by Loki Renard
But I don’t blame them, and I think if the scythkin thought about it for even a second, they wouldn’t blame them either. John was always talking about how humans are basically scythkin without claws. Nothing the Q’Ren do is anything the scythkin don’t.
“You will be punished daily,” the scythkin warden announces. “Each of you will be spanked soundly. This is the punishment we have determined to be most effective for rebellious human females. Then you will spend the rest of the day making amends to those you have harmed in your previous lives. Any disobedience will be met with further, harsher punishment. When you are considered rehabilitated, and that will be a different time for each of you, you will be given to a guardian to serve a probationary period, before being found a mate.”
“Fuck off and die,” Silver curses.
Some of the women have broken free of their handlers and are running around in circles, diving under the beds. They are all fighters. They are not going to be easy to tame, no matter how hard they are punished. I know that for absolute certain.
I start to laugh, because as horrible as this is, it is also hilarious. The scythkin want to dominate and control, and humans always resist control. Always. We can’t help it. It’s not domination that’s in our blood. It’s rebellion.
“Forget the rest of them, grab the dark one!”
Three scythkin descend on Silver, and she has no chance of escaping them. I watch, thrilled, as they carry her across to a bed and secure her in place, face down. The only thing better than watching this would be seeing Karen get the same treatment.
The rest of the human women cower in a small huddle. Without Silver, they are lost. I, and no doubt all the scythkin present, quickly realize that they will hardly take any work to break at all. They are like a little lost herd of lambs, bleating for their mother.
But oh, what a mother they have. Silver fights with everything she’s got, but everything she’s got isn’t enough. I almost feel bad for her. Almost. I’d feel all the way sorry for her if she hadn’t gotten me dragged into this with her.
The warden begins to recite her crimes, giving the proceedings a semi-formal feel. They are attempting to impose order on their female prisoners.
“What is your name, human?” Mads asks the question officiously.
“Silver,” she spits. “Short for thirty pieces of silver. Short for Judas.”
An unexpectedly ancient reference makes me curious, but the warden does not share my curiosity.
“Silver. You have been marked as the ringleader of the human Q’Ren. You lead multiple raids against the…”
“I know what I did, loser,” she interrupts him.
I let out a laugh. I don’t like her, obviously, but I do admire her bravery. These beasts could kill us all in a heartbeat if they desired. Angering them is a very bad idea, and yet she doesn’t care. Silver wouldn’t know a consequence if she fell over it.
A hard hand makes contact with my ass. “Quiet,” my handler growls at me.
Silver’s insolence is also being met with punishment. They have thin canes for her, brutal instruments of discipline.
To her credit, she barely makes a sound when their punishing lashes start to fall, two scythkin paying careful attention to her shapely ass. Things are not going to be easy for Silver. They are going to break her, but she is not going to break easily.
“Get that other human on a bed too,” the warden says, gesturing in my direction.
He’s talking about me. One moment they are insisting that I am part of the original group, the next I seem to be singled out for no reason. I could try arguing, but there is no point. I feel the bindings wrapping around my ankles and my wrists. I feel my body pressed firmly against the bed, my hips arched up over the padding designed to make my ass sit up high.
“What? Why? Because I laughed?”
My question is not answered, except with a sudden burst of pain across my ass which gets my attention and redirects my concern from Silver to myself.
The scythkin punishing me has no idea how foolish he is being. John will kill him for touching me. There will be so much blood shed this day. I think back to what John did to the catcher who tried to keep me captive. He will do much worse to the brute lashing me now.
WHAP! A thick leather-like belt makes another trip across my ass.
John may kill this cruel beast, but I will be thoroughly punished first. I can feel my skin starting to tighten with the heat imparted by the lash.
All around me, the others are experiencing their own lashings. The room is filled with the plaintive cries and angry growls of those regretting their actions or rebelling against the punishments, or both.
I squirm and whimper and I try to escape, but there is no escaping this punishment. It is as thorough as it is harsh, and it pushes me to the limit of what I think I can bear. I hate being punished this way, so coldly and so deliberately. When John decided I needed to be taught a lesson, he always did it with love. But there is no love in this harsh lashing. It is nearly mechanical, and it is wrong. Nobody should be touching me besides John. I am his. Where is he? How can he be letting this happen to me? The cries of the others are soon drowned out by my own.
Shame, humiliation, pain. These are all the ways the scythkin try to tame humans, and none of them will work on me. I may cry. I may beg for mercy. I may wail the name of my lover at the top of my lungs, but I will never capitulate.
Silver seems to be of the same mind. I hear her cursing at them with ongoing defiance even though the lashing must be hurting her as much as it hurts me. I am experiencing the harshest of punishments reserved for those who have committed the worst of crimes, and I don’t deserve it, which makes it all the harder to bear.
I break first. I break down. I scream for mercy and for help and for a whole host of things I do not deserve and will not receive.
My handler must sense my panic, for he lays the belt down and yanks the straps from around my wrists and ankles, freeing me to pull me into his embrace. I fight him, kicking and cursing and writhing, because there is only one scythkin I want to be comforted by, and it is not this stranger who just beat me.
“Easy! Easy, Itch!”
“How do you know my name?” I ask the question through my tears.
The scythkin releases me for a moment, stands back, and pulls his head off. Beneath his fake visage is the real face of the warrior who has loved me from the moment he first saved me — and the master who just whipped me to tears for my disobedience.
John pulls me back into his arms and lets me cry against his big, broad, hard chest. I could be outraged, but I am relieved. Relieved that I have not been touched by any other besides him. Relieved that this punishment is over. Oh, I hope it is over.
He picks me up and carries me out of the room. The others are still not done with Silver or the other women, but I am to be spared further pain today, or so it seems.
“Do not disobey me, Itch,” he murmurs gently when we are back in our quarters. “Not again. Not here. I will not tolerate it. There are always consequences for defying the scythkin, and they are not always straightforward. If you want to disobey me, you will reap the consequences.”
“I get it,” I sniff.
I really do get it. Or at least, I got it. Hard enough to not want to argue. I just want to be held in his arms and be his good girl. I don’t want to be at the mercy of all the cruel beings in the universe. I don’t want to be his enemy. I want to be what I am: his cherished, if sore, pet.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper for the first time in our relationship. “You told me not to go there and…”
“You’re saving me a lecture,” John says, holding me close. “I thought I’d have to give you a tongue lashing along with the leather lashing.”
“I’m just glad it’s over.”
“It is not completely over, Itch.”
I look at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean, isn’t over? You’re going to keep punishing me?”
“No. I mean
this isn't the last time you’ll be with these women. I told you to stay away from them, but you couldn’t. That’s because you need human companionship. And they need to see that they can be in satisfying relationships with scythkin.”
“They hate me, John. Probably even more now than before.”
“Perhaps they do. I am sure you will win them over.”
“John…”
“Everybody needs a job, Itch. Yours will be helping humans who have known nothing but pain how to find happiness again.”
I don’t want to argue with him in my sore state, but I don't understand how they can be thrashing us one moment and think we’ll be happy the next. “Maybe if they’ve known nothing but pain, strapping them down and beating them is counterproductive.”
“That’s not the plan long term, but they need something to be afraid of. Humans always do. You certainly do.”
“Do I?”
“Here’s what you have to be afraid of,” he says, lowering his voice to a dark, dangerous tone. “Next time you disobey me, I put that suit back on, and I take you back in there. I’ll treat you the same as any misbehaved human rebel. I’ll make you beg for my collar. I’ll make you roll over and whine for me, pet.”
Those threats are beautiful promises, every one making me quiver with that desire which I should be ashamed of. I’m supposed to hate him for his dominant nature, for the way he claims me and controls me, but I can’t. John does not know any other way of being in the universe, and I don’t know how to respond any other way.
His big, clawed hand slides down between my thighs and finds my soaked sex.
I am wet. Wet because he thrashed me, and because I deserved every bit of it. Wet because John is no longer tolerating my disobedience, because he has me under control. Wet because I ache both for and because of him. It may be twisted by human standards, and once I come down from this carnal high I may very well be filled with rebellion again, but for now I am his, all his.
I moan softly as John sets about doing everything he just promised he would. He knows how to tease my pussy to make me beg. He knows how to push those rough fingers inside me, spread my sex around him and toy with me. He pushes me forward onto the bed, spreads my red-hot cheeks and he fucks me like he owns me. His thick cock plunges inside my sex time and time again, giving me a rough reminder to follow his orders from here on out.
I am so lucky he chose to save me, not once, but dozens of times over. It will not be easy being his, and it will not be easy living here among the imprisoned humans, each of whom must find her own personal John. But as his cock ravages me and pleasure begins to take the place of pain, I know I am home, and I will be home whenever I am with him.
I am his pet.
He is my master.
And this is…
the end.
Next in series…
Did you like the sound of Silver? Reckon she might need her own story? I thought so too. She gets hers here:
Only the worst of the worst end up in my interstellar prison.
This inmate is different from my usual guests. She's human.
Soft.
Delicate.
Hard to punish because she could break so very easily.
It's my job to teach her a lesson she will never forget.
I will turn her from a wild criminal, to a tame pet.
She's going to fight me every step of the way.
And I'll enjoy every moment of her struggle.
In the end, she'll kneel for me, obey my every order, and beg for forgiveness.
I'm going to make this bad girl, very, very good.
Order Human Pet Prison now!
Or read this excerpt, then order it, your choice :)
Human Pet Prison Excerpt:
“Unhhhhhhh.”
That’s the sound my prisoner makes when pleasure overwhelms her. I have heard it many times, so many I think I would know it anywhere. It is a grunting moan accompanied by quivering thighs and little humping motions of desperate hips, lower lips desperate to be wrapped tightly around the hardest thing she can find. But she remains empty for the moment. Her satisfaction will only come when she satisfies me. Through slow degrees and careful torment, I have made her ravenous for release she will have to earn.
She cannot rise from the floor thanks to light, but strong chains which run across her body in a way I find particularly aesthetically pleasing. There is something about a soft human curve weighted down by heavy metal which makes me stir.
The chains amplify her desire. As much as she fights against them when they are strung about her body and used to bind her to my will, I think she has come to enjoy them. This is a woman who has come to me to be broken. She has not surrendered one inch of ground in the battle for her soul, but I have claimed her body completely.
I let my gaze run over her bound form slowly, appreciating every inch of her human beauty. There is a reason we scythkin desire human females above all others, even over the matriarchs of our own species. A human female is evolution’s ode to lust. She is made almost entirely for the act of copulation. Her breasts are perpetually swollen, as if in milk, though there is no milk in them. Most species will only develop udders when they need to feed their young, but a human female always has her mammaries thrust proudly on display. Every part of her body is curved, every inch of it is in service to the tight little wet sex hole between her lips, guarded by the most delicate flowering of tender flesh, and a light down of dark hair which does nothing to hide the treasure beneath. The lips of her face pout red and full, reminiscent of her sex when it is in the full flesh of desire.
Is she aware of the effect she has on males of our kind? I think so. This is no innocent captive wrapped in my chains. This is a woman who can respect no mate who cannot overpower her. Many have tried to tame this female. Some have been cruel. Others, kind. Neither approach works for a woman who needs to be owned.
Her mouth is full of rubber, a gag which makes it easier for her. When she has use of her tongue, it runs wild. It is better when she is quiet, when she has no means of communication besides animal grunts and physical gyrations which tell the truth, something her tongue rarely does.
She is greedy and demanding. These are good traits for a pet. They will make her easy to train. For now, she still believes she’s free. Even trussed up in these bonds, begging me silently for carnal release, she thinks this is about a simple human obsession. She has mistaken my desires for being like her own. She thinks I want sex. But that is only the beginning of what I want, and it is the very least of what I will take from her.
It is my job and personal purpose to punish her. I have been charged with the task of breaking her will and remaking her in the image of a perfect pet. One who is obedient. One who will sit at her master’s feet and beg for scraps of attention, slavishly needing his approval.
It will not be easy. This is as wild a human as I have ever encountered before. Her flesh may be human, and therefore weak, but her mind is strong. She has resisted many attempts to tame her thus far, but where others have failed, I will prevail.
My fingers drift between her thighs, find the tight little nub which always telegraphs her desire. The moans increase as her hips rise and fall. I let my fingers, usually rough and devastatingly dangerous, toy with that little bud. With humans, it is always the smallest things which have the most powerful effects.
The chains jingle and dance as she shudders with desire. I know what she wants. She wants these soft nether lips to be spread around something hard. Preferably, my flesh. She wants to be violated. She wants to be taken roughly so she does not have to admit to her own desire.
She is gagged, but that does not mean we are not having a conversation. Her eyes blaze almost as intensely as mine, though they are a rich human brown in color and have none of the bright fire of a scythkin. I admire this captive. I may even be falling in…