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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much	By : sefiru Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 12529 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ and I make no money ... only lemonade.

Chapter List
- 12
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much

By Sefiru

Pairing: G/V

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: D/s, Yaoi

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragonball Z and I make no money, only lemonade.

Celesta SunStar: Vegeta is too smart to be satisfied with just one or two skills ..

anonanon: well the music and the sex are kind of separate, but still. ^^

animeslave18: Yeah, Kakarott has a plan. (I’m afraid the only way to get longer chapters out of me is to pay me a living wage for it :P RL is a bitch.)

In this chapter: more evidence that Saiyans are weird.

***

Chapter 13: on groveling

***

     For the rest of the afternoon, Garrick leads me through the basics of playing the flute, using a small and very tattered book to show me notation. It may even be the same book that he learned from ages ago. Notes, crisp and clear, take shape under my fingers; soon I am picking my way through a simple melody. I’m startled when a poke from Kakarott’s ki interrupts my focus and I see that the sun is on the horizon and the shadows below us are deepening. Not only have I spent several hours here, but I’ve also missed lunch.

     “Kakarott is calling me,” I tell Garrick.

     “Mustn’t keep him waiting, then.” The old monk looks around. “Is that the time already? Anyway, keep the fife, my boy. The book, too, I don’t need it these days.” He shoos me away with an amused twinkle, which I answer with a smirk. I shall have to thank Kakarott thoroughly for bringing me here. I find him in what looks like a guest suite, still talking to Brossel and a few other elders. They are sitting around a low table set for a meal, but there is no food on it yet; I must be just in time for dinner. Kakarott turns to look at me as I walk in.

      “I see that Garrick has been teaching you music,” he says. Does he know every monk in this place by name? Wait, this is Kakarott; he probably does. “Show me?”

      In reply I lift the flute to my lips once more. There is only one song I know how to play, but it has been ground into my mind by the many hours of practice; the notes flow out slowly, but without hesitation. I am still astounded that I, a lifelong fighter, little more than Frieza’s attack dog, am the one producing something so … beautiful. But I am more than the Ice-jins made of me, and a hollow stick is enough to defeat them. And Kakarott is watching me, listening with a simple pleasure that has nothing to do with conquest and ownership. I bring the melody to a close and he steps over to me; he wraps an arm around my waist and nuzzles my hair with his nose, purring. I press back against him.

       We’re interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach. I laugh; “Now I’ve played for my supper, let’s get to it before you digest yourself from the inside out.”

      “Vegeta, that’s disgusting.”

      The food is in a style that is barely familiar to me, but more importantly, there is plenty of it. The monks bring in platter after platter; Kakarott takes what he wants onto the plate he’s sharing with me, then passes on the rest to the elders. Most of them, I notice, are looking at me with barely disguised envy. They want to be in my place, at Kakarott’s feet and in his heart. I give them all a smug smile. Brossel, on the other hand, looks more covetous than envious; I deduce that he’s a dominant himself, though a weak one. He seems well aware of his place, and keeps himself to commenting on my musical skills.

       “Garrick must be overjoyed to have someone to pass his art down to. We all believed it would die with us. Still might; I don’t know if there are any female enclaves still around.”

       Kakarott has a secretive smile, as if he has an idea about that. As I am about to comment, another server comes in bearing a large bowl of carved fruit; his foot gets tangled in the hem of his robes and he trips, sending chunks of fruit flying everywhere, including over Kakarott and me.

       There is an embarrassed silence. The young monk – meaning he’s old enough to be my father, rather than my great-grandfather – blanches dead white, frozen with shock. Then he throws himself at Kakarott’s feet and starts begging: “Please, Legendary One, strike me down! I am not worthy of life, let my blood pay for this trespass …”

      I glare at him with a kind of horrified jealousy. Jealousy, because that’s my place at Kakarott’s feet. Horrified, because of what he’s saying. He thinks he deserves to die over a bowl of freaking fruit salad – and he means it.

      Kakarott looks disturbed, and then thoughtful. He waves the junior monk to silence. “Your death would not please me, Persil. But there will be a punishment. Clean this up, and then I will deal with you.”

      Persil squeaks something that might be a response, and scrambles off still on all fours. Kakarott dismisses the monastery elders after a whispered exchange with Brossel that ends with, “No, you don’t get to watch.” Brossel exits, then Persil takes the remains of the fruit out to the trash; Kakarott turns to me and says, “How are you with a whip?”

      “I’ve got a decent arm. Why?”

      He knows I don’t mean why he’s asking me. “If I don’t punish him, he’ll do something to himself, probably worse than what I would do.” He furrows his brow. “Besides, he’s let himself go soft, tripping over his clothes like that.”

      Brossel ducks back in, bringing a long, sturdy cane. I take it from him and swing it through the air to feel its springiness. Very nice. Persil re-enters, silently; I know that he sees me holding the cane as he bows once again at Kakarott’s feet. Kakarott tells him, “Remove your shirt and wrap your tail around your ankles.” This is quickly done, leaving his back bare and open. “Count the strokes,” Kakarott orders, and nods at me to begin.

     THWACK. Persil jerks, a red line appearing on his skin. “One! Thank you, Lord.”

     I raise an eyebrow and swing again, putting my shoulder into the blow. THWACK. “Two! Thank you, Lord.”

     Soon I find my rhythm, the cane rising and falling in a single fluid motion. Persil’s back is criss-crossed with livid welts; he continues to thank Kakarott with every count. I can hear in his voice that he truly is grateful for the beating, perhaps because his life was spared or because he feels he is paying for his error. Kakarott was right, this man wants to be punished.

      THWACK. “Forty-two! Thank you, Lord.”

      THWACK. “Forty-three! Thank you, Lord.”

      It also occurs to me that this is a very personal means of punishment. Kakarott could have just as easily, say, had him balance on top of a pole all night, or simply cast him out of the monastery. To be punished, therefore, implies that the punisher wishes a continued association …

       THWACK. “Seventy-seven! Thank you, Lord.”

       THWACK. “Seventy-eight! Thank you, Lord.”

      This scene is also partly for my benefit. Any harem has a pecking order; by having me carry out the whipping, Kakarott is confirming my place as his senior mate, his right hand, no matter who else he eventually chooses. And there is something strangely compelling about this, with the scent of blood and sweat in the air, the sound of cane striking skin, the surging of ki. I wonder how the cane would feel falling on my back.

      THWACK. “Ninety-eight! Thank you, Lord.”

      THWACK. “Ninety-nine! Thank you, Lord.”

      Persil’s voice is unsteady now; he is breathing hard, and his arms and legs are trembling from the pain. Blood wells from several places on his back. Kakarott holds up three fingers.

       “One hundred! Thank you, Lord.” Kakarott folds one finger down.

       “One hundred and one! Thank you, Lord.” Persil relaxes minutely; it’s the traditional number, but Kakarott still has one finger raised. I swing again.

       THWACK. “Aaaaagh! One hundred and two. Thank you, Lord.” Persil takes a deep breath, then trembles all over when he realizes the punishment is finished. “Thank you, Lord,” he repeats. Kakarott has found his breaking point, just as he found mine.

        “Arise, Persil.” Kakarott claps his hands sharply, and Brossel appears – what was he, hiding outside the door? – to lead the junior monk away. I set the cane aside and curl up beside Kakarott’s chair. His skin is flushed, and very faintly I can smell arousal.

      “That turned you on, didn’t it.”

      “Oh, yes.” He stands, then scoops me up, into the perfect place to grope my rear and lick my neck at the same time.

      “Thinking of adding him to your harem?”

      “Meh. He’s a bit of a doormat.”

      This from the man who chose his mortal enemy as a mate. I chuckle. “He reminds me of a puppy.”

      “Right down to the messes on the floor.” Kakarott carries me into the adjoining room, where he sets me down on a low couch. “Right. Off with it, Vegeta.”

      “Yes, Master!” In a flash, my clothes are in various corners of the room. I stretch, partly to cool down my muscles and partly to show them off. Kakarott takes something out of his travel capsule.

       “Hold still, Vegeta.” He blurs into motion; in moments I feel ropes tighten around my ankles, my wrists … he has bound me so that I can barely move. My control doesn’t so much break as shatter like a dropped egg. I shriek, I thrash, I feel a rush of wetness under my tail. I need him to take me – Kakarott, genial, merciful, and in absolute control of everyone around him.

        “Master – !”

        He lets me beg and writhe for a while as he takes off his boots and costume. Then he finally climbs on top of me. Oh. Yes. He puts his hands on my hips and fucks me, deep and hard. I thrash, trying to bury his cock deep inside me, but his hands hold me still. I howl, I groan; the ropes dig into my skin. Kakarott brings his lips down on mine and blows his breath into my lungs; I am finished. I crash through a climax that forces the air from my chest and tears from my eyes. Kakarott swells inside me as he pours out his seed.

      In another moment he unties me and we stretch out on the bench together, my back against his chest. “What the hell was that?” I ask.

     “Just a little taste of what I have in mind for you, Vegeta. I know you liked it.”

***

Kakarott is kinky ^^

In the next chapter: now for something completely different – the legal shenanigans get underway.
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much