DISCLAIMER:
The characters in Merlin
(BBC) belong to Shine
Television and the BBC, etc., i.e., not me.
I'm just borrowing them for a
while to spin a tale
Reward
and Punishment
By firewolf
May 2009
@>;-'-
Arthur didn’t bother looking
up at the King’s entrance. He already knew what his father thought of
his harrowing off on a fool’s errand to look for a flower for his
manservant. He didn’t believe there was anymore that his father could
say to him about it, not especially when Uther had crushed the flower
in front of him and in doing so nearly nullified his efforts to
retrieve it in the first place. What little hope Arthur carried for
Merlin’s life lay with Gwen in getting what was left of the almost
destroyed flower to Gaius. If she failed…
“Morgana intervened on behalf of her maid.” Uther started without
waiting to receive Arthur’s attention. “She implied that there was
nothing wrong with her maid wanting to see her Prince despite his
punishment.
“And of course this was without much to say about how her deeds could
have led to a certain manservant receiving a flower which was used to
save his life.”
A soft release of breath was the only expression Arthur allowed of
himself to reveal his relief that Merlin’s life was saved. It was only
then that Arthur glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye and
noticed that his guards were gone. The lock on his cell clicked and the
door swung open to admit the King, but he still didn’t move from his
perch on the straw cot.
“There—has also been other talk around the court regarding the Prince’s
defiance in racing off to retrieve an antidote for his lowly
manservant,” Uther told his son as he stood over him. “And the
people—even the knights showed—ad—admiration for the deed…”
The resigned tone in his father’s words made Arthur look up at him at
last. There was still anger in his father’s eyes, but in them the
Prince could also see grudging acceptance and maybe even a touch of—a
touch of pride. However…
Uther’s hand stabbed out to catch the front of Arthur’s tunic, and he
found himself dragged up off the cot till his face was a bare inch away
from his father’s. “I have no forgiveness for your defiance of your
King, Arthur. So you will serve your full sentence.” Uther snared into
his face. “However, good deeds—still deserve to be rewarded.”
Arthur could see the burn in his father’s eyes, a burn which sparked
excitement in his own loins. He now understood why his guards had been
sent away and the anticipation coiled hot and heavy in his gut. Arthur
knew his father still felt guilt for the illicit relationship between
them. Sometimes, he felt the same guilt too for their—unnatural
attraction. This affair was—it was wrong. But neither father nor son
could resist the lust which existed between them.
And for all that his father was the dominant partner… For all that
Arthur usually had little say in what the programme of their encounters
would encompass… Arthur also knew that the power was with him to
forever end their games since Uther had never asked anything of him.
The King never demanded for Arthur’s appearance in his chambers. They
only ‘played’ when Arthur pushed for it, or when he dangled temptation
so blatantly before his King that Uther could not resist him. Uther
never demanded a ‘game’.
Until now, that is. And Arthur more than recognized that it was the
King’s due. A punishment, and perhaps a reward, he was willing to
embraced.
Arthur could almost feel the blazing fire of lust radiating from his
father as the older man dragged him out of the cell by his tunic.
However, they didn’t move towards the stairs, but instead his father
led him down another corridor deeper into the dungeons.
The very idea of a ‘game’ in the dungeons made Arthur’s heart beat
faster. It made him suddenly remember his Rite of Passage over a year
earlier where he had been brought down to the dungeons then taken,
possessed and thoroughly ravaged by a seemingly unending line of
men.
Uther pushed him into a cell and he heard the click of a lock behind
him even as his attention was captured by the shadowy contents
scattered around the room. Here, there was a stone pillar which held a
set of manacles attached to a high ring; near it a patch of clear floor
space; over there an altar like stone with two poles on either side
from which hangs rings and leather slings with hooks. Arthur’s
breathing hitches as he remembers.
A dark chuckle puffs against his ear from the presence behind him.
“Your sentence is for a week, Arthur. We’ll have time for this too if
you wish it?”
Uther’s hand gently turns him around to face his father. “Will you
strip for me?”
“No.” Arthur’s eyes glittered, “we’ve not done this in a while, and I
have no special fondness for what I’m currently wearing.”
The King’s eyes burn as he reaches for his dagger. Arthur has no fear
of his father in these games. He has felt his father’s fists before in
discipline, but never when they play. His father has warmed his
buttocks with his palm many a time, and Arthur has also felt the bite
of a crop. Given their setting, he wonders if his father would now
introduce him to the sting of a whip.
Proof of the sharpness of Uther’s blade comes easily with the way the
cloth of Arthur’s tunic parts so easily on its edge. Another flash and
the dagger slice through the laces of his breeches. He never moves when
his father undresses him. Arthur has long realised that his
anticipation and lust flames brighter when he cedes total control to
his father.
Another two strategic cuts and the breeches fall to Arthur’s ankles
along with his small clothes. And Uther’s smile is wide and wicked as
he pushes the rags of Arthur’s tunic off his shoulders to join the
ruined clothes leaving him naked before his father’s eyes. He gives
Arthur a hand to balance himself as he steps out of the pile of
clothes, though he waves off Arthur’s questioning look regarding his
boots.
“Perhaps I will move a mirror here one day.” Uther grins at Arthur as
he leads him to another part of the cell where a wide door like frame
had been erected. “Then you’d better appreciate how delicious I find
you in nothing but your boots.”
Uther’s words make Arthur look at his feet immediately, and it jolts
him to wonder if his father had cleverly timed it such that he looked
at the floor at the exact moment the iron rings would come into view.
“Stay here.” His father’s words barely register to Arthur’s mind as he
stares at the two rings positioned at bottom corners of the frame he
had been stopped at. He notes that the two uprights on the frames are
set quite a distance apart. And there is no question in his mind how
they will be employed.
The jingle of chains brings Arthur’s attention back to his father to
see him emptying a sack of small bags nearby. A little rummaging and
Uther returns to Arthur’s side with a pair of manacles that he is very
familiar with. It is also then that Arthur notices the single large
ring above his head and secured to the top bar of the wooden frame; a
ring which Uther is tall enough to reach and pass one manacle through
so that the set can hang from it.
Arthur obligingly lifts his arms to let his father close the manacles
over his wrists. It is not so tall that he is stretched upwards on his
toes. However, that significantly changes when Uther bends down and
begins looping chains around each of Arthur’s ankles to run them
through the rings at the bottom of the frame. By drawing on the chains
simultaneously, Arthur’s booted feet were spread and pulled towards the
two uprights on either side of him, naturally forcing his body to move
lower and away from the ring above him. Soon enough, Arthur found
himself struggling to keep his balance when his legs were drawn so wide
apart, and he feels the cut of the manacles about his wrists as they
begin to almost take his full weight.
The click of a lock from between his wide stretched legs makes Arthur
look down at where his father squats before him with the chain lengths
doubled under him and well secured. It briefly crosses his mind to hope
that the lock mechanism will not jam if he’s going to be dripping semen
and sweat over it. Then Uther immediately commands his attention when
he strokes a cold, metal gauntleted hand over his rigid cock.
“So ready for your reward, Arthur?”
It made Arthur’s breath hitch to see his father kneeling before him
like this with his mouth so tantalizingly near his aching need. “For my
Liege, always.”
“But there is also still your punishment, my boy.” Uther’s eyes
glittered at him as he came to his feet to stand towering over Arthur’s
vulnerably hanging figure.
Arthur couldn’t read his father’s eyes to understand what his father
was planning, but when proffered a black leather gag he didn’t hesitate
at all. He opened his mouth immediately to let his father push the ball
of hard leather between his teeth and buckle it behind his head. From
previous experience, Arthur knew that if his father expected him to
lose control enough to scream, the games they were going to engage in
was sure to be one of great intensity which would leave him blissfully
sore and aching for weeks.
It reminded him again that they really hadn’t ‘played’ in quite a
while; ever since Merlin became his manservant, in fact. Arthur had
been far too busy teaching the incompetent boy his duties to the
Prince. The thought made Arthur suddenly frown at the idea of his
preoccupation with Merlin. However, the King recaptured his attention
soon enough by cracking a whip beside his ear.
Arthur strained to frantically look behind him. Ever since they started
their affair, he had often wondered if his father would ever introduce
him to the kiss of the whip under his personal control. Arthur couldn’t
say he was a total stranger to the whip. When it was called for, Uther
had sent him to the dungeons for a well deserved flogging. But he had
never earned more than six lashes in his more rebellious days. This was
a world of difference. And Arthur rather doubted his father would stop
at six.
Sensing his distress, Uther wrapped his arms around Arthur from behind
him as he whispered in his ear, “I had this specially made for you.”
His father brushes the whip against his cheek as he speaks, letting him
feel the soft leather braids of the bullwhip. “I’ve been assured if
wielded correctly, it will not break skin.
“And I’ve been practicing.”
It made Arthur shiver to wonder what or who his father had practiced
the whip with to say this so confidently. The idea also made him burn
discontentedly to wonder who else his father might have taken in to
play his games.
A dark chuckle rumbled behind his ear before he felt his father start
to withdraw. He laid a gentle kiss on his nape in parting. “Jealous?
Boy? Don’t be, I would never risk you. And the others are meaningless.”
With those last words, the whip cracked and a line of burning fire
erupted over Arthur’s back, startling a yelp of pain from behind his
gag. Before he can catch his breath, the whip swishes behind him again
and the air of the dungeons resound with the crack that strikes him
across the buttocks and curls around his hips. The next strikes bring
with it an explosion of pain over first one, then his other nipple.
And Arthur loses track after that as the strikes come scalding over his
back, his shoulders, his buttocks and thighs. The trailing ends of the
whip slap harshly over his stomach and chest and slither like a caress
over his hips and aching cock. And before he knows it he’s arching his
body into the blows as far as his chains will allow him; thrusting his
buttocks back to beg for the kiss of the whip against his burning
flesh. The sweet, sweet pain and pleasure just builds and builds. And
his whole body is filled with molten fire.
Then as suddenly as it had begun, the whipping ends; leaving Arthur
sweaty and panting in his chains and achingly aware of the lust and
pain which now throbs through his entire body, awaiting his father’s
mercy for release and relief. Arthur understands the need of the gag
now as he numbly realises that he had screamed himself quite horse
during the whipping. But oh, this was better than the crop, better than
being tamely laid over his father’s knees and spanked. He was hard and
dripping, and so very aware that if the whipping had continued, he
could very well have had a shattering orgasm without needing cock or
fingers twisting within him first.
The touch of cold metal gauntleted hands over his burning thighs and
buttocks drags a tortured moan from his aching throat. And then he
feels cold fingers gently spread his butt cheeks and something warm and
wet poke at and swirl around the pucker of his ass, making him realise
that his King must be kneeling behind him now and exploring him with
his tongue. And the thought sends a spike of pleasure through him
straight to his cock, making him almost come from this teasing invasion.
Then the hands leave him, and Arthur hangs there in a daze wondering
what is going to happen now as hands release the manacles about his
wrists, letting him drop his arms. He has a sudden horrible notion that
his father may have thought the experience had become too intense for
him. That he was going to end it here. And Arthur thought he would cry
if his father left him like this aching and wanting without completion.
Then Arthur feels his arms drawn behind his back and the manacles
clamped back over his wrists. Further to that, he feels a loop of soft
rope dropped over his neck. He remembers this particular ‘toy’. ‘A
ligature of silk and hemp,’ his numbed mind whispers to him.
He feels the loop tighten around his throat and he understands that his
father must have threaded the end of the cord through the ring above
him. He struggles to stand upright as the noose starts to restrict his
air passages. And for a moment all of Arthur’s attention is on his
effort to breathe and get oxygen into his starved lungs.
He almost forgets about the solid figure standing so close behind him
and helping him to balance. Even so, there is little Arthur can do but
moan around his gag when a cool gauntleted hand holds his hip firmly as
a hard oiled cock is forced into his spit and saliva lubricated hole.
Uther hadn’t spared any effort to a more thorough preparation and
Arthur feels a tight stretching ache that melds with the pain throbbing
through his body from the whipping, but still his body opens to the
relentless slide of his father’s cock thrusting into him.
When fully embedded, Arthur’s welt lined buttocks rest on Uther’s hips
and he understands his father’s intention now as this impalement lifts
him to the balls of his feet and loosens the noose about his throat
allowing him to draw in a precious breath of air before he’s lowered
and the cord cuts him off again. It doesn’t escape Arthur’s notice that
with his mouth gagged, arms manacled behind him, and ankles chained to
the corner supports of the frame his very life is completely at his
father’s mercy.
For the next several minutes, or it could be hours he really cannot
tell, Arthur believes himself held between agony and ecstasy as his
father carefully ploughs into him in slow measured thrusts. All he can
do is writhe helplessly upon the cock steadily possessing him. The
noose keeps him delightfully light headed as Uther controls his every
breath.
Light headed from asphyxiation, Arthur can feel his body becoming
totally limp and relaxed. The throbbing pain from the merciless
whipping has already blocked out all other senses, but this soon fades
from his notice too as his focus seems to gravitate to his loins; to
the hard cock driving and twisting into him sweet and hard. He thinks
he can feel every ridge and vein in his father’s magnificent organ as
it possess and claims him. And he has never been so hard in all his
life.
Then he feels himself suddenly flooded with his father’s seed, and his
entire world has gone white and is filled with dark stars that throb
and spread with the pulse and flow of the organ possessing him. And
he’s falling. Falling into an endless oblivion that swallows him whole…
*~*~*
He’d released the ligature the moment he’d started to come, letting
Arthur breathe freely again as his son also peaked and spurted his
release almost instantly after him. However, Arthur was no more than a
dead weight in his arms by the time Uther returned to his senses.
For a moment, Uther had panicked. He thought he had really gone too far
this time and actually killed his son. But when he calmed down enough
to pay attention, he realised he could hear Arthur’s whispered breath
and feel his heart beating firm and strong within his chest. Still he
realised he wasn’t out of the woods as he undid the chains imprisoning
his son’s arms and legs.
He’d laid his son on his cloak rather than on the cold stone to tend to
consequences of their play. As he smoothes healing ointments over the
ligature marks around his son’s throat and the welts that crisscross
and line the boy’s body, Uther is pleased to see that there is almost
no blood. Less pleased is he to realise that he sees Gaius’
disapproving look superimposed over his son’s tortured body while he
works to ensure every injury is tended to.
As he bandages his son’s bleeding wrists and checks on his bruised
ankles, spared from the worst of the chaffing since he let Arthur keep
his boots on, Uther can’t help but mull over how wrong he is to indulge
his son in this unnatural relationship between them. But Arthur seemed
to crave this guilty secret between them. Uther even thought he seemed
to need it.
In all other ways, his son was the optimum of the warrior Prince that
Camelot could be proud of. Arthur commanded the garrison now, a
position he won on his own merit. He’d long earned the respect and love
of their knights. However, the King could also sense that his son still
constantly tried to seek his approval, and he didn’t seem to understand
that Uther really was proud of his achievements, and more proud of the
man his son was becoming.
These games they shared… Somehow, Uther had the idea that Arthur craved
them because he knew he’d have his full undivided attention then. And
it made Uther feel inadequate as a father. That his apparent neglect of
his son would lead to this terrible way to seek attention. And that he
was too weak a man to give his son the attention he craved in a
healthier way, because he couldn’t give this up.
As much as he knew he really should. Uther couldn’t stop himself from
wanting to posses his beautiful son. And this—he had stepped over
another line with Arthur’s stay in the dungeons. Where Arthur used to
be the one who approached and asked for their games, this time Uther
had been the one to instigate this session. And he did this because
Arthur defied his king. This was as much punishment for the defiance,
as well as reward for the favour Uther could see that their people gave
his son for his actions in embarking on a fool’s errand to save his
manservant…
The thought made Uther suddenly laugh bitterly. That was rubbish. He
could not justify this ‘game’ as a ‘reward’ for Arthur. Plain and
simple, he did this because Arthur defied him and he wanted to warn
Arthur never to do this again. That as his King, Uther expected Arthur
to *submit* to him without question or challenge.
“Father?” His son’s croaked whisper drew him out of his introspection.
Uther caught up the water skin and helped his son take in a few sips.
Looking into his son’s eyes, Uther can read the knowledge in them. That
his son did understand what his father’s real meaning was with this
scene. But there is also challenge in his son’s gaze. One which says
that the Prince would be willing to take whatever punishment his King
chooses to dish out as long he believed in what he was doing. And there
is a tiny part of Uther which isn’t angry about this, and that part
glows with pride in seeing the potential of the King that his son will
become.
They don’t say anything. Uther just moves to lift Arthur up slightly so
that he can pillow his son’s head on his lap. It does not mean that
he’s happy about Arthur’s defiance, but he hopes this is enough as an
indication to his son that he respects and accepts his opinions.
They stay like this for a long while, with Uther gently carding his
fingers through Arthur’s hair. Uther studies his son’s body in the
flickering light of the torch. His entire body gleams with the healing
oils that Uther had spread over the welts that cover his son’s back,
buttocks and upper thighs. And Uther knows that he will be back to
visit him repeatedly for the rest of the week until Arthur’s sentence
is over.
He reaches for the sack of toys he had brought down with him earlier,
and rummaged through it for a while before he found what he wanted. His
son’s only response was a hum of contentment as Uther locked the soft
leather lined metal collar around his throat. Uther gently lowered
Arthur’s head onto his cloak once more and further pulled the free end
to gently wrap his son in its voluminous warmth. He attached the chain
from the collar to a solid metal ring set into the stone floor, quite
pleased with the idea that the chain’s short length would prevent his
son from even being able to sit upright. There were other iron rings
nearby on the floor which they could use later to bind his limbs when
they were ready to continue their games.
With a last chaste kiss to his son’s forehead, Uther left him in the
cells. The King’s cloak, he reasoned, would be enough modesty for him.
The guards would never dare enter or pry on their Prince if Uther
commanded it. And Uther would bring food and tend to Arthur’s needs
himself later.
The King sentenced Arthur to a week in the dungeons and he had no
intention of releasing him before it was over. The sack was still
filled with many toys they hadn’t used yet. This was also the same cell
they had used for Arthur’s Rites over a year ago, and Uther thought his
son might like to revisit the experience; with one significant
exception…
Oh, in their games they may play with thought of Uther assigning or
giving the dungeon guards leave to gang fuck their prisoner. However,
Uther was adamant that his heir-to-be would submit to no one else,
except him.
~end~