Carrick had been faced with many slaves who used bravado as a means of coping with an upcoming beating, but the utter lack of fear in Samandriel's eyes was utterly unlike the expression of most of the boys he had bound and flogged.
"You're a slave," he answered. "And I am a Master. Your Master. Whether your words are truthful or not, the punishment is for the fact you said them."
Although the familiar pleasurable anticipation at the thought of inflicting pain on a lovely young man build in him, the vampire could not help but taste a certain bitterness that the intimacy and willing submission that he had drawn from Samandriel earlier in their time together.
He stood silently, assessing the slave's expression. He stepped forwards again, letting the edge of the wooden paddle stroke up and down one pale thigh. his voice was musing, almost as if he was talking to himself.
"Or I could show you mercy. Set aside the punishment you deserve, and give you another type of pain instead; one that I suspect you'd find entirely pleasurable if the look of your beautifully hard cock is anything to go by."
His mouth moved ever closer to Samandriel's own as he continued. "I want to see you on fire for me, for my touch, for the pain I can give you. To see the rapture in your eyes when you've submitted to me completely. Is that what it would take, little eremenos? Mercy, of all things?"