Third Place Prize by Rocky41_7

Third Place Prize

Read Third Place Prize

Go upstairs and wait, she’d said, so Maglor was kneeling on the freshly waxed floor of the upstairs bedroom, having been there long enough to be shifting his weight as much from discomfort as excitement. The spaces between the boards dug into his knees as he watched the doorway for Vanimiel’s entrance, and strained his ears for any sound of her coming up the stairs. The house was damningly quiet.

            At last Maglor’s ears pricked up at the sound of light footsteps on the stairs, and then Vanimiel came around the hall corner to their bedroom. She wore loose black shorts with a lace trim and a leather harness over her chest that it had cost them far too much to purchase. Her black shoes were heeled and adorned with rubies and she had gathered her hair all back from her face and put it up high, baring the elegant line of her tawny neck. Jewels gleamed at her ears and throat, and she had in one hand a small book clasped lazily open around one black-gloved hand as she strolled through the doorway.

            “Third place, Makalaurë?” she said with an arched brown brow, stopping in the entrance. “You should be embarrassed.”

            “I am,” he said fervently, which was true—Vanimiel’s punishment was meant to help with that.

            “Not nearly enough,” she said, tossing the book into a chair as she walked by him. He started to turn to look at her and at once she snapped, “I did not tell you to move!” He turned his gaze back to the doorway. The sounds of Vanimiel rifling through the closet, followed by the click of her heels on the floor as she once more passed him by without a look or touch, moving the book to have a seat in the chair, poised in a corner of the room. She sat with her legs spread wide, twirling a soft-tipped riding crop in one hand.

            “Did you not—and do correct me if I misquote you—call the rest of the competition ‘A herd of mindlessly pious hacks devoid of even the delusion of true artistry’?”

            “Think you something more of the Vanyar?” Maglor sneered.

            “Hardly, and yet two of them bested you.”

            “So what will you do?” Maglor asked.

            “Well, for one you have caused me great humiliation,” said Vanimiel. “Is my husband not the most talented musician in paradise?” Maglor did not mean to look so eager, straightening up on his knees in anticipation. “Yet you let them forget it. So something shall have to be done with you.” She sighed as if he had added some extensive new chore onto her list of things to do, and slouched back in the chair, leaning her elbow against one of the arms.

            “Get up,” she said. Maglor had been kneeling so long that he staggered getting to his feet, which he was sure she had intended. “Strip.”

            “Will you not h—”

            “No,” she cut him off remorselessly. “Strip yourself, or return to your knees.”

            Well, that wasn’t going to happen. So, Maglor stripped. Vanimiel’s eyes didn’t leave him as he dropped clothing and jewelry on the floor, but it was a half-lidded, disimpassioned look that was remarkably effective for stirring his blood. Few things got Maglor’s libido firing like complete disinterest.

            “Tch,” she said when he was nude. “Already?” Her eyes were on his cock, and he flushed, twitching with the impulse to shield himself. In one fluid movement that made him ache, she rose to her feet. The sway of her full hips as she walked towards him hypnotized as much as it had when first he had seen her in the riotous dances of her troupe.

            Vanimiel circled around him, dragging the tip of the crop over the backs of his thighs, and then, in a flash, snapped it just lightly at the base of his cock, which made him gasp and soften slightly—briefly.

            “How fortunate the crown prince knows not the slut you really are,” Vanimiel said lowly against his ear. “What shame…if the family knew what manner of things get you up.” She was tracing the head of the crop up and down his inner thigh, which sent shivers through him, his arousal mounting proportional to the number of times Vanimiel mentioned how ashamed he ought to be. As she came back around to the front, she shifted back from him, observing him with that same cool look which had so inflamed him prior to their courtship.

            “What will you do with me?” he asked breathlessly, dark eyes scanning her face. After a moment of thought—feigned or genuine, he couldn’t say—his wife said:

            “Given your eagerness, I think the delay of your gratification must be properly ensured. Bring me one of the rings.” As Maglor turned towards the armoire, she added, “Bring me one of the ties, as well.” She left it to Maglor to choose which cock ring to have her put on him, but he knew if he chose too large a size for her present mood, she would send him back. The biggest one was virtually only there for Maglor to choose hopefully and be reprimanded about it. The tap of Vanimiel’s shoe on the floor told him when he had been dithering over the box of toys too long, and he quickly chose a midsized ring trending towards the smaller end and brought it to her, along with one of the long strips of heavy silk coiled coyly near the toybox.

            “Turn around.” Vanimiel used the fabric to bind Maglor’s hands behind his back, tight enough that he couldn’t break away without effort, but not so tight that it strained his shoulders or cut into his skin. She gave it an experimental tug to be sure before she turned him back around, but not before pressing the ring into his hand. “Hold onto this,” she said.

            Turning away from him, she took the riding crop between her teeth and bent over far more than necessary to slide down her shorts and step out of them. Maglor suspected that whatever she had been taking her time with downstairs, a part of it had been touching herself, for he could that she was wet already and couldn’t help making a noise at the smell of her arousal.

            “Do not require that I gag you,” said Vanimiel without turning. She cast her shorts off to the side and swung back around towards him with that effortless grace she wore both on and off the stage.

            “Is that a threat?” Maglor purred.

            “It most certainly is,” she replied, using the crop to tilt his chin to the side. “Since your words have proven so worthless today, why should I be made to listen to any more of them? On your knees.”

            “But—” he began to whine.

            “Now, Makalaurë!”

            Ah, but he did love when she used that tone with him, the one that sounded like the crack of her riding crop across his bared flesh. Maglor’s knees protested being put into contact with the floor again, but he sat back on his heels and waited for his next instruction.

            “Come here.” With his hands bound behind him, he was forced to shuffle awkwardly forward until he was right at Vanimiel’s feet. She twirled the crop and tucked it under one arm, using her hand to tilt his face up towards her, the supple leather of her glove smooth and soft against his skin. For a moment, she seemed to caress his face, then her hand moved to the back of his head and she pushed him forward. “Eat,” she ordered.

            And he did.

            Without his hands to balance him, Maglor wobbled and pitched from side to side, but Vanimiel offered him no assistance, only spread her legs so he could get at her cunt. He pressed his face into the nest of dark curls and lapped at her lips, using his nose to nuzzle between her folds and get his mouth around her clit. The pungent smell of her arousal filled his senses and he lapped at the pearl of her sex, feeling his own body respond with enthusiasm. This was not lost on Vanimiel even as he heard her breathing grow unsteady at the machinations of his mouth.

            “Stop,” she commanded, and he did. “Give me the ring.”

            It was difficult to do that in his position, but he managed at last to drop it into her hand. She crouched in front of him and he ached with the desire for her to move forward and take him into her. She didn’t, of course. She grabbed his cock with a perfunctory touch and wriggled that ring down to his balls, ensuring he would not finish until she willed it. When Maglor could not help but squirm at her touch, she said:

            “Self-control truly escapes you, doesn’t it? You are as an animal in heat. How do you fare throughout the day, possessed by such wanton need? How often is it that you sit through performances squirming for a hand on your prick?” She leaned in until he could count every spoke of her irises. “Or aching to get yourself into my cunt?” she breathed, letting the words linger a moment before she drew back.

            Maglor swallowed a moan and could barely wait for her to straighten up again before he latched onto her with his mouth again, tonguing zealously at her entrance before moving back up to her clit, swirling his tongue around it before he sealed his lips over it and sucked. At this, Vanimiel could not hold back a moan, and she grabbed at the back of his head again, her fingers digging into his braids.

            “Yes, what I give you shall eat,” she said, but he could hear a breathless note under the command and it thrilled him to the core. “And grateful you shall be for it.” She rolled her hips, thrusting against his mouth, making him shift to accommodate her.

            Only once he leaned forward too intently and nearly toppled them both over, and Vanimiel yanked on his hair for that, a sensation that shot straight to Maglor’s cock. He felt the tremors start in her when her orgasm came, but he kept at his task until she had stopped gasping and grabbing at his increasingly disheveled hair.

            Now he felt the tightness of the ring around his cock, and whined at the pressure, which made Vanimiel cast him an unimpressed look.

            “Impatient already?” she said.

            “I was impatient when first I saw you this morning…” There was a twitch of her expression, but she managed to maintain her cool demeanor.

            “Shall I touch you?” she asked, in a tone that Maglor ought to have recognized as more dangerous than he did, being as distracted as he was.

            “Yes, please, wife,” he breathed eagerly.

            Vanimiel’s response to this was to press her foot between his legs, only making him glad she used the toe and not the heel. His body throbbed at this acutely dismissive conduct and he gasped, falling forward, trying both to achieve more and also to relieve the pressure, as he knew no relief would come of it.

            “Tsk. You ought to know better, Makalaurë,” Vanimiel said with a smirk. “Did you think I would give something to you so early?” She laughed and sashayed across the room, flicking the covers of the bed back. “Such foolishness!” With a twirl, she sat on the edge of the low bed and folded one leg over the other; Maglor twisted about to look at her. She seemed reinvigorated by her first orgasm and rather than relaxed, she had become only more intent. “Now you think you deserve things, is that it?” she said, arching one finely-maintained brow. “Do you truly believe you have earned something today?”

            Maglor nibbled at his lip.

            “No,” he admitted meekly. “Only I wished—”

            “I know for what you wished,” she said, waving a hand as if to swipe aside his words. “’tis the same thing for which you always wish, the same as when I wake to you hard and rutting against my backside. I wonder at times if there is anything else in your head; surely today there was not. Tell me, Makalaurë, did you think you could write poetry with your prick?”

            “Do I not?” he couldn’t help but reply with a sly look, and Vanimiel almost smiled before managing a scowl.

            “So, that is how you wish to have it?” she said, and Maglor shivered with delight as she rose to her feet, goosebumps breaking out across his thighs, his cock twitching. “Come here. I believe you need a firmer lesson.” She had not told him to rise, so he crawled forward until he once more knelt at her feet, his knees aching. Vanimiel grabbed his bound hands and hauled him up to his feet. “I will untie you now—for a moment,” she said, “—but you shall not touch me, nor yourself, or I will leave you with nothing.” She tugged the silk bonds free of his hands and set them aside, then took her seat once more and made a gesture Maglor recognized.

            Obediently, he lay across her lap, hissing between his teeth at the rub of her plush thighs against his demanding cock. Anticipation pooled in his gut, but Vanimiel did not move, so he said:

            “My lady, will you—”

            “Hush!” Vanimiel cut him off immediately and struck him hard across the ass. She must have removed her glove, for he felt the sting of flesh on flesh. She must have also retained at least one ring; he felt the dull ache of its impression against his ass. “Did I not say I’ve heard enough from you today?” She slapped him again, and he was unprepared for the second hit to come so near to the first, and gasped.

            “That was hard,” he whined, though not in the tone he would use if it was too hard.

            “Mean you to say this is not what you wanted, you little slut?” she asked, striking him again. “As though I cannot feel you hard as stone, trembling before my hand has yet touched you…is it for this your mind reaches whenever failure is at your fingertips? How sharply you might feel my hand?” She spanked him again and Maglor could not restrain the moan the burst from his throat, nor the rock of his hips as he tried to rub against her legs.

            “I do,” he gasped, “I do! Ai, Vanimiel! I should take your punishments over the reward of any other!”

            “You should indeed,” she replied, raking her nails over his stinging ass before smacking him again. The quick drawback of her hand ensured the pain radiated out from the shape of her palm and Maglor choked on another moan, his cock throbbing so urgently he thought the ring might simply burst off him.

            “Please, hit me,” he begged, and Vanimiel dug her nails into his flushed ass instead.

            “What a shameful thing you are,” she said softly. “First, to lose the competition, now to be here begging me to spank you like the disappointment you are…” Maglor made an incomprehensible noise against the mattress from where he was draped over her thighs. “You should consider your fortune that I am so tolerant and understanding.” Maglor could not speak; he just humped her leg, unable even to find the words to beg for her touch. “Tch. Pathetic.” Vanimiel shoved him off of her. She moved nearer to the center of the bed and spread her legs, and Maglor almost dared to think she meant to let him fuck her; he nearly drooled at the thought. “Since your hands are free, come here,” she said. “Please me well enough and perhaps I shall return the favor.”

            “Can I not use my mouth?” he asked, trying to think around the dual sensations of the need of his sex and the throbbing of his ass.

            “Fingers,” Vanimiel said curtly. “I have seen you at the harp and the guqin and the flute, so come here and put them to use. Or should I tie you up again? Perhaps get the cage?” The cage, in this instance, was a graceful little number wrought in silver, which came with its own tiny key, and was attached to a belt, so that Vanimiel could lock Maglor up, unable to touch himself even if he intended to. When they were feeling particularly worked up, she might make him wear it around the house—and on one memorable occasion, to a concerto.  

            Maglor nodded without argument and came quickly to her, bowing to kiss her breasts as he reached between her legs. Given that she was on her second orgasm of the day, he did not waste much time; already she was thoroughly wet and the first two fingers slid easily into her. The desire for his cock to replace them was almost overwhelming, but between the one hand holding him up on the mattress and the other pleasuring his wife, Maglor had no fingers left with which to try to soothe himself.

            Vanimiel smirked, sensing his predicament.

            “Oh, what’s that?” she cooed in a mocking parody of concern. “Does this slut wish to touch himself? He cannot even wait for me? He wants to grab his little prick and jerk until his father’s precious bloodline is dripping from between his fingers?”

            Maglor tore his eyes off her body to look at her face, quivering; he ached so terribly to remove that ring that he could think of little else, except of Vanimiel bouncing on top of him: the jiggle of her breasts and the heat of her cunt all around him. He whined, sliding a third finger into her, which made Vanimiel let out a pleasured sigh and tip her head back against the pillows.

            “Yes, go on,” she panted and he heard the aborted little noise in her throat when he thumbed against her clit. “Show me how much you want your finish, hm? Do one thing right, can’t you, Makalaurë?”

            This it was easy to do with enthusiasm, particularly when there was a reward dangled out in front of him. Vanimiel must have been enjoying spanking his ass rose red, because it did not take long at all for him to finger her to climax, and then he sat back on his heels and waited, taught as a rope, for her determination of whether he had earned his reward.

            Vanimiel lay among their copious pillows, catching her breath, and Maglor shifted his weight impatiently from knee to knee. Finally, he said:

            “Did I please you? Shall I have a reward?”

            Vanimiel’s eyes flickered open and her gaze drifted down from the ceiling to land on him.

            “Yes,” she said at length. “You have earned a reward. Bring me a collar.” Maglor darted off the bed and back to the armoire, where he retrieved a fetching leather collar, as if for a hunting dog, dyed in rich dark blue. He passed it over to Vanimiel, who sat up on her knees to clasp it around his neck. Now smiling, she lay back, propped up against the pillows, and with one finger hooked under the collar, pulled him forward.

            “Perhaps I should take you for a walk, hm?” she said. “Others are so proud of their well-heeled bitches; perhaps I should show mine.” She sat up and leaned closer to him. “Perhaps it would please me to watch you be mounted,” she said softly, and took his cock in hand as if it were something she owned, and Maglor whimpered.

            “Please, please, please,” he babbled. Vanimiel straddled him where he knelt on the bed and he felt the wet heat of her cunt against him and his throat closed up; he gripped her ass and pulled her closer, panting with his focus on not entering her without permission.

            “I want you to do something,” Vanimiel whispered against his ear.

            “Yes, my shining emerald?” Maglor gasped. “What is it?”

            Vanimiel slid off his lap, hooked her fingers under the collar again, and dragged him off the bed. He stumbled after her as she led him over to the armchair by the door, where she released him to kneel once more on the floor.

“Sit.”

She took a seat in the chair, sweeping up her abandoned book from before and spreading her legs enough for Maglor to catch a whiff of her sex and lean towards her. Vanimiel patted one thigh, and Maglor laid his head there.

            “Do not touch,” she said, as she opened the book, and began to read. Maglor swallowed a groan, realizing how he’d been caught: just how long, after two finishes, would Vanimiel be content to sit and read before she cared to let Maglor have his climax? It was not beyond her to let him wait so long he went soft, then work him up all over again.

            For the first time, Maglor gave her a rebellious look, but in the end, he did as he was bade, and when Vanimiel had finished a few pages, she put a hand on the back of his head and guided his face between her legs again.

            When he began to lap at her folds, she tugged with two fingers on the back of the collar, just enough to put a little pressure on Maglor’s throat. Not enough to restrict his breathing—he wasn’t terribly fond of that, except in certain moods—but enough to firmly remind him it was there, that she had collared him like a dog (“My spoiled little bitch,” she had called him in the past) and that he was positively dripping with arousal about it.

            Maglor went at his wife’s cunt with the frantic, breathless need of someone desperate for release; the need of his body overpowered everything else now; he could barely remember why they had begun this. He thought he might weep if she touched him; he was nearly weeping into her presently at the idea of it. He ached beyond what he had known it was possible to feel without release.

            Distantly, he heard Vanimiel’s soft groans of need as she drew near her third finish of the day. He pressed harder, sucking at her clit until she was humming and whining, and finally gasped, “Ai, Makalaurë,” as she sucked in a breath, which made him moan against her sex. Seconds later, she finished yet again, the book hanging limp from her hand. “Ah…” Her head fell back against the back of the chair, and Maglor could tell even her energy was beginning to wane.

            “There it is,” she sighed, closing the book and rising up. “Come here, and I shall remove your ring.” She beckoned him with one hand and he crawled after her to where she directed him stop in the middle of the floor. “Do not move,” she ordered, and crouched in front of him. It took a bit of wiggling to get the ring off, swollen with desire as he was, but she did, and a moan tore from Maglor’s throat; he almost fell on his face with relief.

            Vanimiel rose up and went to set the ring in the armoire, picking up the riding crop she had discarded earlier on the way.

            “Now…” she said, her back to him as she twirled it between her hands. “Are you ready to be fucked, husband dear?” She snapped the crop through the air, and Maglor’s poor strung-out body could take no more; with a strangled, helpless cry, he climaxed, spilling himself onto the bedroom floor. Vanimiel turned to see her toy all spent and shivering. “Oh…Valar’s sake, Makalaurë, we just had these floors waxed,” she complained, and he heard a thread of genuine annoyance in her voice, which unfortunately for Vanimiel, served only to make him feel the same way he did when she continued to milk his cock after he had come, and he groaned pitifully about it.

            With a sigh, Vanimiel cast the crop aside on the bed.

            “Look what a mess you’ve made,” she chided. “Desperate little slut; I needn’t even touch you.” Maglor was too lost in his orgasm to have anything to say about this. Next, he was aware of Vanimiel’s hand carding back through his hair, gently tilting his head back to look up at her.

            “What now?” he said, exhaustion seeping through his bones, still trembling with aftershocks.

            “Mm, a bath, I think. Yes?” Maglor nodded feebly, and Vanimiel’s nails scraped reassuringly against the back of his head. “Clean up. Meet me there.” He heard her footsteps clatter as she stepped out of the heels and cast the harness off right after, proceeding fully nude out of the room.

            Maglor collapsed onto the floor. He would get to cleaning, and to the bath. He just needed a minute.

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Chapter End Notes

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