Rykard did not get to ask Iceface more questions on the matter. The dwarf and his comrades remained hidden away in his pocket.

Of course, Rykard was familiar with slavery. He used the word often, typically with the word ‘sex’ before that and frequently, or at least implied, with the paradoxical addition of ‘willing’ as well. Willing sex slaves were the bread and butter of what he liked in the bedroom. Women that signed away their autonomy for whatever time of day he fancied to give them a little mind breaking.

Actual slavery, indentured servitude, bondage of the non-fun kind, that was something that was vile. Sex slavery as a play was so incredibly erotic because the actual thing was so ludicrous and so taboo. The Troyk Empire had found its initial success in part because it promised the emancipation of the exploited.

‘Would I want to start a crusade to the same end?’ he asked himself.

A motion of black hair in the corner of his vision offered a distraction from that difficult question. His green eyes darted over and immediately found the purple gaze of Maliande. “What are you staring at, perv?” she immediately cussed him out. “Ew, what’s that disgusting grin about?!”

It was about her and the things he would do to her. Rykard pushed himself off the bench and began to walk towards her.

“Oh, this again?! Please, what are you going to… do… to…” Her words slowed when he just continued to march towards her. His tall form cast a shadow over her. Stumbling back, she suddenly and harshly hit the trunk of the giant tree. “EEEP!” she shouted, blushed, and shivered all at once, when his hand slammed against the bark next to her head. “Awa-w-ww-w-what do you want from me, you big, bad, mean dick?!”

Rykard just remained bowed over her for a little bit. Casually, he looked away, scanned the environment, and nodded when he realized they were alone at the moment. When he looked back down, he found her flustered and squirming.

“Do you know what a brat correction is?” the sovereign asked.

“What even… the hell is that question?” Maliande stomped down with one foot and made herself as big as possible. “I demand you speak like a normal perso- Eeeep!”

Rykard had slammed his other hand down on the other side of the smug shorty’s head. His two arms, so thick compared to her bottom-heavy form, might as well have been a mithril cage to her. Like a deer in artificial floodlights, she was utterly frozen. Unlike a deer, there was more than fear and surprise at play here. He could see in every involuntary shiver and the trembling of her lower lip.

“When I talk about a brat, I mean a submissive, a female one when it comes to my purposes, that thinks she’s got it all figured out. She thinks she is on top of the world, that everyone else is beneath her, and that she can treat them however she wants. She will belittle, she will insult, she will demand, and she will be used to people just taking it and giving her what she want. Deep down, however, know what she craves?”

“W-what?”

“Someone that tells her ‘No’. Not a simple no, not an insulting no - she wants a harsh, admonishing no. The brat seeks the disciplining rod of a dom.” Rykard bowed a little closer. “I’m quite the experienced dom, little brat.”

“I seek no such thi-”

“Quiet.”

“Your breath sti-”

“Maliande,” Rykard growled and the teeth of the smug mage snapped shut with an audible clack. “A brat correction is the process of domming a brat into being a good girl. The starting measures are harsh talks, perhaps a light spanking, then, if attitude problems persist, we ramp things up. Stripping, harsher spankings, orgasm denial, sexual torture, and, my personal favourite, the instant loss technique.”

“Instant loss?!” Maliande squeaked. “There’s no such thing! You’d have used it when we fought!”

“The instant loss is not simply used, it comes at the right time. Just like you will cum. Over and over again, until that smug mind of yours turns into mush and you finally moan the only word I want to hear from that pretty mouth of yours. Try saying it. Maybe I’ll let you go then.”

“Yeah, right, like I’d ever call you that!”

Rykard grinned. “It’s good that you know immediately what I’m talking about, little brat. Already on the road to correction.”

“Ebebe…awa…ghhhrrrmmmhrhrhr.” A torrent of noises, each one more nonsensical and frustrated than the last. “Sir!” she shouted and tried to duck out under his arm.

Rykard caught her by the wrist. She turned around, wide-eyed. He could practically smell her arousal. Behind the fluster, however, was a pride not that easily broken. He’d have to keep eroding her. “Not quite, but good enough… Tell me, where on the map are you?”

“Why should I tell you?!” she snapped back.

“Because I will find you when the time is right,” Rykard answered her plainly. “If you ever want to come and apologize for being a spoiled, smug, little brat, I’m the large cluster near the centre.”

“...South of you, directly south of you, that’s the Divine Spires…” Maliande said, then tried to free herself, half-groaned, half-moaned, “Sir.”

Rykard released her wrist and watched her ass jiggle as she sprinted away from him. Three seconds later, she was in the safety of the doorframe to her house. She just stared at him. She was mustering the courage to do it. Then, she stuck out her tongue. One warning step was all she needed to slam the door shut in a hurry.

‘God, I love correcting brats,’ Rykard thought.