, but I kept my hand on his back, feeling his sobbing breaths. I let him wonder for a moment if I was done, allowed myself the sadistic pleasure of feeling how he was shaking. To be suffused with that much sensation, to be that much out of control; it had to be both exhausting and exhilarating.

Fifteen light strokes were nothing for me, but I exaggerated my breathing to give him the illusion of a bodyguard who’d given his all into the whipping and was amazed that the penitent had not fainted from the pain.

“By the Lion!” I put astonishment into Mabawa’s voice. “I did not think any man could survive such a beating. Your ass,” I added in a husky whisper, “is crossed with welts.” I brushed a hand over them.

He twitched in pain and caught a breath. A shiver went through him as it came to him. He had criss-crossing whip marks, just like the man on the cover of the magazine.

“Come,” I said, easing him up onto his feet. He wobbled and had to steady himself on the back of the couch. I held him there for a moment, suddenly worried. Had I asked too much of him? He wasn’t decrepit, but he was no spring chicken.

“Do you wish to stop, white man?”

A beat. Another. He straightened up. I didn’t know it at the time, but his perception of himself had just shifted. He’d gone through three very scary situations; he hadn’t really been hurt, but hadn’t known how difficult or damaging each trial would be or how long it would last.

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