* * *
Shaking, Nael moved his hands behind his back, exposing himself fully.
His slender limbs, his smooth stomach, his nape—every inch of his skin was covered in the marks Killian had left.
Most prominently, the area around his rosy nipples was encircled by faint bruises, as though he were wearing an invisible, transparent garment.
There were no simple words to describe him.
Beautiful. Lovely.
Those were too shallow, too inadequate.
The imprints on his pale skin were obscene and sacred all at once.
Killian memorized the contradiction with his gaze, the corners of his lips curving upward ever so slightly.
“…Master.”
Nael bit his lower lip, desperate to suppress his embarrassment.
What punishment would he be given?
The faint smirk on Killian’s lips sent a shiver down his spine.
Slowly, Nael bent his knees.
He knelt, hands resting on his thighs, waiting in silent submission.
Then—
Thud. Thud.
The sound of retreating footsteps made Nael flinch.
His eyes darted toward Killian.
Killian had walked toward a chest of drawers, pausing momentarily as if contemplating something.
Nael simply watched his back, his mind blank.
At last, Killian turned around.
In his hand, he held a flogger, its leather strands splayed out.
He brought the whip down against his palm.
Crack.
A dull, sharp sound filled the air.
With each step he took toward Nael, the rhythm of leather striking flesh grew closer.
“Hic…”
“Why are you crying already?”
“I— I won’t cry.”
“Stand.”
Nael staggered to his feet, trying to steady himself.
His arousal, which had wilted from the tension, hung half-limp toward the floor—at least until Killian gave it a light tap with the back of his hand, accompanied by an amused chuckle.
Even that teasing touch made Nael let out a short, shaky gasp—”Uhk…! Haa…!”—his breath catching in his throat.
His body reacted instinctively, and his length slowly began to rise again.
The realization turned his face a furious shade of red, as if he had been burned.
Killian circled him leisurely, taking in the sight of Nael’s trembling frame.
The faint bite marks scattered across his slim back and round buttocks pleased him.
Even the way Nael fidgeted with his fingers behind his back, unsure of what to do, was endearing.
There was much to teach—an overwhelming amount, really—but Nael was a quick learner.
Given the right guidance, he would become flawless.
Crack!
The whip barely grazed the back of Nael’s thigh, but he jolted violently, nearly jumping out of his skin.
“It shouldn’t hurt,” Killian murmured.
Nael blinked, his wide eyes reflecting his confusion.
Just as Killian had said, it hadn’t hurt at all.
The sound had been loud and startling, but the sensation itself was merely a cold shock against his skin.
And yet, he had jumped like a frightened frog—how humiliating.
“Uhh… Y-yes, Master. It doesn’t hurt. I just… I was too tense.”
Crack!
The second lash fell in the same instant that Nael’s yelp tore through the air.
This time, it hurt.
It stung so sharply that he instinctively grabbed at his thigh, rubbing the burning flesh.
It had been a single strike, but the difference in force was undeniable—it was as if a red-hot ember had landed on his skin.
The spot where the whip had touched was already flushing a deep red.
“Hnn…!”
Tension squeezed his chest, making his heart hammer wildly.
He broke into a cold sweat, the anxiety of not knowing where or how hard the next strike would land eating away at him.
He had been the one to say he would do anything—he couldn’t complain now.
He cast his long golden lashes downward, biting the inside of his cheek until the sting of his own saliva made it throb.
“Lift your head,” Killian ordered.
Terror clung heavily to the drooping corners of his eyes, yet his arousal remained unabated, leaking clear droplets with an audible drip, drip.
The viscous liquid stretched, as if aiming for the very tips of his toes.
Smack! Smack!
The strikes landed barely on Nael’s cock.
“Ugh! Master!”
The blows weren’t painful.
Yet the mere thought that, at any moment, they might turn brutal—that the thin skin of his shaft could tear—sent a wave of fear crashing over him.
He broke into sobs.
‘M-Master, I was wrong. It’s going to hurt. I’ll take the punishment on my ass instead.’
Clasping his hands together in desperate pleading, Nael’s vision blurred with tears.
When Killian’s figure wavered before him, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
He had been told not to cry, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
He was terrified.
“Nael.”
That low voice captured Nael’s tear-soaked gaze.
His choked sobs, spilling out without thought, halted abruptly as he hastily wiped his face.
“Hic…”
“Come here.”
As Killian opened his arms, Nael collapsed into his embrace.
His tears soaked through Killian’s shirt, and Killian gently stroked his trembling, bare skin.
His broad chest was warm and comforting.
As Killian patted his back, his lips pressed lightly against Nael’s quivering golden crown.
The steady thump of Killian’s heartbeat against his ear gradually eased his ragged breath.
The rhythmic sound of his chest rising and falling helped Nael regain control over his emotions.
“Did it hurt?”
“N-no, it didn’t hurt. I was just really scared. If you hit me too hard… Hic, could you maybe spank me in my butt instead?”
“Why can’t you trust me? I’ve told you countless times, and yet you still don’t believe me. Even though I assured you it wouldn’t hurt, you’ve disappointed me again.”
His voice was calm, devoid of any emotion.
There was no anger, no reproach, no frustration—nothing.
It was as if he were simply asking whether Nael wanted to eat more during a meal, indifferent and detached.
Afraid that Killian might push him away, Nael clung to him even tighter.
When he thought back on it, Killian had often told him not to worry—that as long as Nael curled up and cried, he wouldn’t break him.
And time and time again, Nael had believed him, surrendering himself completely.
But how long would Killian continue indulging someone as fragile and inadequate as him?
Nael forced himself to focus, pushing away the bone-chilling thoughts creeping into his mind.
“I’ll trust you, Master. If you punish me, I’ll accept it willingly. It’s my fault, after all…”
At the firm tone, Killian finally seemed to relax a little.
He smiled gently and pressed his lips to Nael’s sweat-dampened forehead.
When his lips parted with a soft sound, the spot where they had touched felt strangely empty.
Nael rubbed his forehead with his hand, his cheeks flushing red.
“Nael, that little thing of yours really doesn’t do anything other than spurt out water, does it?”
“St… still….”
Killian patted his plump buttocks lightly, the gesture carrying the same affection as one would have when tapping a child’s bottom.
The warmth of that brief moment allowed Nael to finally pull away from Killian.
The air, which had been tense, loosened, and his heart, which had been pounding wildly, slowly returned to its usual rhythm.
“Hnn… Master.”
The once-gentle touch began to take on a different meaning, turning teasing and suggestive.
A slow, steady warmth traced down his shoulder line, making Nael close his eyes for a moment.
* * *
