The Storyteller

The StorytellerM/M | Fantasy | BDSM | blindness | Valentine’s Day
3,600 words | 12 pages (pdf) | vignette
ISBN: 978-94-92678-02-7 | ASIN:
2nd editon, 18 February 2017 | (1st: 14 Feb ’12 (SMP))
cover design by Cayendi Press

 

The Storyteller

BLURB
Banished by his family, young, blind aristocrat Oleg finds there are advantages of living isolated with just his tutor for company. But the perfect day said tutor, Neiam, planned for them, Oleg’s father seems hell bent on ruining.
 

EXCERPT

I sat cross-legged on a large cushion on the floor, with my back against the sofa and my head leaning against Neiam’s thigh as he played with my curls and told me a story in his native tongue. Though he had been teaching me a little of his language, I had no chance of understanding his tale, but that was not the point. His sing-song rhythm and dulcet tones went straight through me, warming me, enveloping me.

Neiam didn’t do crazy voices like my eldest sister, or turn his stories into a play—walking up and down the room—like my uncle. Instead, Neiam always kept his voice in check, kept it clear and soft, until he had me where he wanted me to be.

I barely realised he had finished his story. Not until he addressed me in my own language.

“Rise, pet.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I did, using the sofa as leverage. I loved how he used that endearment instead of choosing one from his own language, loved how his pronunciation made the word sound like a caress. I stepped away from the cushion and stood still with my hands clasped behind my back.

The sunlight warmed my naked body, and I swore I could feel his gaze on me. He didn’t get up, but went back to reading. Once again, I let his voice wash over me.

After all this time, he should know that distracting me with his reading didn’t stop me from hearing him stand up. I would never tell him it was the tiny hitch in his voice that alerted me, not, as he thought, his feet shuffling on the floor. Though I could hear that, too. Neiam traced my jaw before touching my lips. I knew what would be next, and I swallowed.

“Follow,” he simply said before resuming his beautiful tale again.

The first step was always the hardest, but he was most patient with me. He lingered at the door as I gathered the courage to do as he said. I knew this house. We had explored it the day we arrived—after he had me unpack our suitcases. Neiam had taken me from room to room, giving me the time to feel my way around, to get my bearings, as he described them in great detail and moved items I could easily knock over with my cane. To him, my blindness was merely a minor hindrance, not the disgrace society, and my family even more so, treated me as. I knew this house, and yet I hesitated, every single time.

REVIEWS
Tam at Brief Encounters
"I really enjoyed the feel of this story, with its historical bent and a rather lyrical quality to the relationship between the two men, both fitting a need the other had. For those wondering, the BDSM aspect is quite light and nothing that should scare anyone off."

Melanie at Joyfully Jay
"[A]n amazing short story… that is remarkable in so many ways. [The] sexual relationship is sensual and oh so hot. The dominance and submission here is gentle and loving as Neiam steers Oleg towards self sufficiency. At 3,600 words, this story is short and sweet. The Storyteller takes place on Valentine’s Day, a perfect time to read this wonderful story."

Victoria Zagar at Infinite Love
"What a lovely little story this was. Short but very sweet, the BDSM aspect of this is hot but doesn’t go overboard. You can feel the trust that Oleg has for Neiam, especially since he’s blind and relies on Neiam to guide him through the house they live in as well as their sexual exploits. … I highly recommend this short story"

Lucy at Hearts on Fire Reviews
"This is a very short story of Oleg, who’s blindness is an embarrassment to his family. “The sightless, the useless, the abomination” are what he is called and in all matters, his father, mother and siblings are the ones who decide what will happen to him. In this case it is the banishment to a country estate with his tutor, Neiam, who is so much more than that. It is a D/s relationship with caring, pride and love."

READ IT HERE

I sat cross-legged on a large cushion on the floor, with my back against the sofa and my head leaning against Neiam’s thigh as he played with my curls and told me a story in his native tongue. Though he had been teaching me a little of his language, I had no chance of understanding his tale, but that was not the point. His sing-song rhythm and dulcet tones went straight through me, warming me, enveloping me.

Neiam didn’t do crazy voices like my eldest sister, or turn his stories into a play—walking up and down the room—like my uncle. Instead, Neiam always kept his voice in check, kept it clear and soft, until he had me where he wanted me to be.

I barely realised he had finished his story. Not until he addressed me in my own language.

“Rise, pet.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I did, using the sofa as leverage. I loved how he used that endearment instead of choosing one from his own language, loved how his pronunciation made the word sound like a caress. I stepped away from the cushion and stood still with my hands clasped behind my back.

The sunlight warmed my naked body, and I swore I could feel his gaze on me. He didn’t get up, but went back to reading. Once again, I let his voice wash over me.

After all this time, he should know that distracting me with his reading didn’t stop me from hearing him stand up. I would never tell him it was the tiny hitch in his voice that alerted me, not, as he thought, his feet shuffling on the floor. Though I could hear that, too. Neiam traced my jaw before touching my lips. I knew what would be next, and I swallowed.

“Follow,” he simply said before resuming his beautiful tale again.

The first step was always the hardest, but he was most patient with me. He lingered at the door as I gathered the courage to do as he said. I knew this house. We had explored it the day we arrived—after he had me unpack our suitcases. Neiam had taken me from room to room, giving me the time to feel my way around, to get my bearings, as he described them in great detail and moved items I could easily knock over with my cane. To him, my blindness was merely a minor hindrance, not the disgrace society, and my family even more so, treated me as. I knew this house, and yet I hesitated, every single time.

I swallowed again, fighting hard to keep my hands behind my back. Come on, Oleg, do it! Just take the bloody step. But I couldn’t. I wanted my cane, wanted my hands free to guide me. I turned my head towards Neiam and opened my mouth… and closed it again, too afraid my panic would make me blurt out the wrong word, causing him to send me to bed. I had to do this.

Neiam’s voice didn’t change, and I was thankful for that. He didn’t sound exasperated, didn’t sound irritated; he sounded soothing, like he always did. I focused on his voice in that strange, strange language that I wish I could understand more of.

Raoam.” A word I recognised. It had been one of the first words Neiam taught me. It meant strength, though he told me it had more to do with determination.

It could have been coincidence, of course, but I believed he was talking about me, to me, trying to help me. He always tried to help me—help me do it myself. He would never pamper me, as he called it, would never think I couldn’t do it, couldn’t take care of myself—like my family did, even though Father had hired him to take care of me. Neiam had faith in me.

I was halfway to the door before I realised I’d done it; I’d taken that first step. Part of me would never believe I could do it, so the next time, that first step would still be my biggest hurdle. I hung my head. But it wasn’t my doing, it was Neiam’s faith, his guidance, his voice, that drew me to him in the end—not mine.

He stopped me when I reached him, just a slight tap on my shoulder, but he didn’t stop telling his story, not until he lifted my chin up with his finger. “Stop thinking, pet. You did well. Only a twenty count this time.”

It was useless protesting; he wouldn’t hear of it. Only a two count better than last time, a four count better than the time before. He knew as well as I that this wasn’t progress, that this didn’t feel like progress. I had still made him wait.

He started speaking again, and I heard him move away from me. I didn’t understand why following him this time was much easier, but it was. I fell into step behind him, following his voice, following him through an endless maze of rooms and corridors until we reached the room. Not my bedroom, nor his—as unused as it was—but the ballroom.

Neiam’s voice sounded even better here. That’s not why he chose the room, though the reason was close enough. He liked how I sounded here. To be honest, so did I. It was a good thing it was at least ten miles to the nearest neighbour.

Neiam’s voice faded, and I stopped, waiting for his command, shivering in anticipation. He said I’d done well, but was it good enough to earn…

Suddenly, Neiam pressed himself against me, trapping my hands beneath his as he pulled me closer and pushed his lips to mine. He tasted so good: a mix of mint, chocolate and cognac—Father’s priceless cognac. I wondered if I tasted the same to him.

When he let me go, I stumbled, but he kept me on my feet, placed a hand on my chest to steady me.

“Tasty, pet, very tasty.”

Had he read my mind?

“A twenty count, pet. You did so well, I’m proud of you.”

Proud of me. Part of me wanted to protest, but the part of me that wanted the reward that often went with those words quickly squashed the protest down. Neiam was proud of me, and that was all that mattered.

He grabbed my cock. I moaned at the touch, wanting more, but refrained from pushing into his touch. I wasn’t going to mess up now.

“Follow,” he said, gently tugging, and I did.

When he stopped, he took his hand away. I bit my lip not to sigh. He grabbed my hands and moved them in front of me onto a flat surface. The table, the only one in this room, was positioned in front of the wide double doors leading into the garden. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered him telling me how he loved to fuck me in front of that magnificent view. Not to mention what he’d do first.

“Bend.”

I laid my chest onto the cool wooden surface, my head resting on my arms. I’d been hoping for this all day. Neiam tapped the inside of my legs, and I spread them wider.

“Comfortable?”

I wiggled, tested my stance. “Yes, Neiam.”

“Good,” he said as he rubbed his hands across my buttocks.

He moved away, and I pretended not to listen to what he was doing. Neiam knew he couldn’t stop me from listening, and he would never block my ears. He did once. I asked him to. I nearly broke his nose that time.

Rustling of clothes sounded behind me, slow and torturous as he was no doubt folding them neatly and carefully before placing them on the only chair in the room. One table, one chair, one chest of drawers—locked—and a pile of cushions from bedrooms that went unused.

Neiam loved making me wait as much as I hated it. Even if it only made me want it more. When he was finally done, he moved behind me, sliding his hands down my buttocks, my thighs—making me shiver—and up again.

“You are gorgeous, pet, simply gorgeous.”

He always said that before he made me look even more gorgeous, with my buttocks all red and hot to the touch. I couldn’t wait.

The first hit nearly made me jump, and I gasped, secretly applauding him. It was difficult to surprise me, with my hearing being what it was. He must have put the paddle on the chair before he brought me here. No needless trip to the locked chest of drawers. Even as I enjoyed the sting, I couldn’t help but listen for the tell-tale sounds of the next hit coming, and the next. I didn’t want to, tried not to, but it was too quiet for me not to hear.

After the first ten, I slowly found myself focusing on my buttocks, found myself drowning out all the sounds I otherwise couldn’t let go of. I moaned and gasped at every slap, enjoying the stinging as I let it all sink into me—anticipation, pain, pleasure, Neiam. It hurt so good.

By the time he stopped, I was panting—drooling and snivelling onto my arms—and I was so hard it was painful. The light touch of his hands on my buttocks made me sigh and I forgot he told me to keep still and pushed into his touch. A resounding slap made me cry out and stopped me moving. I wanted more.

“Red looks so good on you, pet.”

It was the only red I ever wore.

He spread my buttocks with his fingers and ran his tongue across my opening. It had to be his tongue; it was too wet for his thumb. He did it again and I moaned, trying hard not to move, not to urge him on. My legs trembled as he breached me; my whole body did. I trembled and gasped, but I stayed still as he fucked me with his tongue and brought me closer and closer.

“Neiam. Please!” It was almost too much.

Neiam moved away, chuckling as he rose. I heard him open a jar and soon his cock, wet and slippery, pressed against my opening. He went slow, too slow, but every time I tried to hurry him along by moving back against him, he’d pause and slap me.

“Please, Neiam.”

He traced his hands across my back, but didn’t speed up. If anything he went even slower, until he was finally fully seated. I bit my lip and kept still.

He pulled back, just a little, only to slam back in hard. He never pulled out completely; short, hard stabs were all I got, his groin pushing into my heated buttocks with every movement, course hair scratching. It should have irritated, should have distracted, but it only made me want more. More and harder and faster.

My whole body was on fire, trembling and straining. I moaned continuously it seemed, was keening even. I was close, so close, and for a moment I thought he expected me to come from this alone. I could; I knew I could.

Neiam’s hand on my cock came as a surprise, and I came instantly.

Panting, gasping for breath, I stretched my arms out, grabbing the edge of the table as he kept fucking me through my orgasm, barely losing his rhythm. Not until he pushed in one final time, shuddered, and grunted his release.

Lowering himself on top of me, he whispered, “So gorgeous.” His voice was hoarse. “My pet, my Oleg.”

The loud rapping echoing through the hall couldn’t have come at a worse time.

*~*~*~*

Neiam stood behind my chair, his hands resting on the back of it. I leaned back to trap them there, to keep him from deserting me, and to try and keep from squirming—sitting down so soon after had not been on my agenda. Father sat opposite us, no doubt looking severe, not to mention irritated after having to wait for us. For me.

Neiam had hustled me into my bedroom and straight through to the shower before letting Father in—after dressing himself, of course. Unlike mine, his clothes had still been in the ballroom. Not that we knew it was Father knocking on the door—an unpleasant surprise, that. And today of all days—on the celebration of Saint Valentine, the patron saint of lovers—the day Neiam promised would be our day.

After escorting Father into the drawing room and making up some excuse for why I was in my rooms at this hour, Neiam had come to help me dress, make me presentable, and hand me my cane. As much as I loved having my cane back, it only reminded me of what Father interrupted.

I sipped the tea Neiam had handed me and waited for Father to state the reason for this visit. His silence made me nervous. Had six weeks passed already? He had told me he would call on us—me—after a month, month and a half, but I hadn’t expected him to actually visit us—me—himself. I’d expected him to send a courier to inform me my stay would be prolonged indefinitely.

When he first told me I was to live here, I had been livid, screaming and stomping like the boy I had outgrown, not that that had helped me. Now, I sincerely hoped to be allowed to stay here, with Neiam. I resisted the urge to reach back and touch him.

Father arriving himself made no sense to me.

“Gyra is worried about you, Oleg.”

Mother—but not Father. Of course Mother would worry, though not enough to keep me at home. The sightless, the useless, the abomination. I’ve heard all the terms they called me behind my back, and to my face at times. Never Mother, though. Mother would just hug me and sigh. Sometimes I thought that was worse. My youngest sister, Silke, was the only one who spoke to me as to a sibling. I missed her… and maybe Mother.

“I am fine, Father. You were right. This house is very suited to me.”

An old, stately home with plenty of rooms, all on the ground floor level. He was right that the lack of stairs would make my life easier. It was ridiculously big for two people to live in, but l liked the maze of corridors and rooms, and it had been empty since before I was born.

It was also well-suited to keep me out of the way, to keep me isolated from society. It beat being sent to my room when visitors came calling, of course. And as much as I hated the reason, I loved the freedom it gave Neiam and me. I bit my lip as I remembered our conduct earlier. This was not the time.

“Of course I was right, boy.” The ‘do not doubt me’, though unspoken, came through loud and clear. That was Father, our ruler. “Are you certain you don’t need an extra hand, Neiam? I can easily spare Kuress.”

“Thank you, Master Baruq, but no. This house is not too big for me to keep up, and I hired a boy to take care of the grounds and the horses, as you suggested.”

“Yes, I saw the horses outside. They seemed in perfect health, but I’d like to meet this boy. See for myself how capable he is.”

“Of course, Master. I can take you there before you leave.”

“Good, good. Now, please leave us. Oleg and I have business to discuss.”

Business, that would have been good. More like he would give me a lecture of some kind, more talk of his goodwill towards me, a reminder to be glad they hadn’t decided to drown me at birth. Not that he ever used those words, exactly, but the implication laced his every word to me. I leaned back against Neiam’s hands, but Neiam was quicker and moved away from my chair. I didn’t want him to leave me alone.

“Very well, Master,” came Neiam’s voice from the doorway. “If you’d please call on me in the study when you’re ready, I can take you to visit the groundskeeper.”

I didn’t need my eyes to know that Neiam was bowing to Father, and to me as well, but I’d let that slip.

“How are your lessons coming along?”

My lessons. No study hall would accept me, so Father had hired Neiam to tutor me in all things an aristocratic boy like me should learn, even though I would never be allowed out in society. Neiam was my tutor, my carer, my cook, my steward, and I was his master. The irony of that always made me giggle. “Coming along fine, Father.” I bit my lip thinking about Neiam’s reward system for doing well on my lessons, and it wasn’t the chance to learn his language that I was thinking of. Neiam was very inventive about punishments as well. Not to mention keeping a strict schedule. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Living with Neiam was all about schedules, and finding ways to get him to break them.

“I will check with Neiam later. Now, on the matter of business. Six weeks have passed, Oleg, and it is time to make a decision.”

His decision, of course, not mine. I stayed silent and waited for him to continue.

“Gyra, your siblings, and I have spent many hours debating your future, and we believe it best if you stay here.”

“As you wish, Father.” I made sure to sound more resigned than elated. I even bowed my head for effect. To think that six weeks ago I had screamed at the thought. But not anymore, not when going back would mean the end of what Neiam and I now shared. Not when it meant the end of my freedom.

“It is best. You are safe here.”

I wondered if I could pretend he meant it, if I could forget he meant it saved them from the ridicule of having a defective son.

Did it matter?

*~*~*~*

I sat cross-legged on a large cushion on the floor, my head resting against Neiam’s thigh as he fed me a piece of fruit. Pineapple. I loved pineapple. I ran my tongue along his fingers, licking up excess juice. Neiam chuckled, a deep resonating sound that settled deep within me.

He tapped my cheek when he pulled his fingers away. “Eat now, play later.”

I bit down on the piece of pineapple, enjoying the acidic sweetness. One by one, Neiam fed me pieces of fruit from the bowl in his lap, eating some himself as well, until he pronounced the bowl empty. He leaned forward, and I heard him set the bowl on the table before sitting back and running his hand through my curls. Shivers crawled up my spine at his touch. Neiam loved my curls.

“Master Baruq seemed pleased when I showed him the grounds. He hadn’t expected Yort to be that young, but he was impressed with his knowledge and work ethic.”

That sounded exactly like Father. I didn’t like Neiam bringing him up now. He hadn’t allowed me to broach the subject earlier, to tell him of my conversation with Father. He’d said I needed some focus first. He was right, of course, but now that I was focused, Father was the last thing I wanted to talk about.

With a sigh, Neiam stilled his hand. “I’m sorry he ruined your day, pet.”

I shook my head. “Our day.”

“Yes. Our day.”

I could hear the smile in Neiam’s voice. It made me smile, too.

“He’s letting me stay here,” I told him. My choice of words made Father sound positively generous, but I refused to let the reason for his decision ruin this day any more.

“I didn’t expect otherwise.”

Nor had I, not really.

“He’s determined about Kuress joining the household.”

I sighed. “Could you convince him not to?”

“This time. But I have no doubt he’ll try again next time. He feels this house is too large for one person to keep it up. He doesn’t want my duties to you to suffer.”

I laughed. “If only he knew his own flesh and blood cleaned this house.”

We shared the duties, Neiam and I. Whether as a lesson in self-sufficiency or as a punishment, I did what he told me to, like a good boy should. Though I hated it and grumbled often and loudly, Neiam’s rewards were more than worth the hard work he made me do. Even if he would never allow me to cook or cut vegetables.

But enough of Father, enough distractions. “Tell me a story.”

It was easy to forget everything around me once he started talking in that sing-song rhythm, once his dulcet tones washed over me, drowning out everything but Neiam.

He pulled on a curl, and I rose, letting him pull me down into his lap, my naked back against his clothed chest, my legs spread on either side of his, hanging off the sofa, feet not quite touching the floor. He grabbed my hands and moved them behind his neck. I laced them together and rested my head on his shoulder.

“No words, pet,” Neiam said as he ran his hands up and down my sides. “And no coming until I say so.”

I groaned, knowing it would be a while before he’d let me, and that he would tease me to hell and back in the meantime. And we would both love every minute of it.

 

The Storyteller © 2012 Blaine D. Arden. All rights reserved

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