No Pain No Gain

“Painplay?”

Mash nods. For some reason, her cheeks are flushed red. For someone with such a healthy appetite concerning the matters of the flesh, she is surprisingly shy when it comes to actually discussing sex. 

( I think we’re the odd ones here, Morgan’s spouse had told her once. Observation tells her it might be true, but that doesn’t make that fact any less confusing. Morgan is not ashamed of eating when she is hungry, or sleeping when she is tired. Why would anyone feel ashamed to have intercourse if such envy strikes them?)

“I, uh, read about it. In a book.” Mash elaborates, wringing her hands. “It sounded… appealing. So I was wondering if we could? Try it sometime?”

“You wish for me to hurt you?” A strange request, but one Morgan can entertain. Dragging her nails across Mash’s bare skin is a deeply pleasing sensation. Going the extra mile to actually scratch her can’t be too-

Ah. She’s shaking her head. Mh. Morgan got it wrong, it seems.

Then, perhaps… “You wish to hurt me.”

Mash winces at her statement. “I, uh, know it’s, really weird to ask. We don’t have to do it! But if, maybe, you’d be okay with that…”

Of course Morgan would be okay with that. She wouldn’t spar with Mash so often if she was afraid of a little pain. She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Sit on the edge of the bed. I will lay across your lap.”

Mash startles at that. Clearly, she had not expected Morgan to answer so readily. “Eh?”

“I believe the buttocks are the safest place to hit. This position would be the most comfortable for the both of us, if you are to spank me.” Morgan toys with her collar. “Shall I undress? I believe one part of the appeal of such play is to see the marks you leave behind, is it not?”

Mash nods frantically, stumbling to sit as instructed. “That would- yes. Please. Do that.”

And so, off goes Morgan’s dress, shoes, and other ornaments. She hesitates for a second, then takes off her ribbon as well- perhaps Mash would like to pull on her hair, who knows. Once naked, she lays herself across Mash’s laps. “I am ready.”

In this position, she can’t see Mash’s face- or anything that she is doing, really. It comes as a surprise when Mash first lays a hand on her back. Her fingers trail fingers down Morgan’s spine, spreading shivers under her skin. Ah, despite everything, this part of her is still sensitive. Mash is the only one who has ever been privy of this information.

Eventually, Mash’s hands come to her buttocks. They spend some time here, kneading the flesh. Morgan is rather flat, as far as servants go- fairies simply don’t have the same fat distributions that humans do- but they must still be pleasing to the touch, for Mash to stay here for so long.

Then her hands leave Morgan’s skin, at last. She braces herself; this isn’t sparring. She can not, and will not block or divert the blow. She is going to get hit, and she is going to let it happen.

But- the first spank is barely a tap. Morgan initially thinks it a fluke, a trial run to adjust the power behind the blows- but the following taps are just as weak. The fifth one makes some sound, at least, but those after that immediately drop in power again. 

At the tenth one, Morgan speaks up. “My knight. I, more than anyone, am familiar with your strength. I know you can hit harder than that.”

There is a slight pause. Then the next strike- that one gets Morgan’s breathing to stutter. The pain itself is barely a sting, but it’s something Morgan can feel, which is loads better than the previous ones.

Unfortunately, the strength behind the blows starts decreasing again. What a stubborn girl. Does she not understand that there can be no painplay without pain?

Morgan rolls on her side suddenly, her back resting against Mash’s stomach. She looks up at the younger girl. “You are holding back. What is the matter?”

Mash isn’t looking at her. Hm. “Ah, I am just- a bit afraid to hurt you for real.”

The lie flickers in Morgan’s eyes. Though Mash didn’t mean it, that statement lights something in Morgan’s chest, an emotion she hasn’t felt in years. It takes her a few seconds to recognize it as offense. “Do you truly believe me so weak as to break under a mere spanking? You know better. Try again.”

Mash looks right, looks left, and then, finally, casts her gaze down on Morgan. “... I… am just embarrassed, is all.”

Morgan quirks up an eyebrow, ever so slightly. “Embarrassed?”

“I mean…” Mash makes a vague gesture of the hand. “You’re laying across my laps, offering yourself for me to spank like a child. You are a queen of tremendous power. I am a knight with the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. Doesn’t this seem… silly?”

“I care not for silly.” Morgan replies frankly. Nothing Morgan has ever done has ever improved people’s perceptions of her. Whether she is silly or serious, good or evil- she is to be branded as a witch either way. So why should she fear ridicule? 

Mash seems to disagree, however- which is a shame, considering this whole thing was her idea. Perhaps she needs a little push in the right direction. “My knight, I am making myself vulnerable to you. And only you; there is no one else, in Chaldea or in Britain, who can boast of seeing me bending over for another. If spanking me is embarrassing, then holding back is insulting. You promised me pain. Honor the trust I placed in you.”

She lifts a hand up, touching Mash’s cheek with the tip of her fingers. “I need you to hit harder. Hard enough for me to feel it. Hard enough for it to stick. I am intimately familiar with your strength, and I wish to experience it through my whole body.”

Her fingers trail even higher, to tap on Mash’s lips. “So, my dearest, most virtuous knight. Be a good girl and break me in half, won’t you?”

Mash swallows. Hard.

Morgan allows herself a hint of a smile, before flipping back on her stomach. “I allow you ten strikes. Make them count.”

There is a brief silence. Then Mash’s hand connects with Morgan’s skin again, and ah- this is more like it.

Morgan actually finds herself grunting in pain this time. This is what she’d expected. This is what Mash had wanted. Morgan cares not for pain, but seeing Mash free of any shame or fear- feeling it, in every blow, in every hit rippling under her skin, now this fuels her soul with joy and pride.

“One.” And she’s counting the strikes out loud. She’s adorable. “Two, three. Four.”

She’s playing with the rhythm and the intensity, now. Some strikes follow each other in rapid succession, some get a slight pause before coming. Morgan has no idea when the next hit will be, or how hard it will go. Not being five steps ahead- being able to afford not knowing- it’s making her cold heart race.

“Five.” A pause, then two slaps one after the other. The sound rings through the entire room. “Six. Seven.”

Another pause, this time so Mash can trail fingers over Morgan’s spine again. Mixing pain and pleasure- this is nice, this is very nice. On impulse, Morgan folds her arms behind her own back. “Hold my wrists.”

Mash, loyal knight that she is, obeys immediately, pressing Morgan’s wrists down her back. Mash’s fingernails dig slightly in her skin. Oh, Morgan thinks, she’s really getting into this.

“Eight.” After that quick break, the sudden slap makes Morgan jolt. Mash’s grip doesn’t falter for a second. Morgan hears her inhale deeply. Does she like it, the power Morgan is giving her? Does she like it, the gift of Morgan’s submission? It sounds like she does. Morgan couldn’t feel any more smug about it.

“Nine.” Mash pauses again, her hand getting busy fondling Morgan’s behind. Her buttocks feel burning hot, her blood rushing south to soothe the remaining aches. It’s not an unpleasant sensation.

Then Mash’s hand leaves again, and- “Ten.” That one makes Morgan gasp out loud.

A few seconds of silence follow the whole ordeal. Cooly, Morgan observes that she was not left unshaken by the affair; her breathing is unsteady, and her thighs are shaking slightly. This would be unbecoming of a queen, and laughable of a villain- but as it stands, she is neither of those things right now. She’d cast herself in the role of a knight’s greatest prize, and let it be known that Morgan is nothing if not someone who commits to her performances. 

“So. How do I look?” She speaks up eventually, craning her neck to look back. “Did you manage to mark me?”

Mash nods. She seems transfixed by Morgan’s behind. Her pupils are huge. Oh, what a treat to see. “I… I wish you could see this. I can see the imprint of my hand on your skin, my queen.”

Mh. Servants can instantly heal superficial wounds. Perhaps Morgan should keep this one after the facts, though. No one but her would know what lies beneath her dress. Anytime she’ll sit down, she will be reminded of Mash’s bold confidence, of her strength, of that look in her eyes, full of desire and adoration. Mh, a sound idea indeed. “Are you satisfied?”

There is a beat. Mash opens her mouth.

“Do not lie.”

Mash closes her mouth. It takes her a moment to gather her bearings. That is alright. Morgan can be patient. What’s a minute in the face of millenia of existence?

“... I want to do this more.” Mash finally admits. “I want to strike you more. I want to see you get even redder. I want to watch you walk around the room with trembling legs knowing that I did this to you. And then I want to pull you in bed and sit on your face.”

It always takes some time to pry Mash open, to make her voice out loud what she desires no matter how weird or strange. But oh, when she does, it is wonderful; there are few sights in this world Morgan would consider more beautiful.

“I- I mean. If that’s alright?”

Without meaning to, Morgan’s lips lift up.

“Sir Kyrielight. My wonderful, most loyal knight.” Morgan flexes her hands. Under Mash’s grips, they barely bulge. “I had allowed you ten strikes, but it seems like there is little I can do to force you to obey. This witch is at your mercy.”

Mash’s eyes widen. Her grip tightens over Morgan’s arms. Perhaps she will leave a mark here as well. This would be most welcomed. “You… You’ll tell me to stop if I cross the line, right?”

“Obviously. Additionally, I must point out,” Morgan snaps her fingers. A single spark lights up between her index and her thumb. A petty party trick, one she’d been able to do before she had even rung a single bell- and most importantly, the undeniable proof that she can still use magecraft in that state, “you could not keep me here were it not for my consent.”

This seems to be the reassurance Mash needed. She straightens her back. Licks her lips.

From the corner of her eyes, Morgan sees her lift her hand in the air again.