LION’s FIGHT

ONE: STANDING AT THE FIREPLACE
It was yet another bitter cold winter evening. Ice on the roads, snow in the fields, and a chilly wind blowing. But the fireplace in her mansion in town was lit, making the whole room warm and glowing. She stood before the fireplace, her legs apart, arms folded across her chest. Wearing a white buttoned blouse, tight black skirt down to her knees, shiny black high heels. She was aware both men were sneaking glances at her, at her body, and she could hardly suppress a smile. In many ways these two men were so different, yet they both couldn't help themselves and simply had to look, clumsily averting their eyes every time she met their stares.
She looked at Severin, her slave from the castle. Shy as he always was early on. Not yet comfortable, not yet sure of what might happen, cautious and guarded. But wanting her so much at the same time. Devoted, proud to be hers, willing to prove it. And aware that nothing was ever to be taken for granted. Still in good shape, given his age, but of course he was not a young man anymore. So like an old lion he could only expect to be challenged, ever more often. And he would take up each challenge, again and again, until he would no longer be able to.
She looked at the other male. B was in his thirties, with a handsome face and a seemingly good masculine body. Pleasant to look at, yet at this point it was very much unclear if he understood the task that lay before him. She had told both men that there was to be a contest, with various rounds for each of them to win, for her to judge. There even was a standing blackboard to keep the scores, next to the fireplace. She loved the thought of them writing down with chalk the point they had just lost to the other. When she had told B he had readily accepted, without asking too many questions, almost unworried. And upon meeting Severin his confidence was boosted visibly. Even though he had no clear idea of what the contest would demand of him he could not imagine it was possible at all he would be beaten by a man twenty years older.
Severin's reaction to the announcement of the contest had been entirely different. Unlike B he didn't show surprise at first, and unlike B he did not seem without worry next. He knew it was to be expected and that she was only exercising her rights. Very much like she should and very much like he wanted her to. She had always been good to him, never unreasonably cruel, never unfair without a smile. But only the best would ever be good enough for her. And as much as he wanted to be that best forever, he knew he would have to defend his position so close to her, and someday a challenger might come to take it. That day he would want to die for her, and he would ask her permission for that. All this was there to see in his eyes, when she told him about the young male who would visit. He understood, smiled at her, once again pleaded she would test him to the full, and felt his love for her like a young boy.

TWO: LAYING DOWN THE RULES
There are no rules, she said, as you will remember for sure. She noticed B frowning, just for a second. Severin did not move at all. She had told B this before, fifteen minutes after he had approached her at the party and had started to talk to her, ten minutes before she had accepted a drink, five minutes before she had brought up the subject of the contest. She had not told Severin there would not be rules before.
She spoke again. The only thing that really matters, she said, is that both of you give me a perfect opportunity to judge which one of you is best. She smiled at B, encouraging him to listen well and not speak. There will be various rounds, she said, and each time there will be a point at stake, if you win it, the other will write it to the winner's name on the blackboard, that is not a rule but that is how it will be. She smiled at B again and continued: See? It's not complicated. Just win or lose. B looked at her, his eyes narrowed. He had not been giving this a very serious thought before. Now it was time to deliver and for the first time he felt a sense of doubt.
What if, B started to ask. He looked at Severin, who did not look back. He looked at her, she gave him yet another smile. He felt encouraged. What if, he asked, what if there is something that one of us prefers not to do? Her smile froze. And B quickly understood. That won't happen of course, he said. The silence made him nervous. So he continued: I assume that this one will lose all, and will be dismissed. She put her arms down, tilted her head. She noticed Severin's nostrils moving. Her old slave, so deeply in love with her. For just an instance she felt sorry for everything that she would be putting him through, again. As if she wanted him to lie down in front of the fireplace, curled up, and sleep with her watching over him. For just an instance. Then she turned to B and said: Let's not stand around talking when there is work to be done.

THREE: STANDING PROUD
She summoned B to come stand close to her. He approached, his eyes meeting hers. Lower your eyes, she said and he did as she asked. It seems, she said, you are an attractive and well-built male. When he looked up to her she immediately told him to lower his eyes again. He did, happy to oblige, happy to hear her comment on him favourably. But I need to be sure, she said, I need to know what you look like underneath your clothes. This time he did not look up. She touched his face with her right hand. Take off your shoes, and socks, she said. She watched him doing it, down in front of her. A few steps away Severin stood watching them. Waiting for what was now inevitable.
B stood up again. His eyes lowered. She touched his face again. So you want me? she asked. There was no mocking in her voice. B nodded, not raising his head. Slowly, very slowly, she started to unbutton his shirt. One by one, taking her time, baring his chest as he was not wearing anything underneath the shirt. When the shirt fell open, she ran a hand over his belly and chest. Take the shirt off, she whispered. He showed her a strong and beautiful upper body, not too muscular, but with broad shoulders, masculine chest and a very flat belly, smooth with just a little hair right in the middle of his chest. She looked on in appreciation and once again ran a hand over his now naked skin. Turn around and let Severin see, she said.
With B now facing Severin, he looked up and straight into Severin's face. There was no ill feeling showing, either way. Competitors. And B knew he was at his best here, making the most out of a good thing. From behind him her hands were now on his chest and belly. A fingertip on one of his nipples, another circling his bellybutton. He was getting very excited, and his face turned away from Severin. Then her left hand crouched down, her fingers loosening his belt, unzipping him. As his trousers fell down she held his hips and said: Step out of them. He did not respond immediately. So she said: Do as I say.
Severin forced himself to look and keep looking as he knew she would not approve of it if he would look away, the easy way out. This beautiful male, much younger than he was, with a nearly perfect body was in full view in front of him. Wearing just his black briefs, disguising little of his obvious excitement, and with her pressing herself against the almost naked man from behind. So he saw her fingers exploring his belly and thighs, running over the fabric of the tight briefs, and finally taking the elastic band on both sides and start to move down his underwear. So he saw the last covered bits of flesh and skin being uncovered. So he saw the penis being freed, large, thick and hard, pointing up, almost against the belly. So he saw the scrotum, tight around the balls, saw her hands take hold of the large shaft, then grab the testicles and squeeze them. Saw her fingers discover and tighten. Saw her hand moving skin. Saw B gasping for air, about to lose control.
She saw the hurt in Severin's eyes. Pure hurt. When their eyes met, Severin saw there was more to come. Even though she let go of B's body and even took a step away. This is a great male body, she said. B tried to keep standing upright. Severin looked at him, painfully aware of the passing of time, the inevitability of decline, the need to see, understand and accept. And he knew she was now helping him. Helping him feel, feel the pain and feel the deep humiliation when she said: Severin, the point is made. She was not saving him from humiliation. But from further humiliation. And he watched her gliding her hands over B's belly again, watched B’s penis respond like a young man’s would, and heard her say to B: You won this one, I have seen enough, you have won so easily, Severin is now going to walk towards the blackboard and put a first mark after your name.

FOUR: FACING THE TRUTH
B's face was beaming. He did not seem to mind his nudity, did not even seem to notice he was the only one undressed in the room. He was all confidence now, just a few more tests to go. And he felt all he had to do now was not make a mistake, find the right answer to any question, act the way she was expecting him to. More difficult to lose this contest than to win it. All in his own hands.
She still was standing next to him. Smiling, seemingly sharing in his feeling of triumph. Happy for him. For an instant her right index finger ran along the side of his face. Like a feather. Then she took a small step back and suddenly, violently slapped his cheek, the smile not leaving her face. His head twitched to the side, as if he had been struck with a hammer. His mouth fell open. There was part disbelief, part anger. For a short while, then he reasserted himself. Looked her in the eyes. And when she asked if he had liked it, he quickly said yes. Her smile had gone now. So, she asked, you like it and you want me to continue, do it again? His eyes narrowed, looking into hers. Yes, he said, yes I would like you to continue. She nodded her head, twice.
To his surprise she now walked over to Severin. Immediately slapped his face, hard, harder than she had slapped B. There was only a slight movement of his head. He looked down, not into her eyes. And she slapped his face again, from the other side. Tell me Severin, she said, did you like that? He briefly looked up, looking for her, looking for her love. No, he said. She smiled and he saw her face, before he looked down again. So, she said, you did not like this. She looked back at B, to make sure he was aware of everything that was happening and everything that was being said. He was paying attention. And she asked Severin: Do you want me to continue? This time he did not look up to give his answer: If you want it, then yes, I want you to continue.
She kissed Severin on the mouth, like she had done when they had first met, years ago, when it taken him by complete surprise. Like then, his heart jumped with joy. And an acute sadness shot through his whole body once more. Sad and happy at the same time. He saw she had tasted that in their kiss.
Too many mistakes, she said to B and made it a draw on the blackboard herself. B looked puzzled. Very puzzled. Opened his mouth to ask a question but then thought better of it.

FIVE: MAKING CHOICES
She stood close to B, very close, as if to comfort him. Do not underestimate the old fox, she whispered in his ear, I like you, but you need to win, you really have to win in order to be chosen. Again she ran her finger very lightly along his face, before taking a few steps away from him. Now, she said, let us have a look at Severin, we have not seen much of him yet but now we will. And looking at Severin: Won't we, Severin?
For once, there was a little hesitation before Severin acknowledged her words. She chuckled, could not help laughing. He still had to overcome his prudishness, each and every time, he would never feel comfortable in a situation like this. She knew he would feel awful and desperately unpleasant if she would ask him to take off his clothes now, he would dread the inevitable comparison to his competitor's body, feel the other's unfair advantage and the acute embarrassment of being watched. She felt only softness and warmth for him now, her Severin, who had been by her side for so long.
Undress, she said. But when he started to bend and reach for his shoes, she interrupted him. Don't do it there, she said, but here. And she pointed to a spot directly in front of where B, naked B, was standing. Come over and undress right here, she said, right in front of our new friend. Severin's reluctance was clear to her, went unnoticed by B who instead frowned and looked at her as if he expected an explanation. So Severin positioned himself in front of B. And began to take off his shoes. Socks. Shirt. Pants. Waited, looked at her, seeking help for just a second. T-shirt. Paused once more, this time not looking at her but just catching his breath.
B and Severin looked into each other's eyes, uncomfortably close. And then they heard her say: Make your choice now, both of you, show me you both think of me and not yourselves. Again B frowned, trying to understand, trying to read from her and Severin's faces what was expected of him. Finally, after a long minute of silence and no action, Severin put his fingers on the elastic band of his underpants and slowly took them down. Stepped out of them, and stood straight. And said to B: We made the wrong choice.

SIX: NOT LOOKING AWAY
Black and yellow, curled up, like a poisonous snake waiting to strike. The whip laying on the small table next to the fire place, the flames lighting and warming it.
Severin stood facing the wall, his hands leaning against it, his legs spread. She walked over to him, whispered his name, watched his whole body respond to her voice. She then walked past B, picked up the whip from the table and walked back, stood behind Severin. Looking over her shoulder she said to B: I want you to watch carefully, do not miss a thing, and do not look away even for a second. She saw he was no longer aroused.
The snake whip, her favourite, but rarely used. He remembered the first time she brought it into a room with her. It had startled him, not scared him but startled him. Vicious and beautiful. Its use was never punishment, always a privilege. He wanted to hear her voice again, smell her, be allowed to touch her skin, make her feel loved and cared for. But as always, first she needed to get ready for that. As the lashes cut into his skin, then through it, he needed all his strength to keep back the tears. Make her proud, not shout or cry, try not to disappoint, be brave for her. In the end his moaning was all that could be heard, the black and yellow snake on the floor, her whispering voice close to his ear. In appreciation and even a little worried.
Turning to B she said: I was surprised to see you look away a few times. And continued, while attending to her blouse and skirt: But now it is time for your own ordeal, I think being part of the action suits you better than being a spectator. She could see him tremble, fear in his eyes, doubt in his mind. His eyes were fixed on the whip, lying on the floor. He slowly shook his head, once, twice. She raised her right eyebrow. Asked him: Having second thoughts? There was no answer, only a shudder. Good, she said, then let’s proceed.
Turn around Severin, she said, it is your turn to watch and not look away. His breathing still heavy, he turned around and sat on his knees. She picked up the whip from the floor and walked over to B. Don’t be afraid, she said, you will be able to stand it, I am sure of that. Please, he said. Then again: please. And: I can’t. She smiled reassuringly. I know, she said. She hung the whip around her neck and walked around him. Stopped behind him, reached between his legs. I know you can’t, she said, not yet. From behind her hand cupped his balls, softly, caressing, then running her fingers over the length of his once again hardening penis. She touched him like a lover would. Severin watched her, them, the sight stinging him as much as the snake whip had done.
Then, she let go of B. Stood in front of him once more and started talking to him. You are a good specimen, a very good and promising one. You did not win though. Maybe I am a bit sorry you did not win, but that is how it is. I will keep the old one, for now. As for you, do come back and try again, think about what happened and then come back and try again. Now, get dressed and leave please.

FINAL: KEEPING IT
She watched Severin lying on the floor, panting, his breath heaving. She saw his wounded body. One day, she said, you might not win. He looked up at her. She heard a soft, short sigh. I know, he said, I know that will happen. For a moment he closed his eyes. She knew he was tired, not like the fox, but like the old lion after another fight. He opened his eyes again. Do not worry please, he said, one day it will happen but I will love you as much after that. His eyes were searching for permission. Permission to try to get some rest, maybe even some sleep. She was moved. I want to keep you, she said and there was a soft tremble in her voice, I wish I could keep you forever. And she saw the tear in his eye when he said: It will be forever, but please always have only the best.

TABLE

FIRST DAY

This is the tower room. With its rounded walls and single, small window covered by an ancient curtain it is almost austere, a place where nothing distracts from the essentials and where just a few candles provide a weak, flickering light. Here you feel far away from everything else: it is a long climb up the stairs, and when you shut the heavy wooden door you shut out the passing of time.

It has a wooden chest in a corner. A single chair, made of heavy oak wood, with a black pillow on it. And a low table right in the middle of the room, made of a lighter wood, but with massive legs making it appear unmovable. The floor is covered with dark grey tiles, irregular in shape, some much larger than others. It is easy to believe nothing in this room has changed in five hundred years.

In contrast, she is dressed as sharp as can be. Highest heels, short black skirt, white blouse buttoned up. Resting in the chair, seemingly serene and calm, just sipping a drink, one leg over the other. Putting the glass down. Checking her nails. Picking the glass up again. Sipping. Putting the glass down. Like it could go on endlessly.

He is on the table. His eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He is nervous, very obviously. Because he is on all fours, in just his briefs. And because she is watching him like this, quietly, from her chair, not speaking, not giving him anything but silent attention. There is no way for him to hide his shyness, nor is there a way for him to hide himself. She likes this arrangement.

The twin inside him is evil. One makes him shun closeness, the other makes him hate distance. This distance, the distance from where he is exposed to where she watches. It makes him long for her touch, any touch. It makes him want to curl up against her, hiding his face. It is all here now. Nervousness. Shyness. Shame. Humiliation. Longing. Wanting this to end, wanting this to go on forever. Wanting her to do this: expose his evil twin.

When she finally walks up to him he cannot resist turning his head towards her. Immediately she slaps him, in the face, not too hard but hard to enough to make it felt. It is a warning. No more, just a warning. But he will not have to be warned again. He knows now. She walks around him, ever so slowly. He faces the wall, his eyes open, trying not to move. He wants to be still for her.

His breath freezes when he feels her fingers on him. Calmly and steadily she uncovers him, pulling his underwear down in one slow gesture. He can feel it moving over his hips, then his thighs till it rests where his knees are resting on the table. He can feel her nails and fingertips guiding it down. Trailing his skin. He cannot help but shiver. And again, and again, when she runs her fingers back up, lightly like feathers tickling him. Now, finally, she starts to speak to him.

‘Stay like this,’ she says, ‘do not move. Try not to, I want you to be as still as you can be.’ She moves away from him, goes back to her chair. He can see it even though he does not turn his head. She sits again, sipping her drink. Making a sound to notify him she is enjoying herself, and enjoying her drink. In this room time will always pass slowly. He will be taken to new shores here.

She waits for him to lose his sense of time. Nothing is happening that he can see. Except the unsteady candle light chasing the shadows on the walls. Nothing that he can hear is happening. Except the soft sounds she makes, very much intentionally, sipping her drink and putting down her glass. It is impossible not to move at all, so he shifts his weight now and then, barely noticeable. He knows she notices. But it seems she grants him this.

Later she will ask him how long it took for her to stand up the second time and stand behind him once again. Half an hour, will be his guess. Smilingly she will tell him it was ten minutes and no more than that. Before telling him that clearly there is room for improvement, if he is to impress her.

This time he closes his eyes and a shudder goes through his body, the moment her fingers touch him. She holds him from where she stands, her fingers on his hips, her thumbs on his behind. ‘Spread your legs some more,’ she says, just like that. And when he obeys by putting his knees apart a little further, she caresses his skin, her fingertips making small circles on the naked flesh of his behind, then down to the back and inside of his thighs. There she digs in her nails, like a predator’s claws in a prey.

He knows this pain. Yet it surprises him every time it happens. It is sharp, shocking, deep into soft and defenseless flesh, piercing the delicate skin, opening it up. His mouth opens, as if he wants to speak, but it is only to take in air, gasping. Her fingers retreat, softly circling, being kind and loving, all along his legs, down then up again. Thighs, hips, buttocks. Resting there just moving her thumbs. ‘Take it easy,’ she whispers. Because yes, he is so very uneasy now.

She leans over, resting against him. Her hands glide over his hipbones to his lower belly and while her body presses against his bare behind, she softly speaks to him: ‘You will have to get used to this, my lover. Please try to be comfortable if you can.’ But he cannot do what she asks. He is moving, panting, breathing heavily. He tries to compose himself but he fails. He feels tears coming to his eyes without understanding why.

SECOND DAY

He can still feel stiffness in his arm muscles and shoulders, and soreness in his knees, from the first time, some days ago now, when she made him sit like this. But he has taken up his position on the low table again – on hands and knees. This will be a starting point for them, here in this room, and he will not only have to get used to it, he must learn to hold this position in a natural way, unasked, and be proud of it. He must satisfy her, and feel his heart beat wildly with joy upon seeing her satisfaction.

A few days ago she had pulled down his underwear. This time she has told him to remove it altogether, and do it himself, push it along his lower legs and then feet. Drop it to the floor while she is watching him. He did it of course, ashamed but without questioning. Taking up his position again as quick as he could, shielding himself from her gaze.

There is no caressing this time. No smiles, no whispering. She moves around him, unhurriedly but examining. Touching him, feeling him, as an owner probing property. Laced up black boots. Black leather skirt. Purple bra. Black gloves up to her elbows. Hair loose. Wild as hell, wild as a fury, oozing danger. Hand resting on the inside of a thigh. Pushing him. Waiting for him to respond, parting his knees. Then some more when her hand insists. And some more.

He looks surprised, even though he has known it would have to happen sometime. Her face shows no pity, no sign of wanting to side with him, when she fastens the black leather straps first around his wrists, then his ankles, then all of them with a short strap to the four legs of the table. ‘This will be easier,’ she states, matter-of-factly. This is all he will be granted. She is on a road where they cannot stop, and she cannot be diverted.

He can still move around a little bit, can still wrestle against the bonds, but he is secured to the table now. Being bound scares him, yet he understands, deep down inside, this is for the better. If he learns how to trust the bonds, he will lose his fear of them. Like there are so many fears to lose, so many new things to learn. Life is beginning anew.

She walks past him, pausing to run a finger through his hair. Then she steps away from him, walks to her chair and seats herself, crossing her legs, leaning slightly forward. Watches him bound to the table, watches him wait anxiously, afraid of his fate but eager to please her and do it all. ‘Now then,’ she whispers, ‘come over here.’

THIRD DAY

The day after the second day she takes him to the tower room once again. Makes him take his position on the low table, fully naked, on his hands and knees. And fastens him to the legs of the table again, just like the day before,

The training whip is between his teeth. He knows what is going to happen next, or at least part of what is going to happen. She will stand in front of him, give him a long quizzing look. See his determination. His love, and yes, his uncontrollable desire to be whipped by her. She knows how much he wants this, and she will give him much more than he might have begged for.

He can hardly contain himself when he sees her taking the whip into her hands. He is shaking, his body trembles all over, but still he manages to present himself. ‘Stick out your behind,’ she says, her voice strangely steady, ‘stick it out to make it easier for me.’ He does so, like an obedient animal, like a pet begging for food. Only this is not about food.

She strikes him. Hard, with swift blows, across the skin of his behind. Soon dark red stripes appear on the pale flesh. Moaning and sighing, unable to suppress sounds, he tries to moves away from where the blows come. Each time she waits, just long enough for him to offer himself again properly, then she delivers the next blow. But he moves around more and longer each time the whip strikes him. He cannot help it, and she knows he can’t.

His skin is breaking under the whipping. Red welts are everywhere, and trickles of blood appear from some. She is not holding back now, and he cries out every time the leather bites into his inner thighs. ‘Please,’ he moans, but he does not ask her to stop then. He is sweating, breathing heavily, and shaking all over. When she stops and stands next to him he tries to speak but he can’t. She puts the training whip on his back.

She strokes his hair. ‘Do you think that was cruel?’ she asks. He nods his head, just once, but of course it is not what he wanted to say. She raises an eyebrow. ‘Well?’ And pulls his head back. He will have to answer, will have to speak. So he catches his breath, straightening his arms, his back, his legs. ‘No,’ he says, ’I do not think so.’

‘Good,’ she says. She dangles two thin leather straps in front of his eyes. He averts his eyes, knowing what shame will come upon him. ‘Because we are not done yet,’ she continues. His heart and mind race, his blood pumping hard through his veins, all his senses alert, part of him wanting to end this madness, part of him wanting to surrender completely.

Her gloved hands reach between his legs, reach out to where he is so very vulnerable now. One hand holding a testicle between thumb and index finger, the other hand fastening the strap, both hands then tightening the strap. Then again, the same, the other testicle. She pulls the straps tighter when he starts to make soft sounds, tighter till the colour of him, there, changes to a deep red and purple, and the skin is stretched so much that the veins show through it.

He feels her picking up the training whip from his back. In fear he closes his eyes and bites his lips. But nothing happens. Opening his eyes he realizes she has put the whip aside, and she is not going to use it on him, there, not this time at least. She is squatting beside him, her face close to his. He looks at her, unable to move towards her so that only his eyes reach out. But she resists him. ‘In time,’ she says, ‘you will learn so many new things.’

She gets up. Takes off her skirt. He chokes. She is there in only her bra, her boots and her gloves, all power and all glorious beauty. He would literally die for her, he knows he would and he feels she knows he would. This is the most beautiful sight in his lifetime. Nothing can compare to this. It is beyond desire, it is an image from another existence. Now she can do all she would ever want.

He can see her putting on a belt. Measured movements, sure, unfailing. The belt, of black leather, across her hips, fastened in front. The belt, with a thick black end protruding, pointing at him, at his face. She then looks at him. ‘Open your mouth,’ she says, in a soft voice. Smiles when he does. Smiles when she enters.