The Pretty Boy Prince
Updated: Aug 22, 2021
I think that Corrik needs no introduction. I have been up and down with this character. Sometimes he does things I don't like. His biggest redeeming quality for me is how much he loves Tristan and strives to better himself as a man and Elf for Tristan. He can be arrogant and selfish but he's also devoted and protective.
I won't talk too much tonight. I've been holding onto this art for awhile now. I was able to get two pieces done for Corrik. First, we have the gorgeous rendition by Sparkle. Here he is, being all perfect. Enjoying his best life. I really think she out did herself with these three pieces. Corrik is so beautiful. *heart eyes*
And next, something I've been holding onto for a little while. Some Spanking art by Arkham Insanity. The Black and White version is in the books but it's in color here! I'm going to include it below in the excerpt. I hope you enjoy!
TRISTAN II: IN WHICH CORRIK SPANKS TRISTAN
Father’s words get me three months in before I start feeling sorry for myself again. Corrik is now having to inspire me to work instead of forcing me to take breaks. “Inspire” should be read as “spanking,” and believe me, there’s a lot of it.
“Tristan,” he says coming into the room. I don’t like the way he’s said Tristan.
I heard him coming; I can hear the locks as they’re being undone. I grabbed whatever book was closest so it could look like I was reading it. “Hey Cor, look I’m reading,” I peer at the cover, “Elven Fighting … oh shite.”
The evil brow is back. The one that gets mad at me all on its own, by the simple arching of it. This tells me a lot about what’s going to happen, without him ever saying a word. I set the book down carefully. “Cor. Look, I promise I’m reading; I was just taking a break.”
The problem is I take a lot of breaks.
His eyes flicker to a chair, the chair, the one he often uses when he’s going to turn me over his knee. I don’t have much time to convince him if I truly have time at all. “What did I say would happen if I caught you slacking off again?”
I get up from my seat preparing to run. “You said you would spank me with your hairbrush, but please. My arse is sore, Corrik.”
He takes a step closer knowing I’m about to bolt, hoping he can get close enough to snatch some part of me before I get too far away. “Funny. If your arse is so sore one would think you would behave yourself. Come here.”
I take a step away. “No. I don’t want a spanking. Okay, I’ll study. No more breaks—got it.”
Corrik analyzes the distance between me and him. “Now, Tristan.”
There are several heartbeats while we face off and then I run for it. I don’t know why I do. Locked in this room as I am it’s a case of “I can run, but I can’t hide,” and running prevents him catching me. He is Elf; I am human.
Yet running seems a viable option.
I head for the library where there are tables and knock over chairs to act as obstacles.
He’s close on my heels and I just clear the first table, diving over it when he catches up. “Come quietly and I won’t make you stand in the corner.”
Tempting. “I promise I’ll behave. I swear it.”
He’s not buying it. I look around for an exit as his thick arms cross over his chest. “I won’t have it, Tristan. Then you’ll be crying in my arms about how you didn’t get enough studying done.”
Apparently, me crying is a war crime—he can’t handle it. He wants to crush whatever’s made me cry. If it’s due to my own behavior, he’ll spank me until he’s sure spanking is the only reason I’m crying.
“I won’t be upset.”
“You are getting this spanking, my love.”
I’ve reached the end-stage of negotiations. There’s no more, “if you come now, I won’t …” because I’ve earned all the things by stalling. Soon we’ll enter the stage of, “you’ve also earned yourself a bedtime spanking, delay anymore and you won’t be sitting at all this week.” I should give up, but I am Tristan Kanes, stubborn fool.
He steps toward me and I see an opening. It’s enough that I can slide through and return to the other room. I make my move.
But he is an Elf, which means he’s a lot quicker than I am. He catches my wrist and I’m unceremoniously flung over his shoulder. He gives a spank to my arse for good measure and with his arm across my legs as it is, I can’t even kick them. Instead I whack his back. “Put me down Corrik! I’m not a sack of potatoes.”
I won’t stop fighting today which speaks to my mood. Corrik knows. “It’s like that is it?”
He’s calm as he walks to the dreaded chair. He spins it around with his free hand so that it faces away from the table and thus gives him ample room to put me over his knee. He does without preamble. He smacks at my bottom without rhythm until he’s said without words how displeased he is. “I’m sorry, Cor.”
He helps me to stand between his legs and his expression doesn’t budge. “My hairbrush. Go get it, now.”
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to explain the difference between now and moments earlier. Maybe it’s the shift that’s happened from the short spanking I’ve just received knocking sense into me, maybe it’s that I’ve realized how done he is with my behavior—that’s always piercing at some point during the process—or maybe it’s the simple act of dominance, appealing to the deeper part of me who innately responds to such things.
Maybe all of it. I don’t know.
Whatever the case, now isn’t the time for running, even though I could. I’m quick to retrieve the nasty little item and return, my face aflame, awaiting to go over his knee. He takes the brush setting it on the table behind him.
Whoa. The tummy drop sensation I get from all of it—knowing I’m about to go over his knee, standing before him shamefully regretting my behavior, how unbending he is.
It’s humiliating when he slides his fingers under the waistband of my trousers and pulls them down in a way that’s deliberate and meant to humiliate. That’s part of it.
Having my pants pulled down for a spanking never gets less humiliating, and I imagine it will always make my cheeks rosy no matter how many times it happens, and how much I know I need it.
Corrik levers me over his lap so I’m off balance and I can’t gain purchase on anything. “Tell me what you’re meant to be doing between the hours of late morning and dinnertime.”
“Studying, sir.”
“And were you?” When I pause he smacks my bare, upturned rear. “Tristan.”
I don’t want to say. “I wasn’t, sir.”
Without the cover of my trousers, the spanks have more impact and I’m squirming and kicking, scrabbling for something to grab onto. There isn’t anything. I hiss as his hand awakens the misery there from the yesterday and let me tell you, it’s hard not to attempt an escape.
He pauses, and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I’m sorry, Corrik. I’ve learned my lesson,” I’m quick to say. It’s my plea for him to stop. We don’t need the brush; we don’t need the brush!
“I don’t think so. You ran. You know better than that. When I tell you to come for a spanking, you obey me Tristan.”
“Yes, sir,” I groan. I regret, oh how I regret.
I hear the wooden brush scrape across the table and then the warm wood is circling my tender backside raising gooseflesh there. “Any last words?”
And that, that’s the reason I maintain there’s a little brat in every Top, in every Dom, in every Master. Corrik is serious, but he’s also cheeky and I know why. He’s well aware I face the hairbrush with certain doom and he’s rubbing it in. “You’re a horrible person!” I say.
“Am I? Perhaps you’ll remember that next time.” He’s not sorry.
The devil thing makes contact with my arse and I cry out. I’m overly dramatic today, pushing at the chair leg, arching my back and kicking. My eyes water and I have to work to catch my breath as swat after swat descends, echoing through our chambers. I make some childish noises, some woe-is-me noises, some whining groans and huffing grunts.
After a time, my skin trembles before the brush hits it, knowing how much it’s going to hurt. The pain increases as the spanking continues. My focus narrows to the pain—it’s all that exists—until I have no fight left in me. I collapse over Corrik’s knee, still wriggling to move the pain around, but no longer struggling.
The brush clatters to the table and his hand is soft on my poor arse, rubbing it for me. “To the corner with you.” He removes my trousers, which were half off anyway, the dance of spanking released them from my right foot.
I want to complain, I do, but the throb in my arse prevents it. I move to the corner with my pants down and place my hands atop my head—proper corner time protocol.
The chair scrapes across the floor. His clothes crinkle and shift as he sits, his boots creak as he crosses them, and though I can’t see him, I know he’s laid them on the table and has leaned back in his chair so he can keep both eyes on me.
The throb in my arse makes standing still difficult.
“Tristan,” Corrik warns.
I halt my fidgeting allowing the ache to run through me unhindered and think about how I’m not going to slack off anymore. I don’t know how long I stand there—corner time always feels like it’s forever—but at long last, Corrik calls me over for the best part of spanking.
The after spanking snuggles.
I race across the room, climb into his lap, spread my legs to either side of him and let my red arse shine toward the room behind us, as I nuzzle into his chest. “I’m sorry, Cor. I’ll behave myself.”
He hugs me close and I breathe in his scent, content for the moment. “For your arse’s sake I hope so.” He kisses my lips.
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