Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
There is fear in his voice, deep, gasping gobs of it. They coat me and they infect me. They make me tremble where I sit, drawing back against the pillar as if to hide, though nobody is looking at me right now anyway. All eyes are on the young saurian male who is making an absolute spectacle of himself.
I can tell how desperate Torin is, but maybe the guards can’t. He reaches the end of his tether, and snaps at one of the guards holding him. His teeth make brief contact with a scaled neck, drawing blood.
Seeing that, Avel loses patience. He descends the stairs in long, powerful strides, and grabs Torin from the guards, one big hand wrapping around the smaller creature’s throat. It is by this grip that the unfortunate criminal is dragged up onto the stage.
Avel throws Torin down on the punishment bench, keeping the grip on his neck long enough to lock him into the neck stock that makes escape entirely impossible. I see how it all works now. The bench keeps him in a prone position, while the wood at the end basically keeps him controlled by the neck. I am reminded of the guillotine, though no blade will fall. But dozens of implements will fall on his unprotected hide.
Torin's baggy pants are not at all helpful. They get yanked down immediately, and the scaled posterior of the young saurian is exposed. I can’t really see much of the creature himself, and even if I could I do not think I would be looking at his ass anyway.
Avel is the main event. He is the sun around which every creature in this room orbits. He is menacing and intimidating. He is handsome, lit in such a way as to make the most of his prominent features. I find myself absolutely transfixed by him, watching his arms, his torso, every flicker of every expression that runs over his face.
Avel’s demeanor is completely different than it is when he punishes me. There is no attraction, no lust. There is nothing but the cool determination to make his victim pay. The way Avel’s body moves as he lifts his arm up and back to get a good stroke in is absolutely magnificent. He is so very physical. Agile and strong at the same time.
WHACK!
He brings it down to a collective gasp and a grunt from his victim. The sound of the stroke echoes around the hall, reverberating around the skulls and the bones and the great spaces.
I half expected him to lecture the young saurian the way he lectures me when I am in trouble, but he doesn’t say a word. He thrashes the saurian with stroke after stroke from the implement he has chosen for the task, a thick leather lash that must hurt like hell when delivered with Avel’s strength. I wonder if he’s going harder or easier on his subject after Torin tried to run. I wonder if it makes any difference at all.
By the way Avel is acting, I feel as though this has happened plenty of times before. Plenty of unfortunate candidates for punishment must have tried to flee before him. I doubt it ever works. The guards are too practiced. This is all far too ritualistic and orderly. If anything, the escape attempt only brought more shame on the young saurian, playing into Avel’s hands.
The lash lands again and again. Torin’s grunts turn to shouts and then become actual cries for mercy. But Avel is not interested in mercy. Avel is interested in discipline. He whips him until he is satisfied, and only then does he speak.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Torin shudders, taking a deep breath as he tries to compose himself. This seems like part of the ceremony. There is punishment, and there is atonement. I feel almost as if I am up there with him, suffering as he is suffering.
“Admit your crimes,” Avel prompts him, opening the neck stock so he can sit up. He does sit, for a second, before bouncing up onto his toes as his punished flesh touches the firm surface. He is flashing his appendage for all the hall to see. Fortunately for him, he is rather well endowed, but still, dancing about naked before his family and soldiers and those who were wronged by his actions has to be beyond embarrassing.
“I went a bit crazy on my birthday,” he admits. “Stole some stuff. Broke some stuff.”
“Acted as though you owned the city, and as if it was something for you to destroy simply because you thought you possessed it.”
There’s no response. Torin hangs his head, barely managing a nod. Avel fixes that problem by gripping the top of Torin’s hair, spikes sticking out through his powerful purple fingers. He pulls the young saurian male’s head back and looks down into his eyes. I see Torin sag slightly in his grip, giving in.