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They are two very experienced guards. That’s important. Today could easily get out of hand if Torin’s rebellious lineage flows strong in his veins. One can never assume that the one to be disciplined will be penitent and obedient. That is why the dais is well stocked with restraints of various kinds. I always give the saurian to be punished the chance to hold themselves in position. I believe it indicates a proper sense of contrition. But some are unable, or unwilling, and those malcontents find themselves strapped in more ways than one.
“That is all, I think,” Castor says. “I scheduled Torin for a single session. The other two will be much later in the day.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the break.”
“It’s physical work,” Castor says, just as he has hundreds of times before.
“I’d better get ready,” I reply.
Castor nods briefly and stalks back to the rear where he will remain until the ceremony begins. I assume Barin and Vilkas are back there too. This is good. It should be a very productive day of work. If I deal with Torin effectively today, then there is every chance he will be a moderately useful member of society. Though I do take pleasure in what I do, and perhaps even enjoy a modicum of sadism, I also very much appreciate the fact that my work makes a difference in the lives of those I interact with. My strap, my lash, my cane, even my lecture can turn the course of a life around completely.
“Avel?” A small female voice comes from behind me once Castor is gone.
“Yes, Raine?”
“Are you some kind of…” She draws in a breath. “Executioner?”
Glancing around at the many bone decorations, it is not hard to see how she might come to that conclusion. I am impressed, actually. I rarely, if ever, refer to that aspect of my calling. I consider, for a moment, whether telling her the truth is a good idea. I decide the truth is the most important thing. If it frightens her, so be it.
“It is rare that I execute anybody, though that role would be mine should such an action be necessary. I enforce the law in all its forms.”
Her eyes widen again, much as they did the moment she first felt my cock spearing inside her. I wonder if that is fear or arousal. I think it might be both. I catch a light scent of need emitting from her, the chemicals of desire and need and angst all mixing together.
I am satisfied by this response.
Raine
I’ve been in some weird places in my time, but this has to be the most imposing and concerning of places I’ve ever been. I cannot stop looking around me. Every time I direct my gaze back to Avel, something new and terrible catches my peripheral vision.
This building is constructed from some kind of glassy obsidian rock walls upon which are hung a plethora of bones from all manner of creatures, arranged in the most possibly intimidating positions. It has the air of a cathedral or perhaps a mausoleum. The interior is lit by some kind of indirect glow coming from lights that have to have been installed behind some of the larger skulls.
This place feels like the very center of the city, a distilled, pure form of the place. I’ve already worked out that Grave City is a place where great, wild creatures come to pass away. The skulls on the wall represent the most incredible animals I have never seen. Many of their jaws are still open in silent roars. I feel their rage, the fury they must feel at being locked away behind eternity’s veil. Everything in this room was once a beast of beauty, and now it is nothing more than a warning.
This is a place where things come to an end. When I look at Avel, it seems to me that his purple scales gleam brighter, catching the light in a menacing sort of way. He seems taller and more imposing. I find myself hesitating to ask the many questions which flood my mind as I take all of this dark grandeur in.
“Sit here,” he says, leading me off to the side, away from view of any of the main seating area, but certainly close enough to see what will be going on up on the stage. I find myself behind a pillar, on a slightly padded seat. It is too large for me, of course, but he lifts me up and sits me down on it and I find myself perched there, like a cat on an armchair.
“Stay.” He fixes me with that slitted golden stare that feels more imposing than ever. It seems to me that he is being transformed by this place, or maybe I am just seeing him for the first time in the way I should have seen him from the outset.
Avel is dressed head to toe in black scale leather, ornate pieces that are somehow also understated. Much of the detail is lost unless you are as close as I am — or as close as his victims must be. I note the way there are saurian-themed designs tooled into the hems and sleeves and various parts of the tunic and the belt and even the sides of the pants. These are clothes made for a ceremony, but they are also eminently practical. The upper parts of his large purple arms are bare, but his forearms are partially covered by a matching bracer. They ripple with the motions he makes following the first warning from him I’ve ever taken entirely seriously.
“Don’t. Move.”
He gives the order, but he also makes it impossible for me to move by attaching the harness I wear beneath my clothing to a D shackle on the seat I have been installed in. I’d wonder why there are attachment points here, but that wondering would be pointless. This is a place for punishment, confinement, and domination — and the alien who owns me is master of all of it.
I watch, stunned, as he goes back up to the dais, which is equipped with several devices I am not personally familiar with, but can imagine what they are for. There is a cylindrical container of punishment sticks like the one he has at home. They are all wrapped in black leather, but I bet they are just as bad, if not worse than the ones he keeps for personal use. There is also a sort of a rack in which even more implements hang. Some of them look like ancient cat o’ nine tails. I shudder at the sight of them, knowing what such things are capable of doing.
There is a bench, which I guess must be for those being punished to lie on. At one end there is a big metal construction with a round hole in the middle, and a sort of hinge on one side. Ancient humans had a similar device to keep people in when they wanted to indulge in public humiliation. I shudder, imagining what it must be like to be held down against one’s will and hurt for the purpose of punishment.
Avel inspects the equipment with a practiced and professional demeanor. He seems to be entirely neutral about this entire experience. I wonder how many times he has done this before. Hundreds, probably. Thousands, even, maybe.
He picks up each of the implements and tests them, bending the shafts between his hands, presumably to ensure that they are not on the verge of breaking, then tapping his palm with the business end. I can’t imagine that last part does much, but it is probably part of his routine.
He is focused, and that alone would be sexy as hell, but what he is focused on makes the breath hitch in my throat every time he picks up a new implement. There are so very many, and they are not all whippy. There is a big, thick leathery lash of some kind, and another one where there are multiple tails of leather all terminating in very unpleasant knots, and a wooden paddle with holes drilled through the center, and… and so many other disciplinary horrors, each of which gets its own inspection.
There’s something almost loving about the way he handles those tools. I’ve seen that look on the face of other craftspeople as they prepare for work. I can guarantee the penalty for touching any of those things, let alone harming them, would be severe.
Suddenly, a gong rings out, or is it a bell? Whatever it is, it is loud and sonorous and resonant. I feel it vibrating all the way through my flesh. At the same time as the gong sounds, the doors we came through swing open wide, and a small party of saurians enters the hall. I peer around the pillar, filled with deep curiosity.
