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Maybe she deserves it when he shoves her to the ground.

Or maybe—and this sounds much better—it's Akhenaden's fault. It all starts with a meeting. A very boring meeting led by Priest Akhenaden, a very boring man. And it's about taxes: a subject Mana barely understands even now that she's a priestess herself, but knows enough about to know it's very boring. Honestly, what was her mind supposed to do besides wander to other, better topics? And is it really her fault that Mahad is her favorite topic by far?

He's sitting next to her, his fingers steepled under his chin as he listens attentively to Priest Kalim's very boring counterpoint, and Mana finds herself gazing at those fingers with fondness. Long, skilled fingers to twirl his staff like a dancer's baton, or conjure up flame in the palm of his hand—or press deep inside her while she cranes her neck and arches her back, that same fire blooming in the pit of her belly as he tortures her with slow, hard thrusts. Patience, he would tell her, brushing the tip of his thumb over her clitoris, watching with the barest hint of a smile as she shook. Patience, Mana. Good girl.

And when he gave her his cock—which he'd only do when he was satisfied with her begging, soft and fast and desperate with tears starting at the corners of her eyes—he would lie back on the bed and beckon her with a finger, and then hold her by the hips and direct her movements as she sank down, thighs trembling, her bottom lip between her teeth as he filled her.

Or maybe—maybe not so gentle. Maybe he'd pick her up and toss her over his shoulder while she pretended she didn't want it more than anything, kicking her feet and pounding her fists against his back, and then throw her face-down onto the bed, push her skirt up and ram himself inside her while she shook her head no, no, no, with her mind singing yes, yes, yes. Maybe he'd force her onto her knees with her hands bound behind her—no magic, just a simple strip of cloth—and then slide his cock into her mouth, breathing a low, heavy sigh as she eagerly sucked. Maybe he'd prefer to kneel instead—he might sit her down at his desk, assign her reading from some rudimentary spellbook, and then listen with happy little hums as she stumbles over the words, struggling to concentrate with his face buried in her cunt. He might bend her over the mattress and take her that way. He might tug on her hair as she rides him, her arms quivering as she leans back on her hands, giving him full access to her heaving breasts.

He might, he might, he might. As Priest Shada chimes in with his opinion, Mana looks sidelong at Mahad and hopes that when this blasted meeting is through, he will.

But as the thing drones on, and on, and on, the priests' voices sounding more and more like flies around a honeypot, Mana decides she might as well—expedite things a little bit. It's very innocent at first. A soft bump of her heel to his shin, a sweet smile when he glances her way. But patience isn't her strong suit, and the muscles in his arms are taunting her with how badly she wants to grip them for dear life as he fucks her. Her hand disappears under the table. Ever so gently, she puts her fingers on his knee. When Mahad starts talking again, Mana lets those fingers dance their way upward, until she's touching his hip and rubbing the bone that juts out there. To his credit, his voice doesn't even waver; he just goes on about the need to increase wages and taxes in tandem and doesn't react to her hand as it sneaks over the firm muscle of his thigh. Then, just as she's about to put the teeniest bit of pressure on his cock—Mahad's hand suddenly closes around hers, and he squeezes, hard. A warning. Stop right there. Don't proceed any further if you know what's good for you.

Fortunately, she does. When Mahad lets go, Mana presses the heel of her hand between his legs, and he actually sighs out loud—loud enough that he gets a glare from Set, who probably thinks he's reacting in boredom to his father's financial genius. Mana takes her hand away and props her elbows on the table to rest her chin in her palms. Mahad's eyes flash to hers, and the message in them is clear: You are going to pay for that.

She hopes her response is just as obvious. I sure hope so.

"Priestess Mana," he says when Atem adjourns the meeting, and she leaves the hall like she hasn't thoroughly soaked her underpants. She turns at the sound of her name, arching an innocent eyebrow. "There is a matter I would like your help with," Mahad tells her. "Won't you come with me and lend a hand?"

She knows better than to think it's really a request. Still, since she can, she gives him a pleasant smile and nods her head. "Of course, Priest Mahad. Lead the way."

The journey to his room is short. The moment they're alone, the door shut behind them, Mahad plants his hands on her chest and pushes her so hard she slams to the floor; when she instinctively tries scrambling to her feet, he snaps at her, "Stay," like she's a dog, and she obeys.

Breathing hard, Mana follows Mahad with her eyes as he slowly crosses over to where she's sprawled on the ground, his hands folded behind his back, his mouth a thin, hard line as he glares down at her. "I expect you to behavior better in public, Mana," he tells her. "Especially before the court. Especially before the king of Egypt. Instead you grope me like some harlot in need of money."

"I'm sorry, Master—"

"I did not tell you to speak," he says, and she shuts her mouth with a click. "I do not want to hear lies. You are not sorry. You only fear the punishment you know is coming."

"Please don't punish me, Master." Slowly, in case he stops her again, she rises up on her knees and scoots over to where he stands in front of her, clasping her hands under her chin as she looks up at him, small and sweet. "Please. I really am sorry. I won't do it again. Next time I'll behave. I'll be a good girl."

"'Next time,'" Mahad repeats with a scoff. "Always 'next time' with you. 'Next time,' and 'I won't do it again'—and then you do. Simple chastisement is clearly not enough. You need hard discipline."

"Please—" she begins again, and then cries out when Mahad grabs a sudden fistful of her hair, using it to pull her forcefully to her feet. The moment she's upright, and dwarfed by the size of him, he grips her dress by the neckline and, in one swift, harsh movement, yanks it down. The fine linen piles around her feet; she's left in only her underpants and nothing else, bare and vulnerable.

Mahad's eyes sweep over her body—her round breasts with dark, pebbly nipples currently wrinkled to hardness; her soft belly and thighs; her full hips and long, shapely legs. "You are very beautiful," he concedes, returning his gaze to hers. "It pains me to have to treat you this way, Mana. But you respond to nothing else, and thus leave me no choice."

He sits on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, not even taking off his headdress. With a snap of his fingers, he beckons Mana to join him, then points to his lap. She knows well what he means. Flushing down to her chest, Mana takes tiny steps over to the bed and obediently bends over his knees, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes on the floor.

"I am going to hit you ten times," Mahad tells her. "You are going to count. If you mess up, we will start over. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she says.

He clicks his tongue. "Is that how you address me?"

"I'm sorry, Master. I meant, 'I understand, Master,'" she corrects herself, her ears burning.

"That's better." Almost as an afterthought, he takes her underpants by the waistband and pulls them down her legs to let them dangle uselessly from her foot. "Remember, every time you make a mistake, we will start the punishment over again." In her periphery, she sees him raise his hand, and her breath catches. "Get ready."

His first slap connects, hard. He doesn't ease her into it—the sound of his hand against her rear end echoes through the room, and the sharp, stinging pain makes Mana give a loud cry, the end of which she just barely remembers to tack on a choked, "One!"

"There's a good girl," Mahad says. Mana breathes hard through her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut tight as her bottom smarts. "It's just as I said. You respond best to a firm hand, and mine suits you very well, doesn't it?" He raises his hand again. "I will continue, then."

He smacks her again. Again, Mana gasps, her body bucking forward with the force of the blow. "Two!" she manages, tears starting behind her closed lids. He's only hitting her rear, yet she knows her thighs are just as hot and red; she both fears and hopes he'll notice.

"Good, good," he murmurs. Mahad lowers his hand again, but doesn't give her the next slap immediately; instead, he lets his fingers gently stroke her backside, feeling the hotness of the flush there and watching as she jumps from sensitivity. Then, without warning, he spanks her again.

"T-two! Three, three!" she corrects quickly, but too late. Mahad is already tutting, looking down at her with disappointment.

"So soon, Mana? Very well. We will begin again. I expect you to get it right this time." Mana moans, burying her head between her arms as he raises his hand again. "From one, then."

Again he smacks her, his fingers splayed. "One!" she cries out. Her bottom is aching, and it isn't the only thing—her cunt is begging to be touched, hot and wet and swollen between her thighs, held firmly together by Mahad's other hand. Until her punishment is through, though, there's no hope for relief. He'll gladly let her suffer for as long as this takes, teasing her with those amazing hands and his hard, stinging slaps until she's like a kitten in his arms, tiny and meek and mewing for attention. Then and only then might he put his cock in her, and fuck her until her knees are water and she's wailing to please, please be allowed to come, and maybe, just maybe—if he decides she's been good and sweet—he'll let her. Mana rocks in his lap and prays to the gods that it'll be so.

Mahad starts adding variation to the timing of his smacks, giving her several right in a row and then making her wait for the next, trembling against his thighs as she tries to anticipate the blow. Then, just as she's begun to relax—smack. Mana gets all the way to six before she messes up again, and it's barely even on purpose; Mahad just clicks his tongue and tells her, "We begin again, then." By the time they reach ten—at which point she's really been hit almost twice as much—she's a shaking, whimpering mess, her rear end raw and aching, her cunt dribbling wetness onto the lap of Mahad's robes.

"That's a very good girl, Mana," he says, petting her hair. "You see? That was not so bad. Now, on your feet, and I will decide what I want to do with you next."

Her legs are almost too weak to support her weight as she stands, the insides of her thighs coated in slick, her chest rising and falling with her fast breaths as Mahad, too, gets to his feet. After a moment of consideration, he crosses over to his desk, pulling out the hard wooden chair and gesturing to it. "Have a seat, Mana."

She gulps, then tentatively goes over and places herself on the chair; the unyielding wood makes her bottom ache in protest. "Good girl," Mahad murmurs, tucking some hair out of her face. He starts to take off some of his finery, abandoning his headdress on the desk and placing next to it his armbands, his belt, his pauldrons and neckpiece and cape. When he's wearing only the simple white robe, his shoes kicked away, he comes up behind where Mana sits dutifully on her chair and kneels, sliding his hands up her belly to cup her breasts in his palms. Her back arches, her eyes falling shut.

"Lovely Mana," he murmurs near her ear, squeezing, pinching the pert nipples between his fingers. "Egypt's finest flower. And you belong entirely to me, don't you, Mana? No one else gets to enjoy you the way I do."

"Yes, Master," she breathes, lashes fluttering. "I belong entirely to you."

"You are such a good pet, Mana. I knew that you had it in you." One hand slips lower, until his fingers tease the dark curls at the join of her thighs. A small moan escapes her lips. "All you need is a tiny amount of discipline. It's very simple. Misbehavior means punishment. Obedience yields rewards."

"I'm obedient," Mana whispers, her heart galloping in her chest. "Master, I'm being so obedient. I'm being good and doing everything you say. I should—I should get a reward. Please let me have a reward."

"Patience, Mana," he chuckles, his breath ghosting over her ear. "Yes, you have been good, and you will be rewarded yet for your behavior—when I'm ready. But you are so fun to tease. For instance, if I put just the tiniest bit of pressure right here—" And he dips a finger between her labia, searching—and easily finding—her clitoris; Mana bites her lip against a desperate whimper. "Ah, there we are. That's the good place, isn't it, Mana? Do you like it when I touch you here?"

"I do," she whispers. Mahad adds a second finger and starts rubbing her clitoris, small, tight little circles that have her toes curling in seconds. "I like it a lot when you touch me there. Won't you please keep touching me there, Master?"

"Very well. Since you have been so good for your master." He increases the pressure between her legs, rubbing her clitoris harder and faster; Mana bucks her hips and gasps for air against the sudden onslaught of pleasure. "Oh, you do like that, don't you, Mana? Is this what you wanted when you thought it wise to grope me during Priest Akhenaden's meeting? Silly Mana. All you had to do was ask, and I would not have had to punish you."

"I'm s-sorry," she stammers, shutting her eyes tight as he continues his rubbing. Fire blooms in her belly and between her legs, and her heart pounds like she's running a race. "N-next time. Next time I'll be g-good—"

"Oh, I know you will," Mahad tells her, increasing his pace even further. "You will be good, or your punishment will be even worse than it was this time. Although I have begun to suspect that you actually enjoy being punished. I am starting to think that it arouses you to be bent over my lap and paddled like a disobedient child. Is this true, Mana?"

"N-no, Master—" She shakes her head, her hair whipping her face as she sinks down in her chair while her hips shake. "No, Master. Not at all. I d-don't like to be punished—"

"It's wrong to lie," he whispers in her ear, and gives her cunt a gentle slap. Mana barely stifles a shriek. "Tell me how much you love it when I touch you, Mana. Tell me how hard it is to breathe when my hand is between your legs, making you feel so good. Tell me how badly you want to come all over this chair, like a common whore putting on a show for some coin."

"I want to come," she gasps, inching so slowly toward that peak, needing with everything in her to reach it at last. "I want to come, I want to come for you, Master, I want to—"

"Say 'please,'" he murmurs, squeezing her breast to the point of pain. "Say, 'Please, Master, may I come?' And I may let you."

A single tear leaks out of her eye and rolls down her cheek. "P-please, Master," she repeats, "m-may I c-c-come? Please? Please, please, please?"

"Come, Mana," he suddenly barks at her, and she wails as she topples over the edge, pleasure crashing over her in waves, Mahad rubbing her cunt unrelentingly as she rocks against his hand. "That's a good girl. That's a very good girl. Oh, you come so prettily, Mana. Tell me how it feels."

"So good," she sobs. "M-Master, it feels so good—"

He keeps rubbing long after her orgasm has subsided, ignoring her choked cries as her cunt aches with sensitivity. Then, all at once, he stops, stands, and lifts her up in his arms to drop her roughly onto the bed, flipping her over when she lands on her back so that she's instead on her hands and knees with her hips in the air, fully accessible. Mana trembles at the sound of rustling linen, of Mahad letting his clothes fall around his feet and kicking them away, and then he's on his knees behind her, one hand twining in her hair to press her face into the mattress while the other buries itself in her cunt. It takes precious little time to work her open; within moments, he's taking his hand away, and the head of his cock takes its place between her legs. Slowly, he pushes himself in.

"Yes, Master," Mana whispers into the blanket, her thighs shaking as he takes her. "Y-yes, Master—it's what I've wanted—please, give it to me, give it all to me."

"You take it so well," Mahad murmurs, and begins to move. Like before, he's not gentle—his skin slaps against hers as he sets a fast, hard pace, his fingers digging into her hips, his other hand holding her head down. "What a good girl you are, Mana. What a sweet girl you are to let me fill you with my cock. Priestess, sorceress—you are none of that right now, are you? You are a simple girl who wants nothing more than to take my cock."

"It feels so good," she whimpers, meeting his thrusts as best she can. Her first orgasm left her boneless, and already she's aching for a second. "It f-feels so good, Master. It feels so good to have you inside me. Take me, take me hard, make my body sing—"

"Sing for me, Mana." Mahad's voice becomes low and gravelly as he continues to fuck her; Mana shudders in delight to think of her body giving him pleasure. "I want to hear you sing. I want you to sing as you come around my cock."

"I'm so close," Mana whispers, pressing her cheek to the bedspread. She lifts a hand from the bed and slowly moves it down her stomach, wanting so badly to press it to her clitoris like he'd done. "Please, Master, can I touch myself? Can I touch myself while you fuck me?"

"You may," he says breathlessly, and Mana doesn't hesitate—she shoves her hand between her legs and starts rubbing, and immediately feels herself rushing toward the edge of climax all over again.

"Master, Master, Master," she croons, closing her eyes as he slams himself into her again and again, his breathing getting rougher and shallower as he starts nearing his own peak. "Master, I love you. I want to come with you. Please, come inside me, make me come with you—"

"Mana," he gasps.

"Oh, oh—" And it's their game to use that old title, the one she hasn't used outside of the bedroom in years, but as she starts coming, instead she calls out, "M-Mahad!"

"Mana!"

He holds her tight against his body as they both shake, Mana sobbing softly against the bedding, Mahad burying his face in the back of her neck as he spills inside her. She collapses onto the bed, completely useless, and then Mahad lies down beside her, and strokes her face with his fingertips as she tries to find it in her to open her eyes. When she does, she's greeted with a gentle smile.

"Hi, there," he says.

She smiles back. "Hi."

Mahad leans in, still smiling, and presses his lips to hers. Mana wraps her arms around his neck, and they stay like this for several minutes, holding each other tight like everything good in the world depends on it. In a way, it does.

"I'm sticky," Mana complains after several minutes, and Mahad laughs. "Let's have a bath."

"A bath sounds lovely." Mahad stands, holding out his hands to help her up, but Mana shakes her head and extends her arms instead.

"Carry me."

He snorts. "Sloth is a sin, Mana," he tells her, but picks her up anyway, cradling her bridal-style and taking her to the adjoining washroom. He fills the tub with hot water and lavender oil, gently places her in it, and then gets in behind her, winding his arms around her middle and resting his chin on top of her head.

"Are you feeling okay, Mana?" he asks her as he massages her arms with a cloth.

"I'm feeling fine, thank you for asking." She cranes her neck to kiss him on the cheek. "Much better than I was at that dumb meeting. Honestly, overtaxing the poor is how you start an uprising. Akhenaden is such an idiot."

"Oh, you were actually paying attention?" Mahad quirks an eyebrow. "I was not. Truth be told, I was thinking about this the entire time."

Mana laughs and splashes him with bathwater.