She whispered something.
He scraped a welt again. She jerked in the bonds and hissed.
“Mena.” She didn’t yell, which was an improvement.
“Good. We’re done.” He knelt down to free her ankles, wondering if she’d try to kick him as they were freed. She didn’t. She was tamed… for now. He had to hide a grin as he hoped she wasn’t too tame. Releasing her arms, he caught her as her knees gave way, then carried her unresisting body to the closet. Her skin was warm and flushed, and he could still smell her arousal. He couldn’t remember a time when his cock had been this hard.
He eased her out of his arms to her knees, then down onto her side. It was time to let her arms free, especially after the weight they’d carried for the last little while. He unbound them, noting the deep red lines from the morphicwire, but not seeing any damage to the skin or circulation.
Just so she didn’t get too comfortable, he bound her ankles together.
She wasn’t asleep. She was staring at the wall, blinking back tears. He moved a strand of hair off her face, but she didn’t acknowledge him as he stood and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
He had Senate work to do and felt energized and ready to tackle it.
Mena
This was pretty much the lowest point in her life, as low as she’d been when the Hope II had left Earth, leaving her mother and brother behind.
It was definitely the most pain she’d ever experienced.
How had things gone wrong so fast? All her dreams, gone?
She stifled another sob.
The rest of them—the other 4,960 or so humans—were even now setting up their new home. Maybe it wasn’t exactly like they thought, but it was still dirt under their feet, fresh air, and a chance to start over with their lives.
They’d get to have children.
Reproduction had been prohibited on the trip, especially once the ship had trouble and the trip became longer and longer. Now those who had been holding off would probably get permission to start babies as fast as they could. Nine months from now would be a busy time for the midwives.
Mena might be pregnant, too—with the baby of an alien she hated.
No, not hated.
Despised.
This wasn’t like the submission in the books and vids. Those masters took care of their slaves, even loved them. Sure, it sometimes started out as a capture fantasy, but there was always a Happily Ever After.
All Mena had to look forward to was submitting to some sadistic bastard who took glee in hitting her, for the rest of her life. She didn’t know how she was going to make it, how she’d get through each day, if this was her new reality. How long could she be abused before she gave up and died? Probably a lot longer than she wanted to think about. She had to hold on to her anger and defiance as much as she could. She rolled onto her stomach, groaning with pain. At least she had her hands free again.
The squishiness between her thighs reminded her of another problem.
She had been wet when he invaded her with his fingers. She wasn’t lying when she’d insisted she’d hated it, but for some reason, her body had responded to what he’d done. It had to be just a physical reaction, but fear didn’t usually make a person wet, right? There was no way she’d found anything arousing about being tied up, fondled, and fingered. The pain evaluation she’d been through showed her that. She’d been dry when they had finished.
After she’d been wet.
And wet earlier, after the green alien whipped her nipples.
No! It just wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense.
She rewound the memories in her mind—being restrained over his lap, the way he simply tore the fabric off of her when he wanted to caress her skin. She snorted and fast-forwarded through the memory of the spanking—decidedly not a pleasant event.
While she knelt to eat, he seemed almost peaceful. She had accidentally let out a groan when he pulled her hair because it felt so good. Then the mood changed abruptly, and he was angry. She’d been relieved his anger didn’t make him careless. He had been careful with her bonds. He’d fondled her but not hurt her, not really, until the cane came out.
The welts throbbed.
His mood was capricious. She had to remember that.
Though she thought she’d stay awake, she dozed for a while, surprised she could relax enough to let her awareness slip. She didn’t know if he’d left the apartment or if the door was soundproof, but when she woke again, all she heard was silence.
She looked around. The small room had yellow stone walls, a red carpet that was springy without having a deep pile, and a dark brown door that looked like wood. The similarities of his home to human dwellings were both comforting and strange. Alien homes, in the books she’d read, were always white and steel, with rounded corners—very futuristic to the human eye. She’d always hoped the future wouldn’t look like that because there was little that was comforting in white and steel. After being on a ship for ten years that was all hard lines and little color, she drank up the bright colors in this room like a thirsty person drinks water.
Lying on her stomach any longer was impossible. With a groan, she rolled to her side, pulling her knees and bound ankles up. Even that was uncomfortable because the cane had snapped around her hip several times, and there were bright red welts on both sides. She pushed herself to her knees. That wasn’t very comfortable, either, as her butt rested on her heels.
She never wanted that door to open because she was sure more pain waited on the other side, yet she was bored… and hungry.
The light vanished without warning. Apparently, he’d decided it was time to sleep.
And in the dark where no one could see, she let go of her strength, and cried until she fell asleep.
Mik'kal
Mik'kal didn’t sleep for a long time. He listened to Mena’s crying for a while, letting the sound wash over him. It had taken a long time to learn how to push his fantasies of control into a corner and only let them out a bit at a time, like his fantasy in the bath the other day. Now, he had the chance to let a little more of the darkness out. One part of his mind warned him to be careful, while the other part was urging him to act out his darkest fantasies on her body. She was his, and there was no one to tell him he had to be careful.
He absently stroked his dick as he laid in the dark.
Holding himself back from fucking her today had been tough. He was eager to use her body for his pleasure, for her to understand every hole was his to use in any manner he chose, and not a single part of her actually belonged to her anymore. He vowed it wouldn’t be long before he was sunk up to his balls in her tightest hole, feeling her pant, squeal, and struggle beneath him. Then, as he filled her belly with cum and his knot expanded, he’d hold her tight while she cried from the pain. He might finger her clit, so he could enjoy her gasps and cries, but he doubted he’d let her come. That was a pleasure reserved for Masters, never slaves. Well, at least in his home.
His hand stroked faster up the long length and back down, his excitement spiraling, his balls beginning to tighten.
After the knot finally let go, and he could slide out of her, he would turn her over to face him, so she could show her obedience by taking his cock in her mouth and cleaning him thoroughly with her tongue. He knew she’d fight him, probably gag and cry, and would have to be held in place.
He hoped so.
With a loud groan, he erupted, his seed spurting over his hands and running down his cock to puddle on the bed. He pumped as long as he could tolerate the touch until no more of the thick liquid bubbled up and out. When he was done, he was almost unconscious. He managed to force himself up to his feet, and as he headed to the bath to wash off, he looked back at the puddles of cum, an idea forming in his mind, a way she could show obedience.
Clean, a little calmer, and once more lying in the dark, he considered her question. Did he want to breed her? He’d never really thought about a family. He’d been too focused on
his job and had only had a couple serious relationships in his life. They’d all been unsatisfying, both emotionally and sexually.
He imagined breeding Mena, wondering if human women were designed the same way as other, similar species. His cock, with its narrowed tip, was designed to slide all the way into the female’s breeding hole until it forced its tip inside her cervix. In some species, giving the woman an orgasm right before she was bred meant her cervix would open slightly and the process would be much more comfortable. Once there, the cock would deposit its seed directly into her uterus. Then, while he was knotted inside her, his cock would prevent any seed from leaving the uterus. When he finally withdrew, it would leak a sticky residue that sealed up the cervix until it closed again on its own. Most humanoid women who could breed with his people got pregnant immediately, which is why it was the practice to use the other hole for recreational sex.
Her breasts would be large, lush, and eventually full of milk. Daily, he would watch as her body changed, proud to know he’d done the ultimate dominant act of forcing his slave to create life inside her unwilling body.
Fuck. He needed to stop thinking about her and sleep. He had a lot to do tomorrow.
10
Mik'kal
He woke to the sound of banging on the closet door. Annoyed, he rolled out of bed and made his way across the room in the dim morning light. Waving his hand over the panel to the side, the door popped open, and she was standing right inside.
“I need to pee right now, or I’ll do it here on the carpet!”
He crossed his arms and leaned on the frame, waiting for her to address him properly first.
“Did you hear me?” She was doing a cute little dance. Despite her distress, he was interested to see that her eyes were fixated on the bulge beneath his nightwear, which was increasing rapidly at the sight of her bouncing breasts.
He raised one eyebrow.
With a rather dramatic sigh, she flopped down onto her knees.
“May I please be allowed to use the bathroom, sir?”
“One more try. And if you pee on the carpet because you were too stubborn to say it right, I will punish you.”
She closed her eyes, and he could tell she was gritting her teeth, but he wasn’t going to give in. She was going to understand her place and that he had the power to control everything in her life.
“Master,” she whispered, “may I please use the bathroom?”
He knelt down and unbound her ankles. As she slipped past him, she brushed against his fully-erect member. Her skin was warm and soft, and he barely held in a groan at the contact.
When she returned, she stopped and looked at him as though unsure what to do next. To help her out, he pointed at the floor.
“Now, you thank me.”
“I have to thank you every time I pee?”
“You have to thank me every time I give you permission to do something. And you have to ask for permission to do everything. So, yes,”—he pointed to the floor again—“you need to kneel down and thank me.”
She dropped to the floor with a thump that told him just what she thought of that order.
“Thank you… Master… for letting me pee.”
“Now, since you are awake, we can get started.”
She looked up. “With what?” she whispered, her eyes wide and fearful.
“Your training.”
Mena
Training? Training?! Dogs were trained. Not humans. But… hadn’t she read any number of books where the submissive was trained to the Dominant’s preferences?
She was pulled back to the present when he moved to the table, where he picked up a band of shiny gold metal.
Oh, no...
“Crawl over here.”
Humiliated, she moved as slowly as she dared across the carpet, until she stopped near his feet.
“Up.”
She stood, her eyes watching this new atrocity warily.
“Arms out.”
He wrapped the band around her waist. It clipped together in front and wasn’t as cold as it looked. Hanging from the center back were two lengths of that stupid black cable, ending in cuffs. He wrapped a cuff around each wrist, and when he let go she couldn’t see any seam.
She tested her boundaries. The cables from her back to each wrist kept her arms from coming any further forward than her hips. She tried bending her elbows and pulling her hands up, and the cables stopped her hands well below her breasts.
She dropped her arms and stood silently, staring at the floor.
“This morphicwire will keep you from touching yourself between your legs. It will also prevent you from protecting your breasts when I decide to hurt them. When needed, they’ll shorten to hold your hands out of the way.” He flicked both wires, and they snapped her hands back and up, pinning them to the band at her center back, with absolutely no give. Then he flicked them again, and they lengthened, and she could move her arms to her sides again. Two quick flicks to each wire, and this time, the cable lengthened to give her free movement of her arms. Then one last flick tightened them to the original length. If the stuff hadn’t been attached to her, she would have been fascinated.
He pointed to the hard square on the carpet. “Kneel.”
She dropped down awkwardly, not able to use her hands for balance.
“Put your hands on your thighs.”
She pulled on the cable, but her hands could get nowhere near where he wanted them. She looked up.
“I can’t. I need you to let the morph-something loose.”
“Put your hands on your thighs, now.”
She yanked at the wires in frustration but was saved from replying to him in a tone that would have gotten her punished when she realized that if her hands couldn’t come to her thighs, her thighs could come to her hands.
She spread her knees, glimpses of the fantasy she’d had of spreading her knees before a master flitting through her mind. She’d never imagined she’d be angry and scared when she did it.
Her tendons protested as she struggled to spread them wide enough to let her hands rest on top, but her knees remained too close together. She continued to struggle to get them wider and didn’t notice him until he squatted down in front of her. In his hand, he held the spreader bar she’d arrived with.
“Oh, no, please,” she whispered, but her plea was in vain as he placed it between her knees, lengthening it and pushing them impossibly wider. She hissed and gritted her teeth at the pain of strained tendons, but when he stood and backed away, her hands were at rest on her thighs.
“We’ll use that bar until you can do it yourself. I like how you’ve arranged your hands.”
She looked down in surprise. Without thinking, she’d turned her palms up in the classic submissive pose that threw her shoulders back and pushed her breasts forward. She resisted the impulse to turn them back over out of spite. Enough of the sting of last night’s caning remained to quell any outright rebellion, for now.
You know that’s exactly why he caned you, right? To make you afraid to fight back?
He disappeared down the small hall, and a moment later, she heard water running. Surprised he had left her alone, she took the opportunity to catch her breath.
Not only was she afraid, she was confused, out of her element, and needed to assess her situation fully before she acted. There would be things to rebel against and things to let slide. As much as she wanted to scream in protest, she needed to accept this wasn’t ending any time soon. What she did with her hands now would matter little in the end.
She forced herself to breath in and out, to release some of the tension. She wouldn’t survive if she let anger and fear swallow her up.
She opened her eyes to take in the room. Muted sunshine from Kazir’s slightly smaller sun fell on her skin from the right, coming through two tall windows. All she could see was a sky with a purplish hue. She hadn’t had a chance to look outside yet and wondered what the daily life of aliens was like. Were they all beating thei
r slaves, too?
Under one of the windows sat a thick, heavy table with carved legs. At one end was his chair, the same reddish-brown as the table, with more carving and thick cushions. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be buying a second chair for her. Except for the area where his food had been, the table was covered with datapads and other small items.
To her left stood the massive bed, surrounded by the stone steps and arches. It looked like something from very old Earth history, like a bed a king might have slept on. The cover was a rich red and yellow mosaic, a strangely alien pattern. She rolled her stiff shoulders and wondered if she’d get to sleep in it. Surely not alone, so was it worth the price? No. She’d manage in the closet as long as he let her.
Holy hell, her tendons hurt. She tried to shift, but the bar was so tightly wedged, she had not a millimeter of slack—no wonder he’d left her alone. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
There’d been no sounds of water for a while. Maybe he drowned. She almost snorted. Her luck was never that good.
As if he knew she was thinking about him, he appeared again from the hall, walking over to an empty section of the wall. As he waved his hand in front of it, an opening appeared. She watched, wide-eyed, as faced away from her to push down his alien version of sweatpants, bending over to snag them from the floor and toss them into the opening.
His back was all muscles, covered by the same brown pattern as the rest of his body. He had a tight ass. His arms bulged with muscles that explained his ease with carrying her in a hogtie through the streets. And his thigh muscles were every bit as broad as she’d felt under her chest while she struggled during the spanking. His shiny black hair hung down his back in a braid, almost to his butt crack.
Then he turned around, and she got the second-biggest shock of her life.
Bobbing between his legs was the biggest dick she’d ever seen.
It was almost as long as her forearm.
Tribute: Captives of Kazir Page 6