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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)	By : Darkrogue Category: +S through Z > Suikoden Views: 3924 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suikoden, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and dialogue from the game Suikoden V belong to Konami.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2: Just Deserts
Gizel/Euram
DISCLAIMERS: NC-17. M/M, Oral, Anal, Non-con,BDSM/Spanking, Humiliation
Dialogue from the game Suikoden V is not mine.

I wish...I wish I had the strength to defy him, as my heart desires.

If only I could at least be brave enough to truly resist Gizel. So many have made sacrifices. So many have lost so much to this war, and all I can do is grovel at his feet. My, but how useless I have been in everything! It is shameful, how I submit to him, despite my pledge of loyalty to His Highness the Prince. Gizel is right in more ways than I am prepared to admit. I am a coward, a poltroon. A pusillanimous wretch! Oh, I truly am--dare I say it?--a wimp.

How much more noble it would feel, were I to simply refuse him the satisfaction of my tears. I accept that I am not built for valor. Truly, never have I felt so isolated, so helpless. Not even when General Novum’s men captured Rainwall did I feel such desolation. Is this the best I can do to make up for all the hurtful things I have done? I suppose I should accept death, allow him to execute me rather than this. But I cannot do it. I cannot do it because I am afraid.

I am lucky Lady Sialeeds has deemed me unworthy of her attention, that she rarely even permits herself the time to come and taunt me. Somehow, I know I would be worse off were she named my mistress. I would have never believed her capable of the cruelty I have witnessed in her. She is terrible. Not that I am un-deserving of her malice, but I know it is a bitter thing for His Highness, to have his own blood betray him. When I think of how betrayed my own dear sister must have felt as I caused her such anguish and embarrassment, I regret my own actions all the more. And yet, it was Lady Sialeeds’ duplicity that ultimately brought dear Prince Freyjadour and I closer, in an unforeseen way. Yet another vicious irony. How strange this cruel twist of fate.

How would His Highness look upon me now, I wonder? With the same disdain I have earned, I suspect. It is curious that this comes now, after I had vowed to apply myself toward the good of Falena. The memory and circumstances of my capture and imprisonment are as painfully clear in my mind as my future is uncertain. To think that I had told myself that I would face my fate with fortitude...

FLASHBACK:

“Release him,” Gizel commanded the Knights who had dragged a shackled Euram Barows into the audience chamber. The young Queen had been locked away in her room, and the news of this latest capture had come to Gizel at the close of a consultation. Dolph had awaited him in the audience chamber. Lady Sialeeds had accompanied him as well, and stood with her arms crossed over her chest as she eyed the prisoner with mocking contempt.

The Knights shoved Euram forward, sending the young man stumbling to the floor in a clumsy heap of colorful apparel, lace and chains. He made no move to rise, only cowered where he fell. Gizel turned to his Knights with a nod. “You may leave us. He is no threat to me.”

Nodding, Zahhak and his men turned and departed, but Alenia persisted in remaining behind. “What do you plan to do with him, Your Commandership?” she asked, just respectful enough that it did not quite sound like a demand.

“Well. That depends,” Gizel returned. “This matter has only just come to my attention.”

Alenia’s nostrils flared, her eyes widening and then narrowing again. Her lips twisted into something between a snarl and a pout, although she managed to hold her composure. “What? You would hesitate to kill this dog, Your Commandership?”

Gizel detected the flare in her voice with amusement. Of course she wanted Euram dead; Alenia had long harbored a loathing for the Barows faction, and Gizel would most likely fulfill her wishes, even if not for her sake. Nevertheless, it was always more amusing to toy with his subjects and his captives alike.

“I will do as I deem necessary. You are dismissed, Alenia.”

The rigid woman looked as though she would utter further protest, but thought the better of it. “Yes, Your Commandership,” she forced, bowing, and turned to leave. Gizel caught the look the red-haired Queen’s Knight tossed toward Sialeeds on her way out. Sialeeds had noticed it, too, but for the moment there was another issue to be dealt with.

Considering the frilly, quivering heap on the floor, Gizel addressed his personal assassin.

“Now, Dolph. Why have you chosen to waste my time with this insignificant fool?”

“An interesting turn,” the young man replied with his usual nonchalance. “My associates informed me he had sought to take up with the rebels again. I deployed a team to investigate. They found him slinking about Rainwall. He claims he was ‘helping’ the citizens, in the Prince’s name, no less.”

“Hmm. That is hardly surprising. But I fail to see how this should concern me in the slightest.”

“Amusement, perhaps? I assumed you might prefer to deal with him yourself, and rid Falena of this traitor in what way you see fit.”

“Well. What are your thoughts, Lady Sialeeds? Weren’t you to take care of this—little problem?”

“Ha! I saw no need to kill this wretch. Honestly, do you really think him a risk?”

“Good point,” Gizel coolly acknowledged, moving to tower over the trembling prisoner. “So, Euram. Am I to understand you have once again allied yourself with Prince Freyjadour? And this is after you declared him your enemy and clumsily endeavored to destroy him with your foolish stunts. Of course that was after you and your father sought to use him against me, to your own advantage.” He chuckled. “So fickle, so treacherous. Truly disgraceful. You've managed to make quite a name for yourself throughout Falena--though not a good one, I'm afraid.”

Euram shuddered, his head bowed. “G-Gizel...” he whispered, and his voice caught. All at once, Sialeeds laughed, sauntering closer to also hover above him.

“Ha ha ha! Finally speechless, I see. Well, this is a surprise. Still, you are just as pathetic as ever. That much is hardly a shock.”

Whimpering, the young Barows would have sank into the floor if he could have done so. His recent memory of Sialeeds gloating over him still loomed fresh in his mind. He would never forget how she had laughed at him, how he had thought that she would kill him. Worst of all were the words she had spoken to him, just before she had left him alone and sobbing over his father’s cooling corpse:

“Now that an imbecile like you is head of the Barows faction, I’m sure it will fall to ruin, anyway.”

Those words had stung him more than she could have known. So biting—and so very true.

“You little snake. You would dare seek to exploit my nephew further?” her voice swelled in growing anger. “Maybe you did not learn your lesson, after all? Perhaps I should have killed you.”

No, no, Euram desperately thought! She had it all wrong! He had joined the Prince’s cause out of a genuine desire to help! For the first time in his life, he had wanted to do something worthy, something he would not reflect on in shame. Never would he attempt to deceive His Highness now. How could he do such a thing, after Freyjadour had shown him pity and taken him in, despite all the terrible things he had done?

But why should Lady Sialeeds believe him? What reason had he given anyone to believe him?

“Hmph. Why the Prince would bother with a damn worthless fop like you is beyond me,” Sialeeds continued, then turned, disinterested, to Gizel. “I don’t care what you do with him. He is good for nothing, and hardly worth your time.”

“Yes,” Gizel agreed. “Well then, Euram Barows. It is unfortunate that your fate has led you here. As you can see, you are of little use to me, or anyone else at this point. You will be summarily put to death as a traitor to the Queendom. May you find mercy in the afterlife.”

At this, Euram sprang to life. His head snapped up, pure panic swimming in his bright, shocked eyes.

“Oh, no! Gizel, please! You cannot, you simply cannot!”

“Oh? Can’t I? Give me one good reason why I should permit you to keep your contemptible life.”

Euram slumped to study the polished floor. A delicate ponytail of blonde fell over his quivering shoulders. “I can think of no reason—beyond simple mercy,” he supplied, lamely, hoping that alone would be enough.
It wasn’t.

“You see? I believe you have been given far more chances than you deserve.” Seeing the frilly twit wither, Gizel thought. “Hmm. Perhaps you would be willing to perform some manner of espionage for me?” he suggested, though he had no intention of trusting him for such a task. He simply wanted to see whether Euram would still be so treacherous as to accept the offer. To his surprise, Euram disappointed him.

Barows crumpled, shaking his head. “No, oh no, I cannot! You cannot ask me to betray the Prince. I will not!”
At one time, he would have agreed to the proposal—he might have even suggested it himself. But not now; he was a different man, now. He did not intend to deceive the one person who had extended him his graces and offered him the merest chance for atonement.
Prince Freyjadour had shown faith in him, when he had no reason to do so. He had had faith in him when others had met him with scorn and disgust. Even in his beloved Rainwall he was despised, nothing but a spoiled, useless and spineless heir of a broken faction. The Recreant of Rainwall, he had come to be known: a miserable, chicken-hearted scoundrel and an imbecile, to boot. Truly there was little to like about Barows’ male heir, who had managed to make himself more unpopular than Salum himself.
Prince Frey alone had shown him mercy, when he could have easily--and justly--left him to flounder and burn in his disgrace.
Euram would not betray that mercy. Most of all, and he would not let Luserina down again.

“Then you shall die for your cause.” Gizel concluded, unfeeling.

Euram renewed his capitulation with a fresh burst of pleading. The clanking of chains sounded as shackled hands flew up to desperately clutch at Gizel’s robe.

“Please, Gizel! I beg of you, spare my life! You cannot simply discard me!”

“And why ever not?” Gizel’s question was an honest one. Never had the other noble looked to Gizel so utterly broken. Strands of blonde spilling from the foppish ribbon framed his boyish face as Euram gazed up at him with wide, beseeching eyes and quivering lips: a wretched and worthless scoundrel, desperately clinging to his meaningless sham of a life.

Gizel shrugged the clinging hands from his robe. “I am done with you. The blade falls at dawn.” He turned to walk away.

True to form, Euram threw himself to his belly before Gizel, wrapping his arms around the other man’s boots.

“Nooo! I am a noble, Gizel, as are you! Surely you would not put me to death so readily! Were I in your place, I would spare you, and wish you well. You must believe me!”

Liar. Inwardly Gizel laughed. He was not surprised that Euram would appeal to their mutual status for sympathy. Wholly transparent, he would say anything if it meant to save his own skin. Disgusted, Gizel shook him loose.

“Were I in your place, I would die rather than debase myself so. You heap yet more disgrace upon your family name! Would you suggest I release you? Have you return to conspire with traitors?”

“You simply must permit me to live, even if you cannot let me go! Cast me into jail if you must, but have pity, Gizel!” Euram’s voice dissolved into a flood of hitching sobs.

Gizel suddenly felt inclined to kick him, but stayed his foot. “Your swift death would be the greatest mercy I could possibly extend.”

“Please. I…I do not wish to die, not yet,” the younger man managed to splutter between stricken sobs. He could not have his life end here, now, before he had had the chance to amend his wrongs.

“Hmm,” it was Sialeeds who actually spoke in Euram’s defense. She laughed then, grim and cruel, as though she had thought of a fitting alternative. The sound sent shudders though the prisoner. “Perhaps there is some use you could have from him, Gizel,” she suggested in her usual, lazy manner. “He is a—delicate little thing, don’t you think? I’m sure you could think of something he might be good for.”

Gizel’s expression remained unchanged, though Sialeeds did have a point. Leave it to her to think along those lines, he thought with a thin smile. In some ways, he still loved her. Gizel considered Euram, imagining those trembling lips put to better use. The thought of them stretched around his cock sent a quick throb of lust through his blood, but he shook it aside for the moment.

“Very well. I will consider what is to be done. In the meantime, Dolph, take this lowly blackguard and lock him in the dungeon.”

The young assassin, who had watched the scene unfold with detached silence, stepped forth. “Certainly.”

Seizing Euram by the collar, Gizel hauled the prisoner roughly to his feet, rattling chains. He thrust the shamed noble, all skin and bones and ruffles, towards the assassin. “Should he make one false move, you may strike him dead,” he told Dolph, fully trusting in his effectiveness to do so. Before Euram could be escorted from the audience chamber, Gizel reached out and gripped him hard by the jaw. Glaring into tear-bright, fearful eyes, he delivered his last, grim promise:

“Whatever I may decide, Euram Barows, I will assure you this: it will not be pleasant for you.”

END FLASHBACK

I wish I could have faced him with bravery. Like the wretch that I am, I capitulated to him, surrendering both my freedom and my dignity. I hate that I must carry that knowledge with me, in addition to the countless other shameful memories I already bear. I wish I could escape who I was. Who I am.

Several of his servants arrived this morning to bathe and cleanse me. It is a routine that I bitterly hate. They handle me roughly, and at times they bathe me in water so hot it leaves my skin scarlet. My pain seems to delight them, my shame even more. How they scrub and hurt, and they thrill even more in cleansing me inside…oh, no, no! I cannot bear to think about the mortification of that.

A single handmaiden is one of the only individuals among the servants I can name as gentle, and the only one whom I can say treats me with a measure of compassion. She remained behind today to wash my hair, and insisted she be allowed to do so, though I cannot know why. Her touch was calming, tender, though no words were spoken between us. I imagine neither of us knew what to say.

I keep reminding myself to be strong. This will end soon. The war will be over, and I have little doubt the Prince will be victorious. The Euram I once was would wish the foulest retribution upon Gizel for his treatment of me. But I no longer harbor the desire for any such revenge. Vengeance upon anyone is a thought that has left my fancy for good. I try to look upon this torment as just deserts for my crimes, but even so, how can I ever face the Prince now? It is mortifying enough knowing Her Majesty the Queen is aware of my disgrace, my humiliation.
Most of all, how will I ever face Luserina?

I wonder when he will discover my writing. Should he uncover this, he will know my feelings more plainly. Of course he is able to read my thoughts without the aid of my written word, but with evidence, he will have reason to be angry with me, and he will have further cause to punish me.

It is hours since he left me, alone and aching. I realize that I am fated to feel his punishment upon his return. I have not forgotten that he promised me retribution. Even now, I suspect he is devising new ways of making me suffer. My heart clenches with dread when I think of what he may have in store for me. Were I to......

*****

Gizel hid his smirk of amusement as he came into the room, pretending not to notice how his lovely catamite had quickly shoved the small writing pad beneath the pillows. The young man was growing careless in his little scribblings, evidently having been too lost in thought to hear him coming. Even more amusing was the way Euram now sought to distract him. The clownish fop rose to his knees just enough to stoop in greeting, his head bowed nearly to the floor.

Not bothering to feign surprise or appeasement, the Commander casually unlocked the chain as routinely as ever, then patted Euram and moved to help himself to a drink.

Ferid had kept a fine selection of Kanakan wines, among others. Wordlessly Gizel chose a bottle and poured a glass, allowing it to warm briefly in his hand before taking a sip. The liquid warmed his blood, calmed him, and he strolled over to seat himself in the plush chair near the hearth—only feet away from Euram’s “bed”. From his submissive crouch, the other noble dared a cautious glance upward.

“W-would you like anything of me, Majesty?” his stumbling offer was hesitant, uncertain. Clearly Euram was unused to serving, accustomed instead to having others wait upon him. Still, the effort was amusing, and Gizel let a thick silence hang in the air before supplying a response.

“Hmm. As a matter of fact, yes. You may set your fingers to work at my shoulders.”

Rising, Euram pattered over, attempting to conceal his most private regions with his hands. It was comical how he still moved so tactfully, as though he would protect his modesty. Obediently he slinked behind him and set to the task while Gizel sipped his wine. Gizel might have removed some of the more restricting bits of his clothing, but he found he rather preferred the disparity. The uniform, with all the authority it carried, stood in stark contrast to his prisoner’s nakedness, and he quite found it arousing.

“No. Higher,” he instructed, until the other found the right place. “There you go.”

For all their lack of any real strength, Euram’s slender and delicate hands were possessed of a gentle, precise touch. They were actually perfect for rubbing the knots in his muscles, and Gizel found his own eyelids closing a time or two while Euram worked, as lovingly as an adoring harem girl, stopping only briefly to shake the soreness from his hands.

“Well, well. Aren’t you obedient this evening?” Gizel observed. “What are you up to, hmm?”

Wisely or not, Euram chose not to answer that. It mattered not; Gizel knew precisely the design his cringing new slave had in mind.

“Trying to wriggle out of your punishment, are we?” he supplied, feeling a definite hitch in Euram’s efforts. He chuckled, his suspicions confirmed in that tiny, faltering move. “Did you think I had forgotten?”

Euram’s belly drew into a tight coil, but he took a deep breath and kept to his task. “N-no, my lord, of course not.”

“Ah. But you hoped I had forgotten. Is this correct?”

At this, the boy paused, as though considering hard whether or not to answer. “M-Master, please. Permit me to make amends.” Slipping to the floor, Euram sank to his knees and clutched lightly at Gizel’s robe. “Point me towards any task, Gizel, my lord. Any drudgery you see fit, I will gladly perform to make it up to you.”

Gizel reached down and abruptly swiped his hands away, noting with amusement how Euram’s offers included no favors of the flesh. False to the last, he promised ‘anything’ and yet failed in his true willingness to deliver. The fawning young man had learned obsequiousness from his Father, and carried it to the extreme, even still.

“First of all, I did not instruct you to stop what you were doing,” Gizel firmly reprimanded, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as Euram scrambled to his feet to correct his mistake. He returned to his task with an earnestness that was at once entertaining and trying.

“Forgive me, my lord, but—may I ask…” the younger noble gulped after another stretch of silence. “…may I ask…wh-what it is you mean to do with me?”

“You may not,” Gizel ended that discussion there. “Need I remind you that your place is not to ask questions?”

He felt Euram flinch. “No, I’m sorry.”

There was a certain satisfaction in keeping the boy guessing about Gizel’s plans for him, and it was equally enjoyable to keep him hanging in dread, never knowing whether he had said or done something that might compound his punishment.

There had been a time or two when Gizel had actually threatened to torture him. He had been among the enemy, he’d reminded him, and might know of tactical information that could be useful to him. Or so he had told Euram. Of course he had no reason to think Euram actually possessed any such knowledge; anything that Lady Merces might have planned she would not be unwise enough to share with anyone, let alone a useless dunce such as Euram. Still, it was an effective threat. Just reminding him that he had much worse ways of hurting him at his disposal—methods that could permanently mutilate and disfigure—never failed to cow the vain young Barows. It was a nice way of quieting him when he wanted to fuck Euram, not hear him.

Gizel remembered when he had first ‘acquired’ Euram. How his delicate flesh had trembled beneath his touch, how he had resisted him. Euram had been far more enjoyable than Gizel would have ever guessed he could be. Literally unspoiled by another man, or by any woman, for that matter, Euram possessed an utter lack of sexual knowledge, and the absence of ability had proven to be delicious and thrilling. Taking his virginity from him had been the most intensely rewarding experience Gizel had ever known. How he had struggled, how his back had curved, twisted and shuddered as Gizel conquered him—just thinking about it made his blood surge with power and lust.

He had placed his brand upon Euram’s skin that very night, solidifying the loss of Euram’s status once and for all: an irrevocable mortification upon his once-rival’s privileged hide.

“That is enough,” Gizel casually waved Euram off. The other obeyed, his nervousness palpable, though Gizel could sense him fighting to conceal it. Gizel stood and handed Euram his empty wine glass with an instruction to return it to the bar. His prisoner thus occupied, he moved over to a chest of drawers. Unlocking it, he coolly retrieved several instruments of torment, things he had kept for his particularly nasty moods with chosen concubines. In the past, he had made countless young women squeal and cry beneath such implements, and he had many at his disposal: a horsewhip (which Euram had felt,) a wooden paddle, a tawse, a thin leather strap, a multi-thonged whip, a rattan cane, a flat, wide hairbrush crafted of silver…

Calmly he gathered these and set them strategically along the surface of the dresser, keeping his back to Euram so that he could conceal from him just what he was doing. Covertly he kept an eye on his ‘guest’, who had moved back and stood fidgeting, looking as though he wasn’t sure what he should do. Gizel smiled, knowing he wasn’t fool enough to try anything. He wasn’t brave enough.

Once he had finished, Gizel stalked back over to stand firmly before his prisoner. “Now, I think it is high time we resolve the issue of your little…show of defiance.” He saw Euram shift nervously. He looked as though he might fall to his knees at any moment.

“Please—m-my lord, it was a mistake,” he began, before Gizel raised a hand to silence him.

“And a mistake that shall be corrected presently. I have provided you a choice as to how you would prefer to approach this. Come,” he indicated, with a snap of his fingers. Euram stumblingly followed him to the dresser, where sat an array of vicious-looking items.

Gizel knew how trying this must have been for the former noble, and he could see the indignant defiance wavering in his eyes at times, only barely suppressed by what little wisdom Euram held. The spoiled young man had his breaking points, and Gizel had quickly found that he enjoyed testing those limits, experimenting to discover just what it would take to press him to rebellious outburst--for his own benefit and enjoyment, of course.

“Now, Euram. You are to select an implement from the collection and present it to me. Your choice will be applied towards amending your ‘mistake’ as you name it.”

Euram balked as Gizel’s words registered to him. His shoulders slumped at this latest instruction. That Gizel would make him actually choose the means of his own punishment had not occurred to him, and only deepened Euram’s appreciation for his callousness.

“Oh, Gizel,” the young Barows gushed with a complaint that dissolved into a sob. Damn you! Rather than swell with defiance, he lowered his head, his hair falling over his averted face in sad desolation. He spoke quietly, wretchedly. “Is it not enough that you have stripped away my status, my clothes, my dignity? Must you continue to humiliate me further?”

If Euram thought his meek appeals might arouse sympathy in his keeper, he was mistaken. Abruptly Gizel cleared the distance between them and seized him by the throat, squeezing just enough to cause alarm and squirming. He held him easily, relishing the fear that sprang into Euram’s eyes. His cock hardened at the useless, frightened struggles, and he constricted his hand tight just above the collar, feeling the thump of pulse quicken under his forefinger and thumb.

“Ah, but it is your humiliation I find so sweet. And when I command you to do something, anything, you are to obey, and not to question or argue, or you will be cast into the dungeon to await execution. That option is not off the table.” Gizel released him just as abruptly as he had grabbed him, waiting for him to splutter to catch his breath as he staggered back. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir, yes Master,” Euram choked, bent gasping and clutching at his abused throat. As a further reminder, Gizel reached out and pinched Euram’s nipple hard, eliciting a distressed whimper.

“Now, do as you’re told.”

“Y-yes!” Euram sputtered, his voice sodden with misery. Choking, the younger man tottered to the dresser and received his first, closer look at the “options” available to him. He could feel Gizel’s eyes upon him as he surveyed the stock with sinking dismay. Each item looked more painful than the last, though he was certain Gizel planned on eventually making him feel each one.

He had endured the humiliating sting of the horsewhip, and hated it for that. Most of the others he had no name for, unused to discipline as he was. Still, he could imagine their bite, and found himself shifting with dread as he glanced over Gizel’s wicked collection. How was he ever to make such an awkward and terrible choice?

Gizel watched Euram fidget restlessly over the spread, doubtlessly thinking about the torment he would soon feel. Of course Gizel had a clear method to his approach. He assumed that he would choose the most innocuous and mild-looking item amidst the set, but he was inexperienced in such things and not wise enough to realize that appearances were deceiving, and that each piece could be put to interesting and creative use. What’s more, he had not the foresight nor skill to weigh and test each in his hand. In his selection, Euram might unwittingly cause himself more pain than if Gizel had made the choice personally.

Still, he was lingering too long for Gizel’s liking.

“My patience is waning,” he warned, obtaining the desired result of haste and panic. Apparently opting for familiarity over the unknown, Euram miserably made his selection. By the time the boy returned to him, his face had paled, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he offered the crop in one trembling hand.

“Ah. Found a favorite, I see,” Gizel took the horsewhip from Euram with a small, sardonic laugh.

“Please...do not do this, my lord. I beg of you...” the young Barows pleaded sorrowfully.

“Quiet. Down.” He commanded, whipping the crop through the air for emphasis. Wincing, Euram acquiesced and dropped to his knees where he cowered upon the floor before him. Predatorily Gizel began to pace, circling him with calculated steps. An uneasy tension hovered about them, made worse by the silence. Gizel rolled the riding crop in his hands, tapping it on his palm as he spoke. “Now, Euram. I want you to tell me why you are to be disciplined.”

He heard the other groan, saw him heave with a sob. “Please, Gizel-”

Gizel snapped the crop through the air, observing with satisfaction as Euram flinched at the sound.

“I would advise you against testing my patience at this point,” he reminded, firmly. “Now, I will repeat myself only once more. I want you to tell me what has led you to this punishment.”

The younger man crumpled, curling his arms inward as though cold. A low, croaking sob gurgled from his throat as he forced himself to answer. “I...I failed to address you properly, my lord. And I’m sorry.”

The corners of Gizel’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” Grasping the plush chair he had used minutes before, he dragged it over and turned it towards Euram.

“Up,” he commanded with a snap of his fingers, and Euram awkwardly rose, his coltish body a shaking set of limbs. Using the riding crop as a pointer, Gizel indicated the chair.

“You will place your knees upon the seat and lean over to grasp the back, where you will remain still and await further instructions.”

Hesitantly Euram wavered, but at another sharp snap of the crop he hastened to do as Gizel bid. Reluctantly he climbed astride the chair and bent forward, grabbing the headrest. Euram swallowed, feeling his stomach clench and churn with fear. His body trembled with terrible anxiety, hot tears already shivering in his eyes.

For Gizel, it was as much about control as it was about punishment. Watching with approval as the boy did as he was told, he moved behind him and surveyed the spectacle. The younger man’s buttocks faced him, pretty and smooth and soft, the color of cream. That was soon to change, Gizel thought, licking his lips.

“Present your ass to me properly,” he instructed and firmly tapped the small of Euram’s back with the crop, making him arch more sharply and thrust his buttocks out. He then tapped smartly at the insides of his thighs, prompting them wider. Slender legs and back shivered with palpable anticipation and fear. He knew Euram hated this with every fiber in his being, and that knowledge made his domination of the young Barows all the richer.

Weighing the horsewhip in his hand, Gizel admired the milky flesh for another moment before drawing back and delivering the first, switching blow across Euram’s naked, vulnerable rump. The swipe landed with a quick whap, causing Euram to jerk and yelp. Reflexively he squirmed, as though he would attempt to escape future strokes.

“You will hold your position,” Gizel admonished, prompting him back into place. Not having much choice, Euram complied with a miserable groan.

The Commander administered no less than twenty sound strokes to his prisoner’s quivering backside. The blows left red lines, angry welts that cris-crossed white flesh. Euram’s cries punctuated each stripe, his body stiffening and shuddering while he struggled with increased difficulty to remain in place. Gizel was thorough, careful to apply the crop across both cheeks and lower on the thighs. With a cold precision, Gizel aimed a series of smacks just where the curve of Euram’s ass met his thighs, eliciting a particularly delightful response

Gizel watched with swelling hunger, his cock stiffening as his prisoner yelped and shifted on his knees, twitching from the calculated rain of blows. The boy’s head was thrust back, his mouth open with gasps and cries, flushed cheeks glistening with spilling tears. More delicious was the sight of his bare buttocks dancing beneath the punishing swipes, the cheeks striped with the erratic red patterns. Small bruises were already surfacing from where the crop had made particularly vicious contact. Euram’s fingers gripped the chair’s headrest as he fought in vain to keep still.

In spite of his endeavors, the foppish brat’s body gradually shifted, forcing Gizel to cease his efforts and pull him back into position. Setting his hand firmly at the small of Euram’s back to hold him in place, he delivered twenty more powerful whacks, feeling Euram strain and shudder and wriggle with pain. His cries grew more desperate, though surprisingly he had not yet begged him to stop, had not yet pleaded him for mercy. It hardly mattered; Gizel was only half through with him.

Halting his administrations, Gizel set the crop aside and examined his handiwork. With a low hum of satisfaction, he reached out and ran a gloved hand over whipped flesh, tracing the welts and purring with gratification as Euram twitched and whimpered and drew away from his touch. His prisoner had practically collapsed over the back of the chair, where he lay sobbing his relief and pain. Hungrily Gizel let his eyes roll over the younger man’s stretched form, bent in submission. How the lithe body quivered and writhed, his striped ass temptingly facing him—it was all Gizel could do not to take him right then. Forcing this lustful thoughts aside for now, he left Euram briefly to approach the dresser himself. Considering carefully, he selected a second implement and returned to his ruined rival, who remained miserably where he’d left him, sniveling and shifting in discomfort.

Granting Euram permission to rise from, he stood once more before him and spoke, coolly and evenly. Chastised and humiliated, Euram hung his head. The result of the horsewhip was clearly felt: Gizel noted how the younger man danced lightly from foot to foot, all the while persisting in his ridiculous attempts to conceal his nakedness.

“Now, listen carefully. We will complete your correction with an item of my choice, seeing as how you initially chose to be difficult and attempted to escape discipline. You will lie face down across my lap for the remainder of your punishment.”

Euram looked up in horror, his mouth dropping open in disbelief that he was to be punished further. An expression bordering on panic and despair clouded his tear-glossed eyes as he caught the glint of the silver hairbrush in the candlelight. The young man blanched. Surely Gizel would not make him submit to something as demeaning as that! That he would be made to lie over Gizel’s knee like a child was a degradation that he had never expected. It was awful enough that he had to address as his lord and master this man who had once been his equal and rival. It was unbearable enough that Gizel used his body in the most shameful ways imaginable. But this—to be taken over his knee like a disobedient boy—was too much.

He shook his head, fearful eyes snapping up to meet Gizel’s. A wavering complaint quivered on his lips, but Gizel caught it before it could be uttered. “I believe I gave you an instruction, Euram.” Amusingly enough, Euram was not even aware of it, but such a punishment actually suited him perfectly. His naivete, his delicate, boyish features, his emotional and wide-eyed reactions to everything—it was so comically childlike it was all too fitting, even despite Euram’s obvious indignation.

“You mistake my command for a request,” Gizel moved the horsewhip out of the way and seated himself in the chair. “Come now, do not force me to drag you.” He did not think he needed to emphasize that his defiance would only deepen his suffering. Clearly Euram understood this, and he groaned, shuffling to Gizel with mincing steps. Calmly brandishing the brush in one hand, the older man indicated his lap. When Euram hesitated, he reached up and grasped him by the collar, pulling him down into position.

Once he had Euram over his knee, Gizel paused and took in the view once more. The younger man hung there awkwardly, his bare and punished ass facing him perfectly. He could feel the resistance in his prisoner’s tensing limbs, a detail that hinted he would likely try to squirm away from him as soon as the additional spanks began. Hooking his free hand in Euram’s collar, he waited only a few seconds more before he brought the hairbrush down hard.

The first blow resounded with a flat smack, a wide red mark surfacing to paint the quivering, freshly-whipped cheeks.

“Ahhhh!” Euram all but screamed, his limbs springing to life as he tried to scramble away. Gizel curled his fist, forcing the collar to tighten around his neck. This effectively subdued his struggles to wriggle away, but it did nothing to halt his protests. Slender hands flew up to grasp at the collar, his throat constricted by Gizel’s hand on the leather.

“Lie still, and I will let up,” Gizel said, simply. He felt his prisoner’s body go slack, defeated, and loosened his grip. Once Euram was suitably restrained, he began the spanking fully.

He felt his limbs stiffen again, and Euram’s hands flung to Gizel’s Commander’s robe for leverage and possibly comfort. The younger man’s ass squirmed hopelessly in his lap as he colored it a deep crimson. His own cock swelled further at the sound of Euram’s delicious yelps and cries. Gizel preferred to focus most of his punishment in the same place, and the brush had soon begun to leave in its wake a painful glow of scarlet from the center of his rival’s seat to the curves of his buttocks.

Predictably the begging began, even if it had taken slightly longer than Gizel had foreseen. The reddened cheeks quivered as Euram writhed in his lap, though he knew better now than to try and escape.

“Noooo! I beg of you, stop, please stop!” The young Barows howled and clutched at Gizel’s robe. His face burned with shame, the hot flush of humiliation spreading even to his ears along with the blood that rushed to his head in his upended position. To be spanked like a child—it was too much for him to bear!

Gizel concentrated several extra hard smacks to undercurve of his ass, then added three quick blows to each of his thighs before returning to his buttocks. Euram shifted desperately, his pitiful cries ragged as he babbled a gush of apologies, promises of obedience and other such nonsense that Gizel had not the not the patience for. Finally, worn out, Euram submitted fully at last. All the fight was drained from him, and he succumbed to wailing sobs. He fell limp across Gizel’s lap, crying so inconsolably the older man almost felt pity for him. Almost.

Then, Euram cried out something that surprised him, and almost took him off his guard:

“Your Commandership! Pleeease! Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me...”

Gizel took Euram’s use of his title—the title Euram himself had once so coveted—as an ultimate capitulation on his former rival’s part. Something about that simple and probably unintentional admission of defeat touched Gizel, and delivering one final swat, he stopped.

Euram’s wailing pleas continued long after the spanking had ceased. Gizel set the brush down and allowed him to lie there, crying vocally over his knee.

After several moments, Gizel slipped off his gloves and approvingly ran his hands over the surface. Hot to the touch, the punished flesh twitched and quivered beneath his fingertips. There was a certain thrill in tormenting flesh that had scarcely known punishment until recently. Gizel purred low in his throat, enjoying the sight of Euram writhing and twisting to escape his touch. Almost as an afterthought, he moved one hand beneath and found the younger man’s slender cock. His brow arched with what he found, even though he was not overly surprised. In fact, he felt a deep swell of triumph.

“My, but how hard you have become. Naughty boy,” he chided, slightly stimulating the flesh as he spoke.

Mortified, Euram groaned and shook his head, babbling something amidst his sniveling flood of sobs. He concealed his tearful, shame-flushed face behind the curtain of his blonde locks.

Abruptly Gizel hauled him upright, forcing him into his lap to sit upon his thoroughly blistered backside. Euram whimpered and shifted with pain. His writhing sent a pulse of desire through Gizel’s veins, and he grasped him by the hair, forcing his head backwards to trace a trail of possessive kisses up his throat and jawline. Euram’s cheeks were wet with tears as he trembled in his grasp. His silken hair was scented with the perfumed soap the servants had used, and Gizel breathed in the intoxicating sweetness of jasmine.

All at once, Gizel released him, almost panting with need. Euram’s correction had aroused a hunger in him, one that would not be denied any longer.

He instructed his prisoner to kneel upon the ground, and Euram obeyed, miserably sliding from his lap and sinking into position. Gizel watched with lust how the young man moved so gingerly, shifting in a vain effort to relieve the fire of the punishment. Rising, Gizel took up the riding crop and used it to tip Euram’s chin up towards him.

“You will slick my cock for me now,” he said, his voice husky. He noticed how the idiot’s brow drew together, signaling his distaste for the command. Plainly Euram remained cluelessly unaware that his own resistances, however small, only heightened Gizel’s excitement.

Loosening his stiffened member, he offered his cock to the former nobleman. Euram persisted in his foolish reluctance, clearly unable to bring himself to perform this latest degradation without a bit of encouragement. Curling the crop in his palm, Gizel delivered a smart slap to Euram’s cheek. “Open,” he commanded. “Take me in your mouth. And do not screw up this time.”

Euram caught the warning in Gizel’s voice and hardly needed further admonishment. Sobbing, he ruefully complied and tilted his head to accept Gizel, wincing as the salty taste of precome slimed his tongue.

Gizel sighed when the warm wetness came into contact with his erection, almost shuddering with pleasure at his prisoner’s wretched compliance. Soon enough he would have him thoroughly broken. At that moment, a flash of memory overcame him: a memory of Sialeeds.

How he had loved to feel her lips around him like this. It seemed so long since they had enjoyed a naughty rendezvous together. He still held the images in his mind. He could never truly forget their love, and it was something he did not intend to let fully slip into the deeper recesses of his memory where it would be forgotten. How she would willingly take him in her mouth, how she would spread for him, her breasts heaving in the candlelight as she would straddle and ride him with a total abandonment of shame…

But their love and lust for one another had run dry long ago, even if they were able to share a fuck every now and then. And Sialeeds was fun, but not to the extent his new prisoner was. Gizel could not exert control with her like he could with Euram. And he had always admired and respected Sialeeds too much to subject her to many of the things he truly desired. He did not, however, respect this frilly, whining twerp in the slightest.

Euram’s bungling efforts paled in comparison to Sialeeds’s expertise, but something about Euram’s incompetence, something about his total inability was even more titillating for him than any lover or whore he had ever taken. Truly, no woman, no partner had ever given him the surge of power he was able to achieve with this cowardly young fop.

“Get it nice and wet. I want to see you drooling on me,” Gizel instructed the young man, delivering another short series of slaps to his cheeks with the crop. “Do not use your teeth; you know better than that.” Curling a hand into the smooth locks just near the scalp, he settled into a rhythm that was steady enough for Euram to manage. He laid the crop aside, not needing it any longer. Small splotches of red painted the prisoner’s flushed cheeks where the implement had struck him, even though he had not slapped him hard: only enough to let him know he expected compliance. “Do not just sit there and take it passively. Use your lips, your tongue. Your cheeks. And employ your spit—don't swallow it.” He withdrew briefly, smacking the other’s face with his cock several times to make his point, smearing his cheeks with pre-come and spit. Then he gripped his hair again, plunging back inside to resume his plundering of Euram’s mouth.

“Mmm, there you go. Good boy.” Gizel reached down and took Euram by the chin, tilting his face up slightly. “Now. Look at me. Ahhh, now there is a sight,” he purred, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze when he knew all Euram wanted was to hide.

Euram sobbed, struggling to please Gizel and at the same time trying to deny to himself what was happening. No words he could imagine were sufficient to describe his misery, his shame. The humiliation of this far outweighed the pain of Gizel’s punishment. The man was too cruel, too adept at making him painfully aware of his degraded status. And the worst part of it was, he had invited it. He invited and accepted this treatment, all because he was too gutless to simply accept death.

Gizel observed Euram intently. Just the sight of him, on his knees and gazing miserably up at him, his lips stretched wide around his cock, rivers of drool and pre-come leaking from the corners of his mouth, flushed, splotched cheeks glistening with old and fresh tears…it was almost overwhelming, almost enough to make him abandon control.

“That’s the way, good. Mmm, but you are charming,” Gizel husked, gripping Euram’s head tighter to hold him in place as he ravaged his warm mouth, seeking more, hoping to bruise the back of his throat. He felt the other’s throat constrict around him, felt him twist in struggle, and the flutter of excitement it gave him nearly sent him over the edge.

Abruptly Gizel ripped his cock free, fearing another moment would send him spilling into the younger man’s mouth. That was a pleasure he preferred to save for a later time. Right now, he would sooner deposit his seed elsewhere.

Euram was left panting and trembling at his feet. Gizel paused to let his desire quell somewhat, and found himself nearly trembling. Once he had regained and established his own control again, he tilted Euram’s chin and brushed strands of blonde from his eyes. Considering his prisoner with something that almost resembled affection, he traced his fingers along red lips, swollen from his recent assault.

He was quite beautiful, really. Properly subdued, especially with something in his mouth to quiet him, this prancing twit was a pretty sight. How Salum Barows had sired such a lovely creature was a mystery that Gizel would never puzzle through. Of course the existence of Luserina—Euram’s beautiful sister—proved that it was not merely an accident.

Gizel much preferred this cowed, delicious young man to the proud, brash and boastful brat Euram had once been. He supposed he had Sialeeds in part to thank for this: the murder of Euram’s father had stolen much of the arrogant fire from him.

“Get up, on the bed. Position yourself on your hands and knees, and wait for me.”

Euram sank visibly at those words. “Gizel...my lord, please. I hurt.”

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Groaning, Euram staggered to his feet, stumbling to climb onto the bed. He forced himself into position, resting on his elbows and hiding his face beneath the tangle of his own arms and hair. Before long, Gizel returned to him, a small vial in his palm.

“There now, that was not so difficult, was it?” His tone was almost soothing, though its coldness created a dissonance that was disconcerting. “You could make such an enchanting lover, you know. If only you would simply surrender.” Gizel sat on the bed beside him, gently patting him as one would an animal. Comforting fingers stroked over hurt flesh. Euram tensed and shuddered.

“You will learn to obey me unquestioningly, Euram,” Gizel explained, carefully removing the stopper from the vial. “As of now, I cannot say whether you are quite worth having. Your loyalty is dubious, at best. You know this. You expect me to keep you alive on your fickle promises of compliance, yet you do not reciprocate with your full submission.” As Gizel lectured the younger man, he ran a finger along the crease of Euram’s spine, reveling in how his back shivered. Gizel made a husky, predatory sound in his throat. “Now. Part your buttocks. Reveal yourself to me.”

At this command, Euram made a miserable sound and desperately shook his head, still buried beneath his arms. “Oh no, Gizel. I cannot, I cannot...”

Without warning, Gizel set the vial aside and seized him by the hair, grasping a slender wrist in his other hand. Roughly he wrenched his head up from the mattress and pulled his arm painfully behind him. Euram yelped his distress at this unexpected treatment, babbling gurgled and frantic apologies. They came too late, and fell upon deaf ears.

“You still fail to understand. This is not a matter of choice. You will do as I say, or you will die. Do not think I will hesitate to execute you simply because I have set my brand upon you. A slave is only allowed to live as long as he is willing to earn that right.” He gave Euram a rough shake, drawing a distressed whimper from the younger noble. “When I wish to punish you, you will present your body to me without complaint. Should I instruct you to pleasure me with your mouth, you will do so, until your jaws ache. Should I command you to spread for me, you will split yourself wide. And, should I order you to sit upon my cock, you will fuck yourself raw. Am I understood, Euram?”

Trembling, Euram responded with a frantic, fearful nod. “Y-yes! Yes, Your Commandership!” he gasped, collapsing when Gizel mercifully released him. He fell in a panting, whimpering heap.

The older man let him recover, but only briefly before he repeated his instruction. This time, Euram offered no protest save a defeated, miserable groan as he unhappily moved to comply. His face burned from the disgrace of it, and sobbing, he twisted his face to the mattress.

“You make things more difficult for yourself than they have to be,” Gizel chided, taking the vial and lifting it to drizzle a thin stream of oil into Euram’s crack, eliciting a shudder. He was actually gentle as he circled and prodded the sore opening, pressing a finger inside. He heard his prisoner’s pitiful whine and pushed in a second, his thin lips twisting into a smirk as Euram gasped and twitched in discomfort. The hole was still amazingly tight; the way Euram quivered and clamped down on his fingers made a rush of hot lust surge in his veins.

Withdrawing his fingers, he took a brief moment to open his robe and loose his throbbing erection completely from his trousers. Slicking himself, he set the vial aside. With one hand he pressed at the small of Euram’s back, forcing his chest further to the bed and causing the punished ass to arch up at him. Beneath him his prisoner trembled with anticipation and dread.

“Consider yourself lucky I have had the mercy to prepare you this time,” Gizel advised him gently, positioning himself at the shivering hole. Without further warning Gizel pressed his cock against the sore, taut opening and entered Euram with a thrust of his hips.

Euram gasped, dismayed that Gizel could still feel so terrible, even now. Tender nerve endings inside him, made sensitive by his captor’s past conquests, made certain he could keenly feel every inch of Gizel’s cock splitting him open.

“Unnhh...” Euram grunted with pain, tears shivering beneath his thick lashes. Gizel sank into him fully, until his groin rested against hot flesh of the young man’s ass. Deep inside his new pet, he reached down, and with his thumbs parted the cheeks further. The sight of Euram’s asshole split wide on his cock sent shudders of animal thrills to his belly. Uttering a growl of desire, he pulled back and thrust deeply.

Gizel gained pace quickly. His groin smacked rhythmically against reddened cheeks, the contact with raw, punished flesh eliciting the sweetest of mewling sounds from his slave. The young Barows quivered beneath him, his whimpers of pain the only encouragement he needed. Seizing Euram by the hips, he ravaged him hard, until his cries became wails.

As he slammed into the younger man, he reached around and found his cock again, taking it into his grasp and manipulating the flesh to hardness. To bring Euram to completion, to force him to release while he fucked him relentlessly—that would be the ultimate surrender; that would be the ultimate victory for Gizel.

“Oooohh...G-Gizell...” Euram choked all at once, his face wet with tears. It soundly oddly like a plea for mercy, and Gizel doubled his efforts, stroking the younger man in time with his thrusts.

“That’s right. Feel me,” Gizel husked, his half-clothed body becoming slicked with sweat beneath what was left of his uniform.

Euram sobbed and clutched at the sheets, twisting them as he was pounded mercilessly from behind. His sensitive hole felt raw and abused, but his lord’s hand stimulated and squeezed him, strangely reducing him to jelly. Unwanted shudders ran through him, waves of pleasure that sent flutters of thrills into his very core, in spite of his pain.

Gizel fucked his prisoner harder, his breath coming in uneven puffs as Euram’s cries melded into the most delicious of moans. The need in his prisoner’s voice, his crooning, womanish pleas, they were sounds that bordered between anguish and the most tortured pleasure, a medley of sweet music to Gizel. The arch of Euram’s shuddering back as he plundered him, his mournful cries, his tears—they were all proof of his pain, and the swell of power made a shudder run down the length of Gizel's body. And then, beneath him, he felt Euram convulse and cry out in defeat. The former lordling’s hole spasmed around his raping cock, his climax spilling over Gizel’s hand.

Euram’s throes of completion and high, yelping cries fueled his mounting need, and Gizel crushed himself to his ass and came with a growl, filling the younger man’s bowels with his release. He could feel his slave shudder, still recovering from his own orgasm.

Moments later, Gizel withdrew, pulling a sharp gasp from his softly weeping rival and patted him softly.

“There. I know it wasn’t all bad for you.” He lifted his hand, bearing the proof of Euram’s climax, to the other’s lips. “Taste yourself,” he instructed. Not having the strength or the will to defy him, Euram wretchedly obeyed, parting his lips to accept what Gizel offered, whimpering with revulsion as he obediently lapped his own come from Gizel’s fingers.

“Good boy,” The Commander hummed approvingly. Such delicious obedience.

Gizel stood and undressed fully, then went to the vanity where he proceeded to clean himself. He had no intention of returning to formalities today; he had already enjoyed a fine meal before retreating to his quarters, and had instructed the servants not to disturb him unless the news was exceptionally grave or important. He had purposed to turn in early regardless, although he only now realized how much time had passed since he had returned.

Without even realizing it, Euram was quite the distraction. A glance towards the window revealed to Gizel that the light had fully disappeared. He hid his surprise well, even so.

“I have decided that there are indeed other things you can do to earn your keep,” he declared, casually. “You mentioned that you would be willing to perform any menial task. Thus, I shall have a set of chores prepared for you in the morning.”

“Yes, my lord,” Euram groaned, broken, despondent. Gizel considered the beautiful young man, curled up in shame upon his bed.

“And another thing. You shall sleep with me tonight, as a lover,” he announced. Blearily Euram looked up, roused from his stupor. Gizel nearly chuckled at the silly fop’s confused expression. “That is right. Since you have pleased me, I will allow you the warmth of a bed this night. Be grateful for my generosity.”

Euram’s heart wanted to refuse. But he had endured the degradation of the floor for days, and whether it was because Gizel’s command afforded even a false impression of comfort, or whether he dared not defy him, he nodded.

Gizel sat down next to him and gently pulled him up, sifting gold strands from his eyes. Again he offered his prisoner a drink, and he accepted without a word. Tilting his chin, Gizel delivered a tender and contrary kiss to swollen lips.

“There, now. No need for that,” he admonished, brushing away tears. Moving to lie beneath the covers, he stretched himself out and then beckoned.

“Come,” he stretched his arms in invitation. Too exhausted to argue and too bewildered to refuse, the younger man crawled over and allowed Gizel to pull him into his arms. The disgraced and broken noble curled up against the Commander and let his eyes slip shut. Gradually, his sniffles faded to nothing.

Gizel felt him finally slip into unconsciousness, smiling with approval as his breathing evened. He could very easily come to enjoy this new arrangement. No, he was already enjoying it. Far more than Euram, he thought with a chuckle.

He knew that the Prince would attack soon, and very possibly re-take Sol-Falena. Or so he would try. If all went as hoped, the rebel Prince and his fellow traitors would be in for a nasty surprise. Until then, he could occupy himself with his newest diversion.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)