Bad Influence (Erwin x Reader Smut)

Cold Spell

A few hours pass, and eventually the Commander retrieves you to eat lunch before assigning you a few chores to finish up. You can't bring yourself to refuse them, instead too threatened by the pain you've suffered so far. 

Thus, time is killed gathering kindling and storing it beside the log rack. You prepare the fireplace to be ignited later that night at Erwin's request. The trash is collected, including the taper candle you've ruined with bite marks and the slashed clothes Erwin cut up earlier. 

Erwin doesn't mention any form of punishment until the sun has well and truly set, black murk dominating the sky. He watches the first few stars glitter up above, then closes the curtain of the kitchen window he's been observing from. 

"Dear." His voice carries to where you lay on the couch, and it wakes you up from lazy mindlessness. 

"Yes?" You sit up, fixing your hair. 

"I want to go over a few formalities before I deliver your next punishment." He walks to the couch, sitting beside you. "On my lap." 

When you silently situate yourself on his thighs, he smiles warmly and caresses your arms, humming with satisfaction.

"I'm so glad you're following orders, pet. You've been doing such a good job being my servant." He leans forward and presses a kiss on your cheek, delivering crackles of warmth through your face. "It means the world to me when you obey. It tells me that I've succeeded in earning your pure submission. Nothing could make me happier than such a notion." 

You squeeze his thighs between yours, brimming with pleasure. 

"You are my pet. You are my pet. Isn't that right?"

You nod, fidgeting with your fingernails in your lap. "That's right, Sir."

"An exemplary response," he comments. "Usage of my title and all. You're behaving properly without me even needing to say so." He takes your hands in either of his, his thumbs stroking your knuckles. "You're improving in your manners as we progress through discipline. I'm happy to see it."

Bubbling with arousal, you pinch his fingers excitedly and meet his gaze with yearning eyes. "Thank you, Sir."

"Nevertheless, you took some time to adapt to your expected behavior yesterday. You continued to use Erwin instead of Sir for quite a while after I made it clear that Sir is preferred."

"Oh," you breathe, stress spiking in your system. "I'm—I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to—"

"You did mean to. All your disobedience has been intentional."

"Well..."

"And since there was intent, I have reason to punish. That, my pet, is the way of the law."

You curl your lips in, damming up responses of any nature. 

"No comment?" He peers at you, egging you on with his steely inquisition. 

Shaking your head stiffly, you drop your gaze to your hands. "None, Sir."

"Good." He lifts your hand and presses a kiss on your knuckles, then resumes. "Tonight, we're going to only address your refusal to use my proper title. When I demand the correct name be used, I expect immediate and strict adherence to that command. I ask for Sir, you call me Sir. Within the regiment, between superior and subordinate, you refer to me as Commander. Do you understand that?"

"...I understand, Sir."

"Good." His lips wander to your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "And, of course, you can call me Erwin any other time. I truly do love it when you say my name."