Whatever pleases Master by chrissystriped

Whatever pleases Master

Mablung heard the outer door open and hurried to kneel on the carpet next to his Master’s bed. His Master didn’t look at him, when he sat down for dinner, that wasn’t unusual – when he wasn’t fucking him, he could have as well been a piece of furniture. It had been three weeks, since he had branded him; three weeks since he had... shared him with his Maiar, Mablung shivered at the memory. Three weeks in which he had tried to learn to please his Master.

It was hard, his Master didn’t talk to him like Mormirion had done. He gave orders, but when he suddenly grew angry – and he grew angry easily – he never told Mablung what he had done wrong, why he was punishing him. It was frustrating. How should he learn to serve him well, if... Mablung swallowed his irritation, he mustn’t give in to this. His Master had the right to use him in whatever way he saw fit. Mormirion had taught him to please him, but his new Master wasn’t Mormirion, he mustn’t expect him to enjoy the same things. He just had to try harder. If he wasn’t able to please him, he would die.

Mablung’s belly growled as the smell of the food wafted over. “Come to me.” His Master still didn’t look at him, even when he knelt beside him, but his fingertips caressed Mablung’s skin through the short stubble of his hair. His Master had had his head shaved when he had taken him here. His hair had been so matted that no comb could have saved it, Mablung knew that – and still he felt as humiliated as on his first day in Angband, when the orcs had cut his hair short. It was mad, really, he had hated these damned curls, but...

Mablung shoved the thought aside and instead enjoyed the gentle touch. It was too rare to spoil it with bad thoughts. He hadn’t known that he could wish so desperately for just being petted, but his Master always was so cold. After a while, his Master started to hand-feed him. Bread with butter, fried mushrooms, and finally a few wonderful forkfuls of tender meat. He had lived on gruel in the mines and he was grateful for being allowed to eat the same things as his Master. His Master was sometimes cruel, but he gave him food from his own plate and that wasn’t something to be taken for granted – so maybe he wasn’t making that many mistakes, after all.

Mablung gathered his courage and licked his Master’s fingers when he offered him a piece of buttered bread. He never knew how his Master would react to his attempts at pleasing him, but this time he seemed to enjoy it. After Mablung had swallowed the morsel, his Master again held two fingers to his lips and Mablung took them gently in his mouth, sucking on them. The skin tasted of the bread and something else. Metallic, like iron.

“Have you had enough, slave?”, his Master asked after a while and pulled his hand back. “Yes, herdir”, Mablung answered. He could have eaten more, but the painful hunger that had been always there in the mines had vanished – and even if that hadn’t been the case... this wasn’t a question you answered with a No. “Get on the bed.” His Master waited for Mablung to kneel on the bed, his legs spread wide and his ass raised invitingly, until he followed him into the sleeping room.

Mablung spread his legs a little wider when two fingers entered him. “Good boy”, his Master murmured, pulling out again. He seemed always surprised that Mablung was preparing himself for him, although he had ordered him to. Didn't he know that he was glad, that he allowed him this!

Mablung tensed when his Master caressed the insides of his thighs and came close to the brand mark. Mablung waited for the pain with trembling lips, suppressing a frightened whimper. He mustn’t flinch, that would end badly for him. But his Master only slid his finger along the rim of the wound and that didn’t hurt, then he bowed down and licked over it and Mablung whimpered louder – that did hurt, a little, but he could have liked it, if his Master were like Mormirion.

Mormirion had enjoyed it, when the things he did to him, aroused Mablung – his Master didn’t care about that, he didn’t take notice, even when he was aroused. He was only a thing in the eyes of his Master, something to use – ‘it’, that was how he talked about him. Mablung blinked the tears away that had risen to his eyes, he wouldn’t get through this if he started to cry now and besides, his Master hated to see tears. His Master vanished from behind him and Mablung heard the door to his dungeon.

“Stretch out your arms”, he ordered as he came back and tied Mablung’s wrists to the bedposts before fixing a pole between his knees. Mablung squirmed a little to make the position more comfortable, but he was barely able to move. He didn’t know, if his Master simply enjoyed tying up his slave or if he thought Mablung would fight, if he didn’t.

A swish tore through his thoughts and a sharp pain bloomed on his buttock, where the cane had hit him. Mablung didn’t hold back his whimpers and moans as his Master beat him, he liked to hear his pain. At least he didn’t beat his back again, he was still sore from a flogging two days ago. His Master asked so much of him. Mablung gasped sobbing for air, when the beating stopped, his thighs and buttocks burned, he wasn’t sure if he was bleeding – it wouldn’t be the first time.

The mattress dipped under his Master’s weight, his hand slid up his thigh and kneaded his flaming buttock painfully. He entered him slowly, as if savouring the feeling, Mablung heard him moan and was glad that he seemed pleased. He couldn’t move, or he would have met his Master’s thrusts, like a good slave should.

But it was his own fault that he couldn’t. He had defied him on his first day here, no wonder his Master didn’t want to take the risk. Maybe he would be able to earn himself a second chance, given time, now that his Master had decided to keep him. Maybe he would be able to show him how much he regretted that stupid mistake.

His Master came inside him and slid out only to slide his fingers back inside his slick, stretched passage. Mablung whimpered when he held his glistening fingers to his lips. He licked them clean, tasting his Master’s semen and the oil and himself. His cheeks burned with humiliation, but if it pleased his Master to do this, he would bear it. It was not the worst he had ever done, he would prove to him that he wanted to please him. If he couldn’t be anything else, he wanted to be a valuable possession, at least. His Master untied him and Mablung lay down on his mattress. It would be so much easier if his Master told him, when he did well, he thought, before he closed his eyes.