An Elven Dungeon Master

Mock has left me with an impossible task. She wants me to introduce a new character without spoiling anything. *massive eye roll* But with this character I don't know how to do that. The reason he comes into play is because of aforementioned spoilerish information.


I'll try.


... let's see. He's a terrifying dungeon master. He's got large, spanky hands he's not afraid to use. He's a barbarous taskmaster. He's ...


*clears throat* "Um, Tristan?"


"Gods dammit, Strobavik. You shouldn't have a voice like that."


"Watch it. Is that how you speak to me?"


"No, Master."


"Better. What sort of voice do I have?"


"Liked honeyed, butter. All whipped and smooth."


"Speaking of whipping ..."


"Oh no you don't. I'm here to do a job. Mock will have my head after what happed with Bayaden."


"A fine job you're doing anyway. You haven't told them anything good about me."


"I'm trying not to spoil you."


"By telling them how strict I am and how I like to spank your naughty bottom?"


*Blushes 72 shades of pink* "Trust me. It's what this crowd likes."


"And you can't think of anything nice to say about me?"


"Well, you were a beta reader favorite. Enough of the betas wanted to see, um, a particular scene they threatened Mock with torches and pitchforks if she didn't write it."


"A bit of an exaggeration."


"Was pretty close to that! You also have pretty eyes for a dungeon Master. You're a good snuggler."


"Honeyed, butter voice, pretty eyes, snuggling ... I'm not sure that qualifies as terrifying."


"You are. When you frown at me, I swear, your whole face darkens. And don't get me started on the voice you scold with. Anyone would think you want my head on a pike."


"Gods, you're ridiculous."


"It's what people adore me for though, right?"


*Inclines his head* "It is. Come here."


*Suspicious Tristan* "You're not going to whip me are you?"


"I don't know. Is there a reason I should?"


"Never. I am an angel." *Indignant*


*Strobavik laughing, hard* "Not in any universe. No one will believe that. C'mere, my naughty kitten."


*Tristan walks over* *Strobavik yanks him to his torso* *Tristan looks up into Strobavik's pretty, blue eyes*


"I think they have an idea of me now. Plus there's a picture and an excerpt. I think that's enough blogging for you today."


"Yeah, yeah."


"Excuse me?"


"Yes, Master Strobavik."




Artist: Sakimi Chan

Mock: I would like to make clear that I merely found this beautiful work online and am sharing with you what gave me inspiration. I do not know the artist (yet) but let me tell you, I'd like to know them! How gorgeous.


Tristan wasn't kidding. It's hard to introduce Strobavik without spoiling a whole lot so I had to cherry pick here and cut out some of the pieces that would give too much away. Even with what's here, you'll suspect something but it still leaves more questions than answers so I think that's okay.


I hope. But if you're worried, you can skip reading this one!


And I know it's short but this character became more important than I expected he would so I thought better to share some than not at all. He was a beta reader favourite. I hope you enjoy!


Last, I announced in the newsletter that I'm going to do presale for this book and it will begin on June 15th! If you want a reminder, join my Newsletter to get one.


Actually last, there is a promotion going on for pride month. You can get some great LGBT Romance Books FREE. Tristan is over there of course but there are a ton of other good ones. I've totally scored a few myself!


Links at the bottom of the excerpt!



From Chapter 15 ~ Master Strobavik


He decides I should learn proper slave protocol, but he’s not going to teach me—that’s beneath him—and so he sends the most terrifying Dungeon Master Elf, Strobavik, to do it for him. He specializes in training slaves.
At first glance Strobavik is terrifying, even though he’s not as broad shouldered as Baya or Alrik. His muscles are lithe like Corrik’s but he’s thinner, leaner and in general smaller by comparison.
He’s still a lot taller and larger than I am.
He wears black leather everything—black pants, an open leather jacket and tall boots. His long blond hair is wavy, and his tall Elven ears are decorated with earrings and jewels. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s wearing black eyeliner under his vivid blue eyes. “Put this on,” he says, tossing a pile of leather and buckles at me. “Lose the robe.”
His accent is different, he can’t be from this part of the realm. His voice is like honeyed, butter but that doesn’t fool me. I know he’s going to be barbarous.
I approach him like I would any battle—I don’t know this guy; I don’t give benefit of the doubt. Not with the mood I’m in.
I snatch up the pile of leather. It turns out to be the smallest pair of black leather shorts I’ve ever seen and a harness, which means I have no clue how to put the fucking thing on. I’ve worn a harness before, with Baya, but he was the one to dress me in it.
I’ll give it my best shot. How hard can it be?
Turns out, really fucking hard.
After watching me struggle with it for several excruciating minutes, visibly growing annoyed, he stops me. “I will show you how to put this on,” he says in his thick accent. “I expect you to take note. Next time you will be punished for delay and ignorance.”
Jeez, this guy.
I’m quiet as he prepares me, looping the crisscross harness onto my body. It carries around and down my back, cinching with a single buckle in front. It’s covered with rings.
The shorts just fit over my arse and cover my dick, but they’re comfortable, and I can move in them surprisingly well. “Tell me you know how to kneel properly,” he says like I’m the most uncouth creature he’s ever encountered, and I guess to a Mortougian Elf that is the epitome of uncouth.
I didn’t kneel for Baya, not really. It just wasn’t that way between us. Yeah, we did some kinky stuff and there were formal times when kneeling was appropriate, but it’s not something he spent time training me to do. We used “the room” for spanking and bondage type stuff rather than having me spend a lot of time kneeling for him, like Tom did for the Aldrien king.
However, once upon a time, Corrik taught me how to kneel.
“I know how but I’m rusty, sir.” Even I can hear the sadness in my voice.
“At least you know how to use ‘sir,’” he says continuing to buckle me in.
I should be throwing a fit, in the least protesting against this but something much deeper’s longing for it. “I am an avid learner, sir.” I push my chest out and stiffen my lip.
He analyzes me and I hold my breath as his thoughts seem to pierce through to my soul. I grow frustrated and analyze him right back, the warlord in me taking over, burning through me. He cracks a half smile and there’s a smirk in his eyes. “All right Tristan, if you will work hard, I will work just as hard for you. I’m going to hold you to your word.”


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