Title: I've got you in the palm of my hand
Character/s: The Prince, the Prisoner
Summary: The Prince has a new prisoner to play with
Warnings: Torture, spanking, figging
Word Count: 981
Prompt: 313, I've got you in the palm of my hand..
Author's Notes: I know this wasn't what they meant, but I couldn't get the idea of "in the palm of my hand" out of my head. You are forewarned that this is a bit dark
The air was cold, enough to raise goose flesh. Uncomfortable but not enough to cause harm. No, that was for him to dole out. Punitive measures. He walked around the large frame assembled to his specifications. He turned each crank testing that each section of chain moved as it should. He would be able to stretch the prisoner out, force him to his knees or fold him in half. The chains clanked a bit more than he liked but otherwise he couldn’t help but smile.
Satisfied with that he moved over to the table where his special tools were laid out. He allowed his mind to drift to the possible punitive measures he might employ as he fingered each one. Satisfied he went to sit in the throne like chair he had the servants bring. He might still be just a Prince but he was going to make sure the prisoner knew who his King was.
He sat in his chair sipping from a goblet of wine. As he waited he let his mind wander to all the pale flesh that would be his to do with as he pleased. He didn’t have to wait long. The prisoner was half pushed, half pulled into the room dressed exactly as he had demanded. He couldn’t help but stare as the prisoner hunched in on himself as if he could hide his state of undress or perhaps his state of dress. The Prince had to admire the care someone had taken in binding the prisoner’s ballocks, wrapping each separately then weaving the binding around his prick to end in a small bow just below the bell end.
The guards worked quickly to get the prisoner into the frame so that he hung by his wrists, his feet dangling just above the floor. As he watched they secured his ankles in the cuffs and placed the specially designed belt about his waist. As the guards finished they nodded to him and cleared the room leaving the Prince alone with his toy.
The Prince sat for a long time just watching. The prisoner’s long, lean body was surprisingly well defined and he was enjoying watching him flex and twist as he tested his situation. His pale skin however was marked with more scars than the Prince could have guessed. Perhaps he would learn the story of each one at the same time that he added a few new ones.
Bored with just staring, he rose and walked quietly to the table. He selected a leather crop and smacked it against his boot, the thhwwapp loud in the quiet of the room. He couldn’t help but notice the way the prisoner jerked at the sound. It was clear he had thought himself alone. The Prince moved toward him and spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “I can assure you that your mother and sister are safe and well for the moment. I have provided employment for them at the manor house at Tintagel.” He stepped close to the prisoner and lightly ran the tip of the crop up his leg. “Of course, it is up to you if they stay that way.” He slapped the crop against the back of the prisoner’s thigh causing him to gasp.
The Prince felt a rush at the sight of the bright pink mark left by the crop. He made a few more marks enjoying the crisscross pattern it made as well as the squirming of the body. He ran his fingers over the marks before walking slowly to the prisoner’s other side. “Did you really think you would get away?” He swatted again at the back of the other thigh laying another set of intersecting pink lines. He then stood in front of the prisoner admiring the way his trussed up bits and pieces looked a bit red, almost angry. He beat across both thighs starting at just above the knees and working his way up to stop just short of his ballocks. He resisted the urge to whip further and settled for just one slap across his prick. The prisoner groaned loudly at that making The Prince laugh. He went back over to the table and traded the crop for a leather strap.
“I am always watching.” He laid the strap across the back of the prisoner’s thighs and brought it back across the front. The large reddened marks made him a bit tight in the pants so he repeated it over and over. The jerking movement of the prisoner along with his muffled cries were like music to his ears. ”You belong to me! You will always belong to me!” The Prince then moved behind him and began to beat his arse until it was a hot deep red. The prisoner’s strangled breaths reminded him of cries of ecstasy. Returning to the table, he dropped the strap. He grabbed a pot of salve, opened it and dipped a piece of skinned ginger root into it. The Prince then lowered the prisoner so that he could easily stand behind him and whisper in his ear.
The Prince ran a hand over the prisoner’s reddened arse admiring his work. “Lovely.” The flesh was so warm and inviting but now was not the moment. He separated the prisoner’s arse cheeks and shoved the ginger root firmly into the hole he found. The prince then pressed in close making certain his excitement was clear. He pulled the hood off the prisoner and smiled at the sight of his red tear stained face, a leather strap through his mouth. He waited just a few moments until he was certain the prisoner felt the ginger. “Figuratively and literally,” he said as he reached around from behind and grabbed the prisoner’s ballocks and prick, “I’ve got you in the palm of my hand.” He squeezed firmly, “And I don’t intend to let go, Merlin.”