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Lomic wrinkled his nose as the wild knot of young dwarves raced through the stable, whooping and hollering and swiping at each other with toy weapons and shields.
“Ack! Be careful, all of you!” he blustered, waving the oil rag he kept on his belt to keep his hands clean with his dirty work. “Mind Talc now!
The younglings, of course, didn’t pay him any mind. They were too caught up in their imaginary games, wooden swords clattering as they whooped and jeered.
In his stall, Talc, Lomic’s elf slave, barely batted an eye at the commotion, so used to how rowdy young dwarves could be at this point.
With a spat curse, Lomic switched his rag for a wrench, banging on the side of the wooden stall and sending the young dwarves scattering with squeals of laughter. Lomic rolled his eyes, wiping a bit of sweat from his face and turning back to his work with Talc.
“They never learn, do they,” he muttered, more to himself since Talc couldn’t respond.
The elf was bent over in his sleeping stand, legs strapped down and bent over at the waist to make his head more accessible. His long pointed ears trembled and twitched, pierced so many times over the years that the rings nearly weighed them down at this point. His arms were bent behind his back, forearms parallel and hands gripping the opposite elbow and bound in place with tough leather.
He was lean and fit from his diet of grains and legumes and the tough farm labor he helped with over the years. His long white hair was tied up into intricate dwarf braids, and his usually pale skin had tanned over the years as well, leaving him darker than a typical elf.
A bit gag pushed at the corners of his mouth, the harness fastened around his head keeping him from looking around too much. Usually, a stout cage of dwarven steel held his cock as well but at the moment, Lomic had removed it for Talc’s evening grooming.
A metal channel had been installed in the bench for such a purpose, giving a spot for Talc’s cock to be pulled back between his thighs for better access. His balls, fat and overstuffed with cum, hung temptingly on either side of it.
“Hm? Talc?” Lomic said, stepping around to the front of the elf’s head and starting to undo the ties that kept the elf’s hair up and out of his face. “I’ll bet you’ve seen enough younglings to last you a lifetime.”
Talc had been in Lomic’s family for generations, the proud story of his capture by Lomic’s great great great great great grandfather a well-known fireside story that was also passed down from parent to child.
Talc had been a casualty in a border skirmish, abandoned by his party after an arrow left him wounded in one leg and unable to keep up with their speed, at least, that was how Lomic’s great great great great great grandfather had told the story. Grandpappy had rescued the poor thing, nursed him back to health, and then trained in the ways of farming rather than battle.
Talc wrinkled his nose as his hair was let down, the long bangs greasy and under-washed. He was scrubbed down each night, but full baths with soap and warm water was a limited luxury.
It was one of the many cultural adjustments he had made during his new life.
Lomic collected the brushes and combs he would need to detangle all the knots in Talc’s hair before moving behind him.
The muscles in his ass tensed, dimpling his fat cheeks on either side with the knowledge that Lomic was now studying that intimate part of him.
Lomic clicked his tongue, pressing a firm thumb to the fat head of Talc’s cock. Any time he wasn’t caged, the elf was hard. Lomic’s grandpappy had only let him cum once during his lifetime, and the tradition had been set in stone from there.
A dwarvish lifespan was nothing to sneeze at either, but it still paled in comparison to the hundreds of thousands of years that an elf could live. For each generation of Lomic’s family, the celebration of the elf’s orgasm was something held in high regard.
Lomic hadn’t decided when he was going to allow Talc to cum.
The elf’s cock was turgid and firm under his touch, already dribbling a steady stream of precum down the channel that it lay in. Talc’s hips shifted at the small bit of touch, rutting downwards and trying to sneak out more stimulation.
Lomic tutted and pulled his hand away.
“None of that now,” he chided.
He gripped one of Talc’s fat balls between his fingers, giving it a threatening squeeze. The firm pressure of all the unspent cum made it plump between his fingers, and Talc squirmed in discomfort, whining his apology.
“I let you out to clean you,” Lomic reminded the elf. “Not for you to get distracted.”
Talc slumped down on the table gratefully as Lomic finally released him, leaving his cock to twitch where it was.
Lomic combed out Talc’s hair, smiling to himself as the elf rumbled and groaned contentedly at the fingers scratching at his skull. It wasn’t a full washing day, so there was no soap and water. After brushing out the couple feet of hair, Lomic set to redoing up the tight dwarven braids, also smirking in satisfaction as Talc grunted at the pain as his hair was yanked and pulled into place.
The rest of his body was given a rough scrub down with pumice stone, leaving his skin red and sensitive as he shivered. Still, he was apprehensive and shy as Lomic stepped back between his hips.
Talc’s ass was well-used and broken in a hundred times over by now. A thick plug kept it constantly spread, and Lomic hooked a finger through the loop at the base now, tugging it free and appreciating the lax, gaping slump of Talc’s furl.
“You know the drill,” he said, snapping the leather strap against the palm of his hand and hissing at the zing of pain.
The crack of leather across skin made Talc yip nervously, squirming in his bonds as he tried to struggle.
“One hundred strikes,” Lomic said, widening his stance as he braced himself between Talc’s thighs.
With his free hand, he gripped one fat cheek of Talc’s ass, peeling him open and leaving his gaping hole as a prime target. And like a blacksmith standing over their anvil, Lomic brought the leather strap down in a whistling crack.
*************
“Easy, Benour, easy . There’s no need to rush it.”
Benour wanted to roll his eyes at his dad’s words. It was nearly impossible to hold himself back, not with Talc strapped down on the breeding bench, his hole glistening to oil and ready to take Benour’s cock. The elf’s own cock was tightly caged, a reminder that this coming-of-age ritual was not for his pleasure.
Growing up, Benour hadn’t spared a second thought to the wiry, often dirty body of the farm hand that plowed their fields and pulled their cart to market. Like every other young dwarf, his fascination with elf-kind started with fear after hearing bedtime stories of how they stalked the borders of the dwarven nation and turned into spiteful superiority that resulted in many pranks and teasing at Talc’s expense over the years from dowsing the elf in mud, sneaking insects into his stall, and knocking over his feeding trough to earn him a couple more strikes of the cane at bedtime.
But all of that had mellowed out over the years.
And as Benour grew, his interests had turned to more adult things as well, leaving the childish pranks in the past.
When at first, he would have never looked twice at Talc being strapped up for a long day in front of the plow, now, Benour’s eyes lingered on the way the firm leather straps bit into Talc’s thighs, the way his muscles tightened under the whip, and the way the elf’s fat ass wobbled and flexed with each plodding step.
That is all to say, Benour was more than eager when his father had announced that Benour had earned the right to use the slave for things other than pulling weeds and hauling stone.
“Now,” Benour’s dad said. “With a dwarf, you have to be more gentle. But ol’ Talc don’t mind a bit of roughness. Learn how the thrusts feel. Experiment.”
Benour gripped Talc’s hips, licking his lips at the winking hole that now flexed desperately for his cock. It pulsed outward, straining to kiss the tip of his throbbing cock, absolutely begging to be fucked and dominated.
The first soft press in had Benour groaning in appreciation, eyes fluttering closed as he took in the velvety soft flesh of Talc’s ass, the heat of his body from a hard day’s labor, and the clutch of his muscles as they milked him.
“F-fuck, Dad,” Benour gasped. “He’s so tight.”
Lomic chuckled, leaning against the wall of Talc’s stall as he let his son explore this new sensation.
“I take good care of him,” Lomic said. “And one day, that will be your responsibility, as my eldest.”
Benour was hardly listening, starting to experiment with moving and thrusting his hips forward. Each slap of his hips against Talc’s ass made the fat and muscle ripple, and the elf grunted with each stroke, rocking back and forth on the bench.
“Treat him right, and he’ll be tight and strong and will last for many, many generations,” Lomic said.
Benour was fucking Talc properly now, finding a rhythm he liked that made Talc bounce on his cock. He had never known that such pleasure could exist in the world, and he made a vow to never use his hand ever again, not when something as glorious and delicious as Talc’s ass was bound and waiting for him one room over.
The elf was panting now, moaning and shifting on the bench. The ritual was not intended for his pleasure, but it was not an unwanted side effect.
“Slow down if you feel yourself approaching too quickly,” Lomic said, raising an eyebrow as Benour’s hips stuttered and he fumbled with rhythm. “With a future partner, you want to make sure you give them enough time for their pleasure as well.”
“ Ohh, Dad!” Benour cried, throwing his head back. He didn’t have the self control of an adult, and with too many hormones flooding his body, it was inevitable that he wouldn’t last that long. “I’m-I’m-I’m cumming!”
Talc let out his own squeal as the jets of dwarf cum painted his insides, and he thrashed, knowing that his pulsing, low level of pleasure was about to be kicked aside.
Lomic stepped forward, catching Talc’s reins in a hand to still his struggling. He shushed the elf, petting the back of his neck and stroking his shoulders as Benour rode out the waves of pleasure.
Benour was breathless by the time he pulled out, having just enough presence of mind to appreciate the still-tight swell of Talc’s ass now bulging with cum, squeezing down desperately as if anxious to keep it inside.
“ F-Fuck, Dad,” Benour gasped, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Does it . . . does it feel that good every time?”
Lomic smirked.
“Aye,” he said. “Yes, it does.”
He passed Benour a thick, wooden plug that had been treated and oiled, showing him how to safely insert it into Talc’s ass to plug up the mess and keep him from dripping everywhere.
“Now,” Lomic said, bracing his hands on his hips as he leveled a stern eye down at his son. “You did Talc’s feeding and watering enough, but you’ve got new responsibilities with this, you hear?”
Benour could hardly focus, fisting his cock and trying to gauge just how long it would take before he was ready for another round.
“I’ll show you how to wash him up later,” Lomic said. “For now, he needs a good solid spanking. Grab me the wooden paddle hanging by the door.”
Benour scurried to obey, feeling more and more like an adult as Lomic shared the important responsibilities with him.
“Now, a spanking is something you can do every night if you wish,” Lomic explained, shifting into a mentor role as he showed Benour how to stand behind Talc. “Here’s where you hit for the best bruising. It's good to have a couple layers healing at any time, since it makes the whip hit harder and makes him more keen to obey.”
Benour licked his lips as Lomic finally passed him the paddle, showing him how to square up his hips and get a good stance for the most power.
“See how he tightens his muscles,” Lomic said, tracing a finger along the curved dimples in Talc’s ass. “An involuntary reaction. If you wait for him to relax, the pain spreads better.”
Talc howled at the first crack of wood across his flank, jerking against the bondage.
Benour was breathless all over again, his cock twitching in renewed interest as he realized just how much power he held over this other living being.
Oh, he could learn to like this.
“Now, we’re going to go until you feel confident,” Lomic said. “From now on, I’ll be asking you to take care of some of Talc’s maintenance.”
“Of course, Dad!” Benour said chipperly, raising the paddle to bring it down in a second hit.
He had a feeling this wouldn’t feel like a chore at all.
*************
“How does he know where to go, Da?”
Benour smiled at the question, looking down at the fuzzy head of hair belonging to the youngling perched in his lap. Rulin always liked to ride on his lap during their trips to town, placing his smaller hands over Benour’s so he could pretend that he was holding the reins instead.
Strapped to the front of the cart, Talc was plodding away.
He was dressed in his market-best which meant a soft leather hood over his entire head, with only holes for his ears to poke through. It kept him properly blind and dumb, and made him much more reliant on the tug of the reins that were clipped through the piercings in his ears.
“Ah, old Talc has walked this trail a hundred times over,” Benour said. Rulin was a bit too young to have heard the story about how his great great great great great great great grandfather had acquired the elf, but he was curious nonetheless. “He knows these forests better than you or I, I’d reckon. Why, if he got lost, old Talc would know just the way to make his way back to his stable in time for dinner.”
Rulin giggled, kicking his legs where they hung over Benour’s lap.
“Talc is silly,” he said.
The elf couldn’t hear their conversation, but his foot did catch on a stray root at that moment, making him stumble and almost fall before he caught himself.
Benour clicked his tongue, snapping his whip across Talc’s flank to add another stripe of red that criss-crossed up and down his back and over his ass and thighs.
“He is silly, isn’t he?” Benour said, setting the whip aside as Talc found his feet once again, shoulders trembling from the effort of pulling the laden cart down the dirt path.
A thick plug was buried in his ass, keeping him stuffed and full for the entire journey and now it bobbed between his cheeks, moving up and down with each step. Rulin didn’t understand that part of the elf either, much too young but still captivated by the heirloom his family owned.
“Can I give Talc a treat when we get home?” Rulin asked.
It was the first time Benour frowned.
“You’ve been giving Talc a lot of treats lately,” he said. “Do you know what your ma says about too many treats?”
Then it was Rulin’s turn to squirm guiltily.
“They spoil your supper,” he said, looking down at his feet.
“That’s exactly right,” Benour said, proud that his son knew that lesson. “Too many treats spoils Talc in the same way.”
Rulin stuffed his hands into his lap, looking very forlorn.
“I understand, Da,” he said.
Benour’s heart softened.
“How about this, lad?” he said, giving the reins a snap to encourage Talc to go just a bit faster. “When we get back--and once the cart is unloaded--I’ll show you how to use the cane on Talc’s feet, hm?”
Rulin brightened immediately.
“Yes, yes!” he said, bouncing in Benour’s lap and immediately forgetting his previous slip up.
Benour smiled, glad they had found a middle ground after all of that.
Besides, he liked to end every trip to market with a good, hard caning on Talc’s feet as a reward for the elf. It meant he got a few days of rest in the stable without having to walk around, and sore feet were the best way to make him properly appreciate the rest.
*************
Rulin frowned as he studied Talc’s trembling form.
The elf was strung between two pillars in the barn--ancient oaks that Rulin’s grandfather, Lomic had hauled back to the farm when he was in his prime. In fact, Talc had labored in front of the load alongside the dwarf, heaving the heavy wood back and unable to comprehend that it might be used against him like this.
He was up on his tiptoes, towering over the dwarves, but the barn had been built with his height in mind.
A balcony was installed halfway between floors, giving any dwarf a good position to pace in a circle as well as give them a good target of Talc’s back and chest for the bite of the whip.
Rulin paused at Talc’s front, wrapping the whip he had been using around his fist and dunking a sponge in the bucket of water sitting off to one side. He made sure it was properly soaked before wedging it on the front of a pole and extending the whole contraption out to Talc’s face.
The elf was foggy with pain, eyes unfocused, but after the soaked sponge nudged against his lips, he was coherent enough to latch on and suckle, sipping down the few needed mouthfuls of water.
Rulin knew his care of Talc was a bit different than his father’s or his father’s father’s. He was strict and stern. There wasn’t a day he let pass without marking Talc’s skin in some new way. He had yet to have any children of his own to pass down the teachings to anyway, so Rulin indulged in his own interests.
And that interest was seeing Talc squirm.
With his whip holstered, Rulin made his way down the stairs from the balcony to the first floor of the barn, taking in Talc’s slumped head and trembling limbs.
Despite it all, heavy drops of precum collected at the tip of his caged cock, the conditioning of all the generations and hundreds of years worked so deeply into his body.
Rulin reached up, collecting the swell of liquid on the tip of his finger.
“A hundred and fifty-two years,” he said.
Talc didn’t react besides his trembling, thighs shaking as he struggled to balance on his toes.
“That was when my father let you cum,” he said. “I remember the night well.”
It had been a night of celebration, like it always was when it was decided that Talc would be allowed to cum. He had been paraded through the barnyard, encouraged to dance and wave his throbbing cock around, putting on a humiliating show for all the dwarves.
Rulin’s grandfather, Lomic had gotten a good laugh out of making the elf beg, teaching him short, degrading phrases in dwarvish that the elf babbled senselessly, not understanding the degrading language he was using to describe himself or his body.
Rulin’s entire family had feasted well that night, taking turns fucking Talc and teasing him ever closer to that fateful orgasm. By the end of the night, Talc had been so exhausted and cum-drunk, that when he had been presented with the crude, homemade dummy stand that was supposed to be a stand-in for a female elf, he hadn’t even resisted.
He had crawled over to the body, carved out of wood and sewn together with pillows to form a rough humanoid shape, and slotted his cock into the rubber hole.
He had lasted two pumps.
“I honor the traditions of my family,” Rulin said. “But my father chastised me often for how often I rejected my heritage.”
Talc grunted, rutting his hips forward to try and hump his cock against Rulin’s hand.
“I will live a long, long life,” Rulin continued, tracing a line from the drooling tip of Talc’s cage to the fat balls at the base, perpetually drawn up in a half-orgasm that never came. “Longer than my father, no doubt.”
Rulin’s hand was small on Talc’s thigh, both muscled from his years of work and also the difference between their sizes. Rulin gripped the thick muscle tight, barely dimpling the skin before trailing his touch upwards.
Talc instinctively spread his legs, giving him access to the swollen, well-trained hole between them. A fat plug was nestled inside, one of the larger one’s Rulin had made himself.
He gripped the base, pulling it halfway out before fucking it back in, making Talc moaned needily.
The elf pushed back his hips, clearly trying to tempt the dwarf into giving him more.
“I am young,” Rulin said, obliging the elf and shallowly fucking it in and out of Talc’s hole. “I have many, many years ahead of me. I can push back your orgasm for as long as I want. Maybe even break tradition, and teach my children that you aren’t allowed to cum at all.”
Talc was trembling, balancing up on his toes and panting from the effort of holding himself together.
He was so well conditioned at this point that despite his mouth being ungagged, he made no effort to speak, truly reduced to just another pack animal in Rulin’s barn.
“How would you feel,” Rulin mused as if trying to bait the answer out of the elf. “Knowing that your very last orgasm happened one hundred and fifty-two years ago. Did you properly appreciate it? Or did you think you were going to get another?”
Talc didn’t respond more than his whimpers, whining when Rulin yanked the plug free, leaving him empty and dripping.
“My father fucked this pathetic hole,” Rulin said, uncoiling the whip from his side. “And his father. And his father’s father. Generations have known this cunt.”
Talc was starting to get restless without something to occupy his hole, starting to tug more on the ropes that bound his wrists and testing the give of the bondage. After decades of being plugged 24/7, being empty was now unnatural and foreign to him.
“And every time, we beat it tight again,” Rulin said.
As if to prove him right, Talc’s hole clenched down, managing to close itself to show off just how tight it would be if Rulin wanted to use it right now.
Rulin clicked his tongue, pulling his hands away and leaving Talc empty and wanting. He stepped back across the room, to where all the storage of Talc’s equipment was kept. The collection had grown over the years and years, fine leather becoming well-worn and soft to the touch after spending decades rubbing raw calluses onto Talc’s skin.
Wooden plugs that had been carved from trees felled by Rulin’s ancestors, and metal cuffs and chains that had been forged before Rulin had been even a thought considered by the universe.
Hundreds of years of his family’s dedication and ownership of Talc, now spread at Rulin’s fingers.
Rulin picked up the leather armband that Talc usually wore, adding it to a fat, metal plug that was carved with dwarven runes. It was all symbolic, messages about Talc’s inferiority and whore-ish nature, and while Rulin bucked tradition, he did like the knowledge that the elf was so thoroughly dominated and degraded with the dwarven culture.
He would labor under the hot sun, his cunt milking the runes inside of him and unknowingly searing his degradation into his very flesh.
Rulin didn’t expect Talc to fight or resist--that rebellion had been something only his great great great great great great grandfather had had to deal with--but he was still careful undoing the ropes and redressing Talc in his leathers.
The elf didn’t put up a fight, eyes flicking antsily to the range of plugs displayed on the far side of the room and more concerned with getting something back inside of himself than formatting an escape plan.
He even accepted the thick bar bit between his lips, grimacing a little at where the metal dug into the corners of the mouth, but the skin had toughened up after the years. Rulin had a suspicion that the typical soft-spot on Talc’s palette was also starting to rub raw, since the elf had been less responsive to the reins during the last few trips to town.
Rulin would have to find a solution to that next.
As it was, Talc just sighed in appreciation as Rulin worked the thick plug inside his ass, just happy to be full again. Rulin could see the way the muscle rippled, squeezing down and milking the fat length of it.
Rulin did linger on the bruises baked into Talc’s ass, the lines from the whip criss-crossing old beatings and adding stripes to Talc’s hide. As if just to taunt Rulin, Talc’s balls twitched, fat and full, and otherwise untouched where they swelled at the base of the cage.
Rulin clicked his tongue.
“You’ve drank down generations of my ancestors,” he said. “It’s time that yours learn the proper meaning of suffering as well.”
Talc didn’t react to Rulin’s words, perhaps too broken to understand what was being said.
With an extra coil of rope, Rulin wound a noose around Talc’s balls, pulling them low and making his ball sack stretch. Talc grunted at the feeling, shifting on his feet as he tried to adjust to this new sensation.
Rulin swapped his whip with a crop, something that had a bit more accuracy.
“Hm, Talc?” Rulin said, winding the reins around one fist as he prepared to pull the elf out of the barn. “How about a strike for every month you’ve lived without having your own lineage punished?”
The first strike of the crop across Talc’s balls made the elf stagger mid-step, breath hissing out from around the gag. Rulin was prepared for the yank on the reins, tightening his grip and fighting Talc’s pull and keeping him in line.
“Easy, easy,” he said. “There’s a bit of that old fight, hm boy?”
Another hit across his balls made Talc actually howl, keening from the pain and now properly trying to fight the reins that dug into the corners of his mouth.
Rulin smiled, having to grit his teeth with a grunt as he fought the elf’s strength.
Perhaps he would start his own traditions with Talc after all.
*************
Talc looked absolutely miserable trussed up the way he was in the waiting stall of the arena
He was bent at the waist, his muzzle attached to a rung in the stall with a spring-loaded clip. His arms, instead of their usual leather sheath behind his back, were bound across his stomach, and a saddle now took its place on his back instead.
Leather bands were buckled around his thighs, and his balls were pulled back into a humbler. It had a bit of give, so he could stand somewhat upright if he wasn’t bound otherwise, but the stirrups of the saddle connected with those ropes, meaning that every jab of a rider’s heels yanked painfully on his balls as well.
A fresh peeled curl of cave ginger had been stuffed up his ass to give him more of a kick as well, and it was during these games that Talc was given proper shoes to protect his feet and give him a better footing.
Talc was already sweating and breathing hard from the few rounds he had already done, but the dozens of dwarves surrounding the pen were baying for new blood.
“Alright, tough guy!” Tuthout crowed, snapping his crop against his leather riding pants before hoisting himself over the side of the pen and dropping his weight into the saddle.
Talc grunted, huffing around the reins as Tuthout yanked hard.
This wasn’t the guiding directions that Talc would get when pulling a wagon or the correction when he was in front of a plow.
This was to rile him up, sending jabbing pain through the corners and top of his mouth to make him see white and red. Tuthout’s boots hit Talc’s ribs next, and then he could pull his weight against his balls, yanking them down and making him heave upwards.
The ring of a bell echoed somewhere else in the set up, and a fresh cheer swept through the crowd and Tuthout goaded Talc on.
“On your marks!” an announcer called.
Tuthout reared back in his seat, keeping the one legal hand on Talc’s reins while bringing the crop down behind him.
The first rain of blows snapped across Talc’s ass, but a few lucky strikes managed to hit the plump, vulnerable package of his balls, making him howl as he yanked against his muzzle.
Tuthout grinned at the success, locking his thighs a bit tighter around the thrashing elf’s midsection. The game was only fun if Talc put up a proper fight after all.
The door to the stall swung open with a rattling clang, and the spring loaded hook detached from Talc’s muzzle with a snap.
He felt the pressure change, eyes going wide as he was given the sudden freedom.
Tuthout sensed the change in attitude as well, tightening his knees as Talc bolted from the stall at a dead sprint.
The crowd of dwarves all went wild.
Talc slammed down hard on one foot, pivoting in the opposite direction and making Tuthout pitch wildly in the saddle. It was his job to throw the dwarf from his back, but his efforts to throw Tuthout off balance just made the dwarf tighten the reins further, and every kick of his heels was a spike of pain through Talc’s poor, suffering balls.
Tears streamed down his face as he sprinted wildly towards the far end of the pen, Tuthout’s crop driving him faster and faster.
Tuthout gritted his teeth as he realized Talc was preparing to slam himself against the wooden fencing, heaving all his strength behind the reins to pull the elf up short. A well-aimed strike to his balls made him falter, a choked cry of pain managing to squeeze past the bit as Talc stumbled short.
He paused, sides heaving for air as he looked around wildly for his next course of action.
He didn’t get a chance to rest long as Tuthout dug in his heels, yanking Talc’s balls down and making him rear up in alarm.
Tuthout whooped, rallying the cheering of the crowd with his crop in the air, already lasting longer than the ten seconds needed to place himself at the top of the scoreboard.
Talc backpedaled, no longer able to resist his body’s urge to go in the direction of the pressure of his balls and trying to appease his way out of the pain and discomfort, foolishly thinking that if he complied with this all, it would be over quicker.
Tuthout only let him take a few steps.
“Ah, ah, boy,” he said, yanking Talc’s head so he faced the long length of the pen again. “Show me what you got now.”
Tuthout jerked his feet forward, knowing that that put forward pressure of Talc’s balls. That, and a few more encouraging strikes of the crop send Talc into a wild sprint again.
His staggered in a jerky pattern, an exhausted attempt to throw Tuthout that was no more successful than his others.
Tuthout had wanted more of a fight, but at this point in the night, Talc was getting close to his limit. Tuthout just wanted to get one last show out of him.
The next yank of the reins actually made Talc gag as the bit hit the back of his mouth a bit too hard. He jolted straighter, making Tuthout lean in as he maintained his balance.
And the Tuthout brought the crop down in three sharp, stinging blows in quick succession.
Talc keened, his cries of pain lost in the roar of the crowd he finally collapsed in the dirt.
Tuthout wasn’t letting him get out of it that easily though. He dug in his heels and tried to jerk Talc back to life.
But the elf was at his limit.
He slumped face down in the dust of the pen, drooling and twitching, eyes vacant and empty as his cock oozed in the front of his cage.
The crowd roared its approval as Tuthout raised his crop in victory, finally climbing off Talc’s broken body.
“Thank you! Thank you!” Tuthout said, playing to the crowd and making them even more frenzied. “I’m here all week! The greatest elf-rider in all dwarf-kind! Hoo-rah!”
Tuthout let some other stable hands wrangle Talc off the ground, leading him limping and fragile back to his pen. They would be the ones to rub him down and get him food and water after the long day. Tuthout, of course, would be the last one who sees him to bed.
Talc was, after all, his property.
He exited the pen to his cheering fans, bracing for the claps on his back and shoulders, everyone wanting to rush and congratulate him for his show of skill. Tuthout only had one person whose opinion he actually cared about though.
“Did you see me, Dad?” he asked, still riding the adrenaline high from the match as he made his way under one of the nearby tents set up with more seats and refreshments.
Rulin, Tuthout’s stern and not easily impressed father, just grunted behind his stout of lager.
“You gave him too much slack on the first turn,” he said. “That’s why he thought about rushing the fence in the first place. You need to ride him tight and hard, so that a stunt like that isn’t even a thought in his brain.”
Tuthout rolled his eyes, being careful not to let his father see, tossing aside his crop and spurs and grabbing one of the sausage rolls from the tables of food.
“The people want a show,” he said, also not bothering to chew with his mouth closed. “It’s only fun when he puts up a fight. Besides, aren’t you the one who said to drive him harder.”
Rulin snorted.
“Harder, not looser,” he said. “Talc’s broken legs of many good dwarves, you know.”
It was the closest Rulin would ever get to admitting he cared about the well being of his son, but Tuthout knew that. He sighed and dropped some of his attitude.
“I understand, Dad,” he said. “Next time, I’ll keep the reins tight.”
And Rulin let a smile slip as well.
“You should have seen the face he made when you gave him that good crack against his balls,” he said. “You think he’d never felt pain before in his life.” He snickered, and Tuthout smiled in turn.
“Yeah?” he said. “I think with better aim, I could drive him better as well. He doesn’t buck nearly as hard when you’re beating his ass and not his balls.”
Rulin nodded sagely. “Never spare the rod, my son,” he said. “It makes the elf go soft.”
Tuthout nodded in agreement, tucking into another sausage roll.
Now that the event was over, the crowds were starting to disburse, and Tuthout watched them scatter with a twinge of regret pulling at his gut.
“I’m gonna help clean up Talc after the rounds,” he said, stuffing the last bite of roll into the corner of his cheek and dusting off his hands.
Rulin gave him a grunt of acknowledgement, occupied with his another pint of lager as his son rushed off.
Talc was already strapped down to his sleeping bench when Tuthout made it to the barn. His arms and legs were belted firmly to the stand, and his cock cage had been removed like it always was every night. His balls were also pulled back, framed in the thick wooden pillory that held them firmly each night. At this point, the stout ginger plug would have been removed as well and replaced with something thicker to keep Talc satisfied throughout the night.
Talc’s head was dropped against the wood, eyes already closed from exhaustion, but Tuthout could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t asleep yet. Either way, he didn’t bother hiding the noise of his entrance, letting the stall door bang open as he whistled a merry tune.
“You put up a good fight today, boy,” Tuthout said, giving Talc’s ass a swat and making the elf jolt with a grunt. “You almost had me at that second spin.”
Talc didn’t look like he even wanted to open his eyes. He had already been scrubbed down, and the empty bowls of food and water meant he had been fed as well. He was still breathing hard from the exertion and clearly wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep.
Tuthout still had a bit more work to do though.
He pulled out his stool, taking his seat behind Talc.
His balls were pulled through a hole in the wood, fatter than Tuthout’s fist. Bunched together the way they were, they formed the perfect target, and Talc had no way to defend himself.
Tuthout turned over the leather whipping strap in his hands. It formed a loop, primed for impact, and the thick couple inches of hide promised a much harder hit than his riding crop.
“I know you do your best,” he said. “But one elf just doesn’t have the stamina to keep up with a dozen riders.”
The first strike had Talc hissing around his bit, sobs wracking his body a moment later as he clawed at the hand rests. His toes curled, and his cock twitched, but the thick wooden board kept him in place.
Tuthout barely had to raise a finger.
“Father thinks so too,” he said, bringing the leather strap down for another swap. “We’re making a plan. Gonna put together a caravan and head back out to the border.”
Talc’s balls were starting to swell larger, turning a heated red.
Tuthout remembered Rulin’s stern instructions--never let the elf cum. Talc was allowed to get as close as he wanted to that tantalizing pleasure, but he was never allowed to cross it. Tuthout had just turned one hundred and eighty, just entering his prime, and he knew Rulin always joked about never aging more than two hundred and fifty years even though he was closer to three hundred at this point.
Rulin never talked about the last time Talc had cum, and any time Tuthout pushed for an answer, he was sternly reprimanded for questioning his elders.
He had half a mind to try and get the answer out of Talc himself, but Tuthout had never heard the elf utter a coherent word. He’d have better luck getting an answer from a chicken.
“We’re gonna find more elves,” he said, fascinated with the way the leather crushed Talc’s balls down at the height of impact before they snapped back, wobbling and full. “Ones that are just like you, that we can train and break in the same way too. When we come back, we’ll have a full rodeo.”
Talc moaned, his cock drooling into the metal channel. Tuthout knew from experience that the little basin attached to the bench would be full in the morning. There wasn’t a second of the day that Talc didn’t drip precum constantly.
“Maybe then you’ll get a bit of a break,” Tuthout said. “Since you won’t be the only elf in the ring anymore. Maybe Dad will put you back to work on the farm.”
In Tuthout’s opinion, that would be a cruel twist of fate. After training the elf to be such a good ride in the ring, hooking him back to the front of the plow would be a waste of his talents.
Still, he was getting old.
Tuthout didn’t have an exact age for the elf but counting up all his fathers, Talc had to be over a thousand years old.
And he still fought like hell whenever the spurs jabbed.
Tuthout wouldn’t replace him for anything in the world.
He brought the leather strap down in another strike.
Once they got more elves captured and trained up, Talc would become Tuthout’s personal mount. At least, if he could convince Rulin to let him take more control over the elf. Tuthout was eager for his inheritance, and he knew that Rulin didn’t have to wait until his father’s death before taking over Talc’s care.
Tuthout had many, many plans for the elf.
Beating his balls black and blue was only part of that plan.
Just like his ancestors, Tuthout had many ideas and plenty of time in the world.