Weakly he felt himself stir once more, but the stimulation was too little and too frigid to return him to hardness. But Cygnus wasn't intending to fuck the slave any more, not unless he wished to pain himself by wielding a limp sword. If he could he would, but it was unlikely that the slave would arouse him any more in fear of further sexual encounter. But he felt a stone of satisfaction at the heaving of the experienced slave satisfaction that Altair had persisted and bent to his demands, rather than selecting the second choice given to him. Although, his choice could be chalked up to a matter of relations, and he wasn't willing to spare the effort of arousing himself just to enact a fruitless punishment. No, he would save it for the punishment that was to come. Perhaps, if anything, he would fuck the slave<i>after</i>he was done being punished, though it would be akin to kicking a dying horse at that point.<br/><br/>Once Altair was complete with his blood cleansing, Cygnus gave him a sharp kick to his balls and shoved him away. The slave sprawled across the floor brought a sadistic grin to his lips, one that was displayed infrequently. He stepped forward, delivering more abuse in the form of two more kicks, one to the slave's ribs and another to his gut. The kicks were delivered with a strong but controlled force - not enough to break his bone as he would normally do with enemies to his crew or threats to his being, but enough so that the slave would purple with bruise. It seemed only fitting that the contemptuous slave that was as pretty as a flower was mottled with the same shades of a flower, virtuous white melding together with swollen violet. A new hue on his skin as a lingering gift from the Captain of<i>The Siren,</i>one that he would remember for a while.<br/><br/>Now it was time to deliver to Altair his punishment, one that would make him wish he had been polite and used his pleasant song to charm the Captain. Cygnus would not prepare for it, not yet when the slave could see him, no, he would let the slave mull over his looming doom on the deck where he might be watched by the sailors running about. Perhaps the waiting might wean Altair off of whatever high horse he sat atop, and he might beg for mercy, something that would irreversibly break his arrogant shroud. "Await your punishment on deck, with your face towards the mast. If you cannot even obey that much I will simply scoop out your eyeballs with a soup spoon and gnash them between my teeth. You don't need to see if you can't obey."