Vlad's Pawn (Patron Reward) [VAULT] (Patreon)

Even when he lounged, there was no mistaking the murderous aura that surrounded Vlad. There was no relief in witnessing him relax into a wide loveseat, his head reclined into his fist; the wickedness still simmered, brewing like a poison. Ritsuka had wondered if a Servant could be more intimidating, but after becoming afflicted, he was proven just how terrifying Vlad could appear. The shrinking affliction, which had transformed the Master to a height of only six inches tall, had been a change in perspective in all but this one regard, and it was impossible to think of anything else when it was Vlad himself watching over him.

“Insulting.” That had been Vlad’s terse reaction to Ritsuka’s predicament. Over an hour later, that word still hung around Ritsuka’s neck. Vlad could be difficult to impress, but it was heartbreaking to hear his disappointment. It weighed upon him heavier than usual, due in part to Vlad’s size. Ritsuka was meant to be a reliable leader, but how could he take charge of someone so much bigger than him? And someone so cruel, no less? Ritsuka admitted, Vlad wasn’t wrong in finding this arrangement insulting.

Yet it was what it had to be, a situation that couldn’t be changed. Ritsuka was cursed with this height, but only for a time. It would be until then that his loyal Servants would watch over him, ensuring his safety while also managing his various jobs. Yet the most imposing challenge ahead of Ritsuka was Vlad -- simply being around him, objectiveless, and to not lose any more pride, seemed nearly impossible.

True to that, Ritsuka found himself struck with silence while under Vlad’s gaze. He stood upon a regal coffee table, decorated atop it with two unlit candles over a white mat. It stood low to the ground, an attribute Ritsuka had wished to avoid but hadn’t the heart to tell Vlad. He looked to his Servant now, a glance in his direction while avoiding his piercing eyes. The giant lounged with one leg kicked over the other, the foot suspended in the air even higher than where Ritsuka stood. He caught himself hypnotized at the way the boot-clad foot bobbed, perhaps finding an excuse to keep their visions disengaged.

Vlad closed his eyes and leaned more into his arm. “It reeks,” he spontaneously said. Ritsuka perked up, his face boiled red. Vlad acknowledged the look and continued, “The scent of humiliation. A being so powerless that its life slips away in cowardice. Die quietly or live in power -- what’s this mess you’ve made of yourself, then?”

“I-I’m… sorry?” Ritsuka brushed his hair, his eyes flickering out of Vlad’s draw. Vlad had a way of rambling on in riddles, a testament of the times he came from. This was the wise Impaler, a tactical genius of immense cruelty. He was hard to follow at times, but sometimes even harder to lead. “Err, I know I must be a burden right now, b-but I’m grateful that you could watch over me, Vlad.”

Vlad pondered, then sighed. “You have much room to grow.” He sat up then, a motion that uneased Ritsuka’s heart. The mountain of a man repositioned in his seat and reached forward -- Ritsuka ducked under an arm quickly, but it was an unnecessary scramble for defense. The hand ignored him entirely, going over his head to instead retrieve the wine bottle that had been behind him. It was as tall as a house, and yet it was nothing in Vlad’s large grip, whose dexterous fingers were able to also carry with them a fine glass to drink from.

Ritsuka’s flinch did not go unnoticed. Vlad poured himself a drink first, then savored the first sip while locking eyes with his tiny Master. No reaction to the taste, Vlad returned the bottle to where it was, allowing it to drop onto the table with a short thud. To Ritsuka, it was an unexpected quake that made him flinch again, but unlike the expressions before, a smile sparked across Vlad’s lips.

“Tell me,” Vlad mused, “do you fear me now for who I am, the Impaler Vlad Dracul? Or, in this state you are in, do you fear all your loyal Servants?”

Ritsuka grimaced. The essence of the question wasn’t unknown to him, if he feared Vlad personally or if that was a feeling shared towards everyone. Without thinking, an explanation left Ritsuka, “It’s… only because I’m… small. E-Everything is so big, you know.”

Vlad scoffed, dismissing the answer. “Neither the stature of a leader, nor the backbone. Pitiful.” Vlad swirled his drink and tasted it once more. “You’ve fallen far from the role of Master. Have you succumbed to being a mere pawn?” He chuckled, tilting his head up in curious delight. “Certainly, that would be a title more befitting.”

Ritsuka had no argument, belittled beyond the ability to speak up for himself. In this case of distraught, he noticed too late that a hand was approaching again -- and for him directly. Like a winter wind, fingers coldly encased Ritsuka’s frame. A coiled fist wished him off the table and into the air where his struggling would be even less effective.

The grasp was undone and Ritsuka was left on the floor where it felt as chilling as Vlad’s bones. He stuttered when he asked for an explanation, taken back by how surreal the room now looked. It was as if Vlad warped him to another realm entirely, even if it was just a jump from a coffee table down to the ground. The furniture towered over him like a fantasy jungle, but nothing stood quite as tall as Vlad, erected to his full height.

“Does reality dawn on you now?” Vlad asked his Master. “Mistakable for an insect… I wonder if you feel as one, standing before my feet.”

Ritsuka had struggled to look at Vlad’s face so high up that it felt unreasonable to even try. Instead, he looked forward at what was ahead of him, though it was arguably a harsher sight. As Vlad himself had commented, it was incredibly belittling for Ritsuka to be level with two mighty boots. Their durability and size was reminiscent of tanks, rolled into an imposing formation and too heavy to budge. Vlad’s long legs connected to the ground firmly, no less willing to move. When they did, by Vlad’s whim, even a simple tap or twist was worthy of concern for Ritsuka, well aware of how easily a misstep could end in disaster.

Vlad, too, felt the same thing, not as unaware of the matter as Ritsuka believed. In truth, he embraced this significant gap in power. He embraced his Master there, pathetically at his feet, while he himself had total leisurely control. He embraced that taste of incredible power, and it complimented the dark wine deliciously.

Although only briefly, Vlad hesitated before speaking. “Display your respect for them,” he said. “Kiss the tip of my boot.”

“W-What?” Ritsuka blinked, comprehending the demand. It almost sounded like a joke, so Ritsuka blushed and backed away from the boots. “I-I-- Did you, uh, ask me just now, t-to…?”

“Or will you challenge me with your own will?” Vlad cocked his head, seemingly eager to see his results. “An overwhelming force is upon you, issuing demands. The penalty for disobedience could be as severe to that force’s liking. Can my Master, as tiny as he is, stand for himself and his honor?”

Ritsuka was sweating now that the dilemma had been made clear. It was a game, one of the types Vlad liked to play, and the answer seemed obvious. Of course, Ritsuka thought, he would want to retain his pride, to avoid that level of humiliation. It was his gut reaction, yet his failure to pull away further, to ignore the demand entirely, said otherwise.

“Make your decision,” Vlad affirmed, himself becoming unsure what would be decided.

Temptation throbbed inside Ritsuka’s chest. His eyes were unmoving from the polished surface of Vlad’s boots, a blackened reflection of himself staring back with just as much anxiety. He looked away, but only up Vlad’s legs, the tall columns that faded beneath his skirt and cloak. He’s huge, a straightforward thought Ritsuka couldn’t escape from. This was Vlad the Impaler, a champion from history, now looming over him like a titan. The spot on his shoe, where it seemed most apt to kiss, beckoned to Ritsuka as where he belonged.

It was an opportunity to prove Vlad wrong, but he failed. Ritsuka, overcome with a flaring emotion, approached the boot and leaned into its tip. At the toe, his lips pressed into the leather while both hands embraced either side. A weight of shame fell upon him, from no one else other than Vlad. It could be felt instantly, a back-crushing burden to know that he was this pathetic. A meager look was made up to Vlad’s ankles but no further, too embarrassed to see Vlad’s expression, and too captivated with his kiss.

Vlad observed only silently, but his glare did persist. Disappointment was apparent, yet it was tangled and conflicted with something else he felt. A tingle, a warmth that he didn’t regularly feel under his own cold skin. His Master, respected and beloved, now paid worship to his mere boot. All pride seemed abandoned in the parlor, all the good and glory of his Master dissolved. And so Vlad smiled.

“How precious,” Vlad teased. “Did Master accept his role? How quickly you’ve given up your title to become my obedient pet.”

Ritsuka winced under such cutting words. His authority truly had been fractioned, but where despair and disgrace were meant to be in his heart, there was only a desire. It engulfed his flesh with an imbalance, as though he were becoming drunk off the bitter and flat taste of Vlad’s boot. The insults, the teasing -- Ritsuka didn’t disagree, and instead found himself kissing and licking a broader part of the boot. It was a chore he diligently handled, as though being referred to as a pet was a great compliment. Appropriately so, Ritsuka looked up from the boot like a puppy, sizing up the towering body once more. His whole body glowed red as his eyes met a bulge in Vlad’s skirt; the shape and girth of a budding erection was unabashedly present, stunning Ritsuka so that his tongue stuck to the leather.

Without a word, Vlad kneeled down towards his boot. Ritsuka lifted his head up, he tried to back away, but Vlad was too big to evade. A claw grabbed him, Vlad’s palm spreading its chill across the small body. He was lifted, away from the carpet and past the coffee table, past Vlad’s waist, and stopping at his chest. A nonstop shiver claimed Ritsuka’s body, desperately clinging to the fingers that stole him.

“Falling is your own choice,” Vlad said. His voice wasn’t so powerful, a considerate restraint for the tiny person he held. “I will not drop you, that I promise. Ha-- why would I? I gain nothing from my Master’s demise, but there is something to win from playing with him.” His head cocked just slightly, adding an extra sharpness to a hungry grin.

Vlad’s grasp had been relatively kind, having even offered his pinky finger as a fair platform to stand on. Ritsuka had found that and affirmed his stance there, but he was in Vlad’s world, under his rules. The hand, in that next moment, was not so kind. It maneuvered Ritsuka by force; the pointer finger and thumb pulling up from under his arms, lifting them above his head and forcing them there, while the other three fingers hugged and touched where they pleased. Ritsuka laughed in a burst, tickled by how a huge fingertip was groping his chest, grazing his stomach. Twisting away was impossible while Vlad possessed him as a toy, yet he still tried to struggle free, coughing up pleas for mercy. It didn’t slow Vlad, who continued with his one-handed groping.

“Do you believe me when I say that you belong to me?” Vlad wondered. It was something he had said before in different ways, in regards to the different relationship him and his Master maintained. “Is there an argument for saying otherwise now? Are you mine?”

Ritsuka was panting, unable to speak between steamy laughs. His body was increasingly hot, and as it did, his desire to be fondled more also rose. An itch of an addiction couldn’t be scratched nor explained; Ritsuka had fallen in love with the impossible strength and grace of Vlad’s hands. His fingers were long and thin, enwrapping his form with startling agility and bringing with them the traditional chill that lingered around Vlad, a cruel temperature that opposed his warmth. He was a thing to Vlad, a thing to be owned.

Ritsuka resisted a response to Vlad’s question. He felt intense shame for having succumbed as much as he had. He refused to give in -- but that was tested. Another finger, brought from Vlad’s other hand, also sought its own taste of Ritsuka’s body. Impatient, it dove where it wanted to be, in the space between Ritsuka’s kicking legs. The tip was wide, but it tucked between the squirming legs without significant resistance. Ritsuka couldn’t stop something so big and powerful even if both arms were freed; a heart-skipping gasp abandoned his body as the fingertip dominated his crotch and thighs. In this position, Ritsuka’s flailing worked against him instead, driving the finger to grind into his underside for each aimless kick and swivel.

Yet it wasn’t the pressure of the touch itself that drove Ritsuka to his limits. His panting was steady, yet his expression wanted to erupt. He knew, he sensed it, that Vlad could feel the wetness forming. It was humiliating, belittling, that he could be found out so quickly, that he was immensely turned on by Vlad’s oppressive grip. Upon the touch along his legs, Vlad’s wants had successfully infected Ritsuka’s, and the Master grunted, “I-I’m yours! I’m your pet…!”

Vlad chuckled, a brief but hearty glimpse of a lighter emotion. His eyes, just as instantly, had flashed with a tinge of life. “A very good answer, little one.” Vlad tantalizingly raised Ritsuka towards his smirked lips. A once-intrusive finger turned docile and began to pet Ritsuka’s hair. “I… will tend to you. So much fear and worry… Are you afraid of my bite, Master? As I said… I will tend to you.”

Ritsuka could only shiver beneath such gently-spoken words. He was in suspense to know what Vlad promised, but that became anxiety when Vlad’s mouth drew nearer. Lips parted to expose the red cavern that was Vlad’s mouth, a chamber guarded by sharp teeth. Vlad’s tongue, like a hound, lay in wait in a puddle of saliva, preemptively curled as if to accept Ritsuka’s little body like a treat. He gazed within the mouth, but he had to squint as a breath was exhaled over him. The scent of Vlad’s wine was eerily thick, a rich smell that threatened to twist Ritsuka’s mind even more.

“No longer trembling?” Vlad whispered. Ritsuka blinked, for sure enough, he had stopped shaking without even realizing. “Have you conquered your fears? Or does my throat excite you?”

Ritsuka whined wantingly, but what he wanted, he wasn’t sure. Vlad, however, was confident with his desires. His maw opened wide, wide enough that Ritsuka feared he could be devoured. But it was the lips that snapped around him, soft and plush like firm pillows. He was bitten softly, a bite that covered Ritsuka’s flank -- his ribs and his arm all kissed at once, teasingly held between two lips. Ritsuka gasped and a shiver rode up his spine; a brush of Vlad’s beard tickled his calves.

The lips left, then returned again. Another kiss, another part of Ritsuka’s body. He was twisted in Vlad’s hands, repositioned every couple seconds so that the Servant had a new angle to bite into. An electric shock filled Ritsuka with each impact, the static thrill of being so near to teeth as huge as Vlad’s and the slick touch of his saliva as it dampened his clothes. Vlad’s fingers were greedy again, and so they maneuvered around his body, padding at his chest, grazing his neck and chin, and squeezing his buttocks, his thighs; tender touches, but backed with an unstoppable strength all the same. Ritsuka’s panting became moans that were lost under Vlad’s nostrils, from which hot breaths steamed over his body.

Vlad’s tongue, emboldened, slithered from its cave and curled around Ritsuka’s leg. Ritsuka pulled back, he had to keep the leg lifted out of reach, but then Vlad went to the other without hesitation. From the feet up, the soaked tongue traveled over Ritsuka’s body, defeating it in every contest. The prize was the flavor, Ritsuka’s essence being licked off his being and eaten. The flat face of the tongue ran thick over Ritsuka’s front once, then twice. Ritsuka feared he could drown like this, a fear that swelled when Vlad kept his tongue firmly over his face. Vlad licked him again, over his legs and mopping at his chest. Another lick; his thighs the target of the tongue, attacked with twisting motions that choked Ritsuka into a series of intensifying, lust-driven whines for the eternity that the beast remained there.

“Vlad! V-Vlad!” Ritsuka’s heart drummed into a crescendo, rapidly approaching its limit. A burst of heat popped inside him, deepening the crimson of his skin. Finally, his breaths reached a long exhale, and his blood ran freely through his veins once again. Between his legs was a shame that he tried to ignore, the remnants of an orgasm that felt manipulated out of him. Vlad had controlled him so flawlessly, truly like an object to be used, and even still, after an impossibly delightful and strange orgasm, was he held like just a thing.

The fingers that bound him turned loose. The frail form of Ritsuka slid into the slope of Vlad’s palm, a twitch in his legs expressing the tailends of pleasure. Vlad licked his lips, dismissing what little taste remained on them. He, too, exhaled in relief, having been attached to Ritsuka’s excitement to the point of connection. His smile, too, seemed bolder than ever, but Ritsuka was too lost in mind and spirit to notice.

“Master…” His voice was cool for as heavy as it was. He chuckled, and his eyes affixed themselves to a sharper angle. “My pawn… You entertain me, in so many ways.”