AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Torin's baggy pants are not at all helpful. They get yanked down immediately, and the scaled posterior of the young saurian is exposed. I can’t really see much of the creature himself, and even if I could I do not think I would be looking at his ass anyway.
Avel is the main event. He is the sun around which every creature in this room orbits. He is menacing and intimidating. He is handsome, lit in such a way as to make the most of his prominent features. I find myself absolutely transfixed by him, watching his arms, his torso, every flicker of every expression that runs over his face.
Avel’s demeanor is completely different than it is when he punishes me. There is no attraction, no lust. There is nothing but the cool determination to make his victim pay. The way Avel’s body moves as he lifts his arm up and back to get a good stroke in is absolutely magnificent. He is so very physical. Agile and strong at the same time.
WHACK!
He brings it down to a collective gasp and a grunt from his victim. The sound of the stroke echoes around the hall, reverberating around the skulls and the bones and the great spaces.
I half expected him to lecture the young saurian the way he lectures me when I am in trouble, but he doesn’t say a word. He thrashes the saurian with stroke after stroke from the implement he has chosen for the task, a thick leather lash that must hurt like hell when delivered with Avel’s strength. I wonder if he’s going harder or easier on his subject after Torin tried to run. I wonder if it makes any difference at all.
By the way Avel is acting, I feel as though this has happened plenty of times before. Plenty of unfortunate candidates for punishment must have tried to flee before him. I doubt it ever works. The guards are too practiced. This is all far too ritualistic and orderly. If anything, the escape attempt only brought more shame on the young saurian, playing into Avel’s hands.
The lash lands again and again. Torin’s grunts turn to shouts and then become actual cries for mercy. But Avel is not interested in mercy. Avel is interested in discipline. He whips him until he is satisfied, and only then does he speak.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Torin shudders, taking a deep breath as he tries to compose himself. This seems like part of the ceremony. There is punishment, and there is atonement. I feel almost as if I am up there with him, suffering as he is suffering.
“Admit your crimes,” Avel prompts him, opening the neck stock so he can sit up. He does sit, for a second, before bouncing up onto his toes as his punished flesh touches the firm surface. He is flashing his appendage for all the hall to see. Fortunately for him, he is rather well endowed, but still, dancing about naked before his family and soldiers and those who were wronged by his actions has to be beyond embarrassing.
“I went a bit crazy on my birthday,” he admits. “Stole some stuff. Broke some stuff.”
“Acted as though you owned the city, and as if it was something for you to destroy simply because you thought you possessed it.”
There’s no response. Torin hangs his head, barely managing a nod. Avel fixes that problem by gripping the top of Torin’s hair, spikes sticking out through his powerful purple fingers. He pulls the young saurian male’s head back and looks down into his eyes. I see Torin sag slightly in his grip, giving in.
“You do not own this city, do you?” Avel growls the question down at the beaten creature.
“No,” Torin admits in a small squeak.
“If you had any idea of what responsibility of that level means, if you had ever owned anything of any value at all, you would know that it means taking care of it, looking after it. Ensuring nothing bad ever happens to it. Protecting it.” Avel shakes him by the hair, handling him like a rag doll. “You’ve been beaten today, but this is not the end of your punishment. I’m going to give you something that is yours, and I am going to make sure you take care of it.”
“Wh.. what?”
“You’re going out of the city to participate in the reconstruction effort of the Ground Bar.”
Torin shrinks down further, risking his hair in Avel’s grip. Avel does not let go. Instead, he wrenches the younger, smaller saurian up and closer to him, giving him no quarter.
“Please… no. That’s where the primal roams.”
“No! My baby cannot be sent to the wilds!”
I have to assume that’s Torin’s mother piping up.
Avel silences her all with a look toward the guards, who go ahead and step toward the gathered saurians. It is obvious that outbursts will not be tolerated.
This is not a kind of justice I’ve been privy to before, and it is fascinating to see how so many are being controlled by so few. There’s Avel and two guards. That’s it. Somehow, they’re keeping this motley crew of a criminal family in check with sheer gravitas.
It seems cruel, but now I think about it, is it, really? Pirates are often punished publicly — but it is never like this. It’s about blood and death, not about teaching any kind of lesson. I wonder if Torin understands how lucky he is to be treated this way. The beating might have been shameful, and he is certainly being knocked down several pegs, but he’s going to survive this, and it’s clear that Avel has some interest in making sure he actually learns his lesson. This isn’t just about revenge. This is about rehabilitation. And even the family of the spoiled brat gets that.
“Yes. It is where the primal roams,” Avel agrees. “It’s about time you learned what it is to try to carve out an existence while cruel nature does its best to end you. You’ll learn to appreciate the security of the city, and those who spend their lives protecting it. You’ll learn respect. And construction skills.”
“Please, sir. Let me stay in the city. I promise, I’ll never commit another crime.”
“If you do, you won’t be getting this treatment again. I will draw blood next time.”
Those words, said in a dominant yet simply factual growl, hit me low in the gut. I wonder what else Avel is capable of. He’s an enforcer, but he is also an executioner. That fact comes back into my mind. I wonder what else he has done to the criminally inclined on his altar of pain. I wonder how much suffering he has inflicted, and how many lives he has taken. Did the ones he ended beg for mercy? Did he grant it?
