Walking through the bathroom door was like walking into a new world. The bedroom changed in only slight differences. but it was disrupted the atmosphere entirely. The fire still crackled in the gapping maw of the stone hearth, but it was now a boisterous roaring flame, washing the room in a hot ruby red. Light flickered off the obsidian walls, making the veins of gold shimmer brightly. The fire was the sole source of light. The braziers only sizzled with fading embers.
Resting between the drawn golden veil sat Loki, dried and dressed in black buttoned-up shirt and black slacks. A waxy leather belt fixed around hips with a sleek gold buckle. He rolled his neck to stretch before locking his eyes on me. I was still wet, wrapped in a towel I found. His face was stern, cold, and hard like stone. His jaw clenched with a tense grimace. Panning his icy gaze over me, his sharp brow furrowed into a scowl. Loki rolled his jet-black sleeve to his elbow and gestured for me to approach with two slender fingers. Nervously, I obeyed. Taking baby steps towards him, I steadied myself with meager doses of courage.
He ran a finger along the soft linen. His face flushed with disappointment.
"Off," Loki ordered.
With a quick jerk, he snatched the towel from my body. It dropped around my feet. Instinctively, I draped my arms around my stomach. Some impulsive display of shame and insecurity. Loki's eyes narrowed. His cold hard stare pierced through me like a knife. He grabbed my wrists and held my arms securely by my side. He pulled me close, his face leveled with my sternum. Keeping my wrists restrained, he delicately showered me in kisses. Across my ribcage and down to my abdomen, his kips lightly danced over my skin. I shuddered. Heat from the fire licked my bare flesh as his cold lips landed like snowflakes. Planting one last peck above my belly button, he peered up at me. His eyes were cool and commanding.
"Don't cover yourself again. I want to see all of you. Next time, I'll have to tie your hands," he warned. His hot breath spilling over me. He released me, turning to the wide-open bed, and brandishing a long thin cane with a flat leather tip about three fingers wide. "Do you know what this is, bunny?" Loki asked in a smooth charming voice.
He smacked the flat crop into his hand. A sharp snap pierced the air. The palm of his hand flushed a pale shade of red as he gaze at me with his lovely blue eyes.
"Yes, sir," I muttered shyly.
I'd seen them before. Whips, riding crops, paddles, and handcuffs. Usually in novelty stores at the mall where they sell neon t-shirts of marijuana leaves and psychedelic posters. As a teen, we thought we were so adventurous because we braved the back wall, gazing at the display of adult toys and naughty costumes. Never in my life had I been brave enough to face the real thing. There was no one in my life I trusted to inflict this kind of pain on me.
Loki took my hand in his. His palm was slightly warm from the sting. He ran the leather over the back of my hands, letting me feel its smooth surface in slow circular motions. With a quick snap, he smacked my hand. I held firm, only wincing at the sharp sting. He rubbed the small red mark with his thumb, carefully soothing over the pain.
"Did that hurt?" he asked calmly.
I nodded, biting my bottom lip.
He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the sting with his cool lips. "Do you want to stop there?"
"No," I answered bravely. With a slow pull of air, I prepared myself for the experience to come.
Loki placed the whip under my chin, lightly dragging the smooth leather across my skin. "No, what?" his eyes turned to fierce lapis flames.
"No, sir," I replied.
He smirked devilishly. An approving smile that drove an erotic obedience in me. I wanted that smile again, and the rewards that came with it.
"On the bed, pet," he crooned.
He stood up, pointing with his whip the spot he wanted me to occupy. Like a dancer, he gracefully waltzed around the bed as I crawled on hands and knees to the footboard. The fire roared behind him, illuminating his silhouette with a bright orange glow. He looked strong, fierce, and lordly. The muscles in his arms flexing as he defined his gripped along the roped handle. His icy eyes bore through the darkness and straight into my core. I shivered pleasantly. Seeing him stand above me, like a tall dark shadow, made me a funny kind of weak. Like a meek rabbit ready to be played with by a mischievous cat.
"Turn," he ordered. I obeyed without question. "I want you to be as quiet as possible. You had your fun when you stole that orgasm from me, now it's time to silent and take your punishment. Understood, pet?"
I nodded.
I was resting on my knees, facing the beautifully engraved headboard as Loki pulled my hands above my head. Soft silk ribbon laced around my wrist and through an opening in the oak canopy with fluid motion. A tight pull and I was secure, helpless, and excited. My heart raced beneath my chest. I felt the cold leather crop graze along my spine. Light as a feather. My body went stiff. Once he reached the dimples on my back, Loki recoiled, and cracked the whip against my ass. A quick nip. I knew he could do worse, but still I gasped as the pain pierced my skin. As the sting melted, I felt a rush of ecstasy pour through my veins, flushing any semblance of pain.
A moan escaped my lips. Loki didn't take time to wait, giving me another smack, harder than the last. It shot a sharp gust of air from my lungs another quivering moan slipped through clenched teeth. Without hesitation, another, sharper, sting graced my skin. I let out a whine that was doused with lust. I was in trouble.
Slender fingers dove into my wet hair as he pulled my head back in a quick jerk. "Do I need to gag that filthy mouth?" Loki hissed in my ear.
"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir," I managed through labored breath. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my throat. All the blood in my body rushed below my hips, rippling like vibration between my thighs. I knew it was bad, but a part of me wanted him to.
"Maybe you're enjoying this too much," he said. He let go of my hair and slid his hand between my thighs. His middle finger slipped between the hot wet lips of my sex, entering me with ease. My back arched like an animal in heat, beckoning for more. I steadied my voice, holding a small moan in my throat. "You're practically dripping. Do you like it when I punish you?" he asked in his rich low voice.
"It feels so good, sir," I sighed.
He slid his finger out, chuckling darkly to himself. "Does it now? Let's see how this feels then."
Loki's voice rang like a threat, but it didn't make me anxious or scared. My stomach fluttered with a nervous excitement. Cold metal the shape of small, dull, pyramid studs grazed the sore red marks of my ass. It was a long paddle cased in leather and adorned with silver studs. He let me feel it before he spanked me with it. It was a dull throbbing pain that rippled through my thighs and against my sex. When the pain subsided, my legs quivered, pulsing against my clit with a surge of pleasure. I bit my tongue and held my breath.
Three spanks, each harder than the last. It felt amazing, but I was able to hold my gratitude inside. My ass was red and sore, but my thighs trembled blissfully as devious lust pulsed through my veins.
Gods, I loved it, but why? As I relished in the culmination of pleasure and pain, the question thrusted itself to the foreground of my mind. Why was it okay for Loki to hurt me, but not...? I felt my heart sink. The silk ties around my wrists suddenly felt tight. My chest shook with uneven breaths. No. Please no. Not now.
Loki's hands were like ice as he settled one on my hip and the other around my throat. His lips pressed against my ear as he whispered darkly, "Are you ready for more, pet?"
A primal hungry sect of my brain wanted to scream, "yes!". My hips were rolling against the stiffened bulge pressing through his pants. As if they had a mind of their own. The other half of my brain was writhing with guilt. A voice in my head, not entirely my own, questioning everything. Why was it okay for Loki to strike me? Why did I want him to throw me onto the bed and ravish me like an animal? Forcing me to take any punishment he deemed fit. What was wrong with me?
His grip felt like a cold vice around my throat. "Can we stop?" I asked. Fear mingling with my desire. It was like oil pouring into water.
"Just say the word," Loki purred.
"Red," I muttered.
I expected him to be mad. At the very least, disappointed. I expected him to ask me if I was sure and try to coax me into something else. I thought he'd run his hands over my body, touching all the places he knew I liked in order to convince me to keep going. I expected him to argue with me or flat out ignore me.
Loki untied the ribbon and turned me to face him. There was no anger. No disappointment. Not a hint of a scowl or even a frown. His face was calm. His eyes soft as his eyebrows wrinkled with concern. He saw me shiver, despite the fire's warmth billowing through the room. Carefully, Loki's draped a fur blanket over my shoulders, and pulled it close.
"Would you like some clothes, Elaina?" he asked kindly.
"Yes, please," I replied weakly.
Loki waved his hand and an emerald mist danced over my frail frame. The mint and gold dress from before appeared on me as if it were being sewn to fit my body. The comfortable silk wrapped me in a warmth that could only be described as magical.
"Can I touch you?" he asked.
I nodded and he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. He scooped me into his arms, cradling me like a fragile porcelain doll. He carefully carried me around the bed and laid me down on the soft mattress, pulling more furs over me. I buried myself into the blankets, fighting the urge to cry. Weight shifted around the mattress as Loki settled down next to me, his arm coiling around my waist slowly. He pulled me into his chest. My back molding into his body. It was quiet. The fire crackling and popping in the distance. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
"Want to talk about?" Loki's calm voice soothing a fearful rattling in my chest.
"I'm sorry," I whined, my face shrouded in pelts. Voice muffled and scared.
He tightened his embrace, softly shushing like you would for a scared child. "None of that, now," he uttered sweetly.
But I couldn't help it. Sorry after sorry pouring from my throat like a sad fountain. Shame-soaked words that soured the mood. I wish I could feel what he felt. It killed me not to know if he was angry or disgusted. My body churned with the dull ache of guilt. Trembling with the familiar thrashing of anxiety. He held me the whole time. Letting me sink and stiffen against his body, softly petting my hair as my nerves flared with unabashed fear. He waited patiently for me to calm down. Eventually I did, but I was more embarrassed than before.
"I'm sorry," I said again, my voice steadier this time.
"Never apologize for setting a boundary for yourself," he replied. There was a moment of silence as he contemplated his next words. "Are you okay?"
I brushed a scattered tear from my cheek. "I am now. Thank you. You didn't have to do all this."
"It's a part of this," he explained, holding me tighter. "Who hurt you?" he asked solemnly.
It hurt to remember. His face still a scribbled-out blur. I turned and burrowed my face into the small hollow of Loki's chest, sinking into his ribcage like a rabbit finding its nest. I was scared that if I talked about, it would make it real. But I suppose, here, in this world we built, real was an illusion.
"He was my boyfriend. My partner."
"A lover," Loki added.
"I was seventeen. I had been struggling in school and fighting with my parents. Most nights, I'd sneak out of the house and go watch bands play at this little bar down the road. He played bass for a local band. They were terrible, but at that age, I thought they were the best musicians in the world. He was in his twenties, had tattoos, and was in college. He had his own place and more importantly, he had a car. When I was with him, sometimes, I felt like a bird. So long as I was with him, I could go anywhere I wanted to.
He liked me and that's all that mattered back then. He kissed me and held my hand. He told me how beautiful and smart I was. I could feel that he meant it. That's all I needed. I was so stupid. I gave him everything a seventeen-year-old girl could give. He gave me sanctuary at his house whenever my parents didn't want me home. He kept me warm, cooked me dinner, and held me when I cried. Eventually, my parents didn't want me to come back, so he told me to stay for as long as I needed. It felt sort of perfect. Like the pieces were falling into place. I was about to turn eighteen, graduate by the skin of my teeth, and move in with my first and only boyfriend. At that time, I had only ever told him yes. Everything changed the moment I told him no. It was like a switch. I could feel all the love he had more me melt away and anger manifested like a plague inside of him. He didn't like being told no, so he just took whatever he wanted from me. If I cried or yelled, he'd cover my mouth and choke me. Sometimes I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I wish I did."
Loki was quiet, listening attentively as I spoke. Each time a swell of pain rushed through my chest, he squeezed me, grounding me. The only sound he made came from the soft kisses he planted on the top of my head.
The more I remembered, the more my heart filled with lead. The only thing holding me together was Loki and his cold loving embrace. He let me rant and whine, spilling my pitiful tale of failed love until I was done. I didn't tell him everything, but enough to lighten my load. I told him about the bruises, the welts, and all the busted lips. The time he broke my nose trying to keep me quiet while he took me. Loki listened to it all. He never blamed me. He didn't ask why I didn't "just leave". In fact, he apologized.
"I'm sorry you had to suffer through any of that," Loki sighed. "Did I force you to remember?"
"No, I just felt guilty. Why was it okay to let you hurt me, but when did it was abuse?"
Loki chuckled. "I'm sorry, that's inappropriate," he stifled his laugh and took in a deep breath. "The answer is obvious, bunny. It's consent."
I suppose the answer was obvious. A normal person would've come to that conclusion, but, for me it was hidden under a cloud of shame and trauma. I couldn't sink any deeper into Loki's chest, but I wanted to. I wanted to hide. His fingertips trailed up and down the ridges of my spine in a slow repetitive line.
"What's stopping you from driving a knife through my back?" I asked.
He paused. "The fact that I quite admire your back," he teased, brushing his hand over the curve of my muscles. "But in truth, nothing." He pinched my chin between his fingers and lifted my face to meet his gaze. "You'll just have to trust me."
Our lips touched in a soft embrace. I had to decide whether or not I thought Loki was worthy of that. Prince of Deception. God of Chaos and Mischief. Could he be trusted?