Tribute: Captives of Kazir

by Sophie Kisker

  It took forever to get all the way down. Her stomach protested, so she tried to pull back, but his hands wrapped themselves around her head, and the monster appendage continued to slide in until she found her face pressed against his stomach.

  He started counting under his breath. She twisted her body in protest, her hands still pinned to the back of her waist. He’d taken at least ten seconds—beats—to get down, and now he started counting? She started to panic, but he held her tight, and each number that fell from his lips sounded longer and longer from the last.

  She heard “twenty-five”, and he pulled out. She drew heaving gasps as she looked up at him in confusion.

  “You thought I was going to count all the way to thirty-five, even though it took ten just to get down, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” she coughed.

  “Didn’t I promise this morning I wouldn’t lie?”

  “No, sir, you didn’t.” She looked up at him with her eyebrows raised.

  He frowned and was silent for a moment.

  “Well, if I say something, you can know it’s true.”

  “Thank you, master.”

  “Again.” He gripped the stiff monstrosity bobbing before her and poked at her mouth. She opened wide, and for an achingly long time, he went all the way down, counted, then pulled back. For the last few thrusts, he was shaking, and she suspected he was losing his mind with the slowness.

  Finally, he pulled back, but not out, and shouted. Once more, she became a vessel for his cum, simply holding it and struggling to keep it from bursting out the sides.

  He took a ragged breath as he pulled out and nodded approvingly at her full mouth. A moment later, a bowl of the same stew was at her feet. She looked up at him, silently pleading with him not to make her dump the cum on it again.

  “If you dare swallow that now instead of putting it on your food, I will blister your ass.” Any consideration he’d shown a few minutes before was gone.

  Resigned, she leaned over and opened her mouth, once more placing his cum between her and her food. To remind her to honor his seed and hold it more important than her own food. No! That was fiction. This was real, and she couldn’t get lost in the fantasy.

  “You have five micros to eat. If you’re not done by then, I will whip you.”

  She almost spat out some very colorful descriptions of his ancestry but shut her mouth just in time.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The words made her almost too nauseated to eat. Bending over the bowl, she screwed her eyes shut and ate as fast as she could. When she sat back up, he was standing in front of her.

  “You’re learning.” He leaned over and cleaned her face, then picked up the bowl.

  “I’m learning if I don’t obey you, I get hurt. Master.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You may sleep in the closet or in my bed.”

  “The closet.” She hoped that wouldn’t make him mad, but he simply nodded.

  He helped her up and sent her to the bathroom, lengthening the morphicwire so she had almost free movement. She rolled her stiff shoulders and stretched her arms forward, and then splashed heavenly cool water on her face. When she emerged, he simply watched her as she stepped carefully across the carpet, every muscle in her body aching and hurting.

  She entered the closet, and before she could turn, he flicked the wires twice, and her hands were bound at her back. She sighed.

  He shut the door without speaking, and a moment later, the light went out. She found the corner and slid down the wall to the floor, hissing as her bottom made contact with the carpet again.

  In the embrace of the cool stone walls, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and cried silently until she was empty and exhausted.

  14

  Mena

  The next morning, she was just waking when the door swung open.

  “Morning greets us, my slave!”

  She eyed him with suspicion. He sounded, well, cheerful, and she didn’t trust that one bit. She herself was cranky; her shoulders were killing her, and she hadn’t slept well at all. Plus, when she’d cried last night, she only had her arm to wipe the snot on, so she really needed to shower. But that activity had its own dangers.

  She obediently asked permission to go to the bathroom, and when she was done, she knelt to give him thanks. When his admittedly gorgeous cock bobbed in front of her face, she gave it a kiss, then a lick for good measure. She had to admit she enjoyed his groan from above. No, she corrected herself, she enjoyed the small feeling of power she had, which forced him to be just a little vulnerable.

  The water in the bath was wonderfully warm. She didn’t object one bit when he sat on the edge and pulled her into his lap, like yesterday.

  She’d expected to have her arms in the cables until he was ready to spank her, so when she felt them release while she sat in his lap, she was absurdly grateful. As each arm fell free, he held it in his hands and moved it gently forward to lay on her lap. Then his large, strong hands kneaded her aching neck muscles so well she lost her mind with bliss, dropping her head back against his chest.

  A small part of her mind wondered why she felt grateful that he relieved the pain, when he himself had afflicted her with it.

  “Open your legs and drape them on the outside of mine.”

  She only hesitated a moment today. When he moved his legs out slightly, her tendons groaned in protest, but she recognized that in the warm water, her tendons would relax and she’d be able to get her knees a little wider.

  It was no great surprise when she felt his fingers slide between her legs. She knew without being told she was wet. He started to circle her clit.

  “N-no, please,” she whispered.

  He stopped. “Not in the mood right now?”

  She shook her head.

  The finger started circling again.

  “That doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  Oh God, how could those few words take her from ‘not in the mood’ to ‘aroused and dripping’ in one heartbeat?

  “Mena, you are a slave. That means you do not have the right to decide when you are in the mood, or not. I will decide what you feel and when. If I want you to be aroused, I will force your body to respond, even if your mind objects.”

  Her mind was no longer involved in decisions. She was lost in the swell of ecstacy spreading from the center of her core throughout her body.

  “But don’t worry, I’m not going to take it too far.”

  She hardly heard him. She was rocketing up, ready to explode into all the colors of the rainbow, when he took his fingers away.

  “No! Please! I need to come so bad!” She struggled to thrust her hand between her legs, but he wrapped his arm around her, pinning them to her sides.

  “That was a pretty quick change of your mind,” he chuckled into her ear. “But slaves in this house hardly ever get orgasms. I will bring you to the edge over and over, but only rarely will you be allowed relief.”

  “No!” she wailed. “Please, I need them!”

  “No, you need food and water. You do not need an orgasm, no matter how desperate you feel. And I like seeing you very, very, desperate.”

  She let out an anguished cry.

  “Now, hold still while I wash you.”

  Being washed was unbearable. Her skin buzzed with every touch of his hands; every glide of his fingers across the surface ignited sparks behind her eyes. He made no effort to pretend he wasn’t trying to keep her worked up, lingering on her breasts, stroking his thumbs over her areolae until she was panting and dizzy. It was with relief that she found herself lifted to her feet, so he could wash her hair.

  “Forty beats today.”

  She started to object, but the look in his eyes told her just how far she’d get with her complaint. “Yes, sir,” she replied. She took a deep breath and sank down on her heels into the water. His hands pushed firmly on her shoulders, and she had no choice but to surrender to his control.

  She tried to coun
t, but her heart was jackhammering so fast, she had to give up. In the silence of the water, time seemed endless. She tried to relax, tried to trust him, and it worked for the first part, while he was washing her hair. Then her brain started calling for air, and she grew restless under the pressure of his hand. The call grew louder and more insistent, then broke into outright panic. She pushed up with her feet, grabbed his hand, and tried in desperation to pry it off her shoulder, struggling blindly.Suddenly, his hands were around her waist, and she was up and out of the water, gulping air and coughing. She pounded on his chest as he held her steady.

  “That was much longer than forty! You’re trying to drown me!”

  He pushed her away from his chest without letting go and knelt in the water.

  “Mena! I am not trying to drown you. That was exactly forty beats. Did I tell you that you could trust me? Have I done anything different from what I said I was going to do?”

  Now that she could breathe again she was calmer. She looked down at the water.

  “Yes. I mean no. I mean, you haven’t broken your word. Sir.”

  “Turn around and face away from me.”

  Her heart was thumping with anxiety and she tensed as he gathered her wrists behind her. Without warning they were fastened tightly to her belt again. She yanked on them, but there was no give.

  “Master?” She swung around to face him. He was holding up the back of one hand, and across it was a bright red line of broken skin. She looked at it, then at his face.

  “Did I do that?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry!” She really meant it. “I was just panicking!”

  “Mena, when you fight me, you tell me you don’t trust me, nor do you accept my right to do whatever I’m doing. So, we’re going to do this again. And this time, I’ve made sure you can’t fight me.”

  She opened her mouth to plead, but her brain caught up with what he’d said, and she closed it. He was right. He did have the legal right to do whatever he wanted. She was learning that. It didn’t mean she was going to surrender to him, only that he had the right—given to him by the Kaziri government—to do all of this. It was no longer something she could argue.

  “This time I want you to kneel, and I’m going to keep pressure on your back to keep you underwater. You won’t be able to fight me.”

  She was shaking with fear as she let her legs collapse. She hit the bottom of the bath with her knees just as her head went under, and he pushed on her back, folding her so she was pressed against her legs. She was helpless and had no leverage, and her panic started almost immediately. But she made herself relax. The seconds passed agonizingly slow, and her mind tried to tell her she was going to die. She fought to stay still.

  Reaching around her waist again, he pulled her up and out. She gasped for air. Looking up at him, she actually smiled.

  “I did it!”

  “You did. Tomorrow we’ll do forty-five.” He was all business again, but she didn’t miss how rigid his cock was or that he was breathing just a little fast. He was totally turned on by holding her under. She wasn’t sure if she was frightened by that or if she was aroused because she was giving him pleasure by submitting.

  There was no time to consider it further because he had released her arms and was drawing them forward for the next part of her morning.

  Her spanking.

  He fastened her arms over her head, facing her away from the door, and just like yesterday, she started shaking. She forced herself not to beg, repeating a mantra over and over, “He has the right to do it, and I don’t have the right to stop him.” It was an absurd sentence that should not have helped her, but it did, and by the time he came back she’d stilled herself.

  She twisted around to see what he held in his hand.

  “Turn around!”

  She forced herself to look away.

  “Why do you want to look at me?”

  “To see what you’re going to use to spank me, sir.”

  “And what exactly am I going to spank you with?”

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, knowing it was a trick question, and she didn’t like the answer.

  “Whatever you think I should be spanked with.”

  “Correct. How long should I spank you?”

  “As long as you please, sir.”

  “Correct. How hard should I make it?”

  “As hard as you please, sir.” This was a bizarre catechism.

  “Correct. And last, is any of this your decision?”

  By now she had screwed her eyes shut and started shaking again.

  “N-no, sir.”

  He stepped into the water behind her, stroking the damp skin of her butt. She hissed as he drew a finger across one of the cane lines from the day before yesterday.

  “They’re fading. That’s too bad. I think a slave isn’t properly presented without at least ten clear lines across her ass.”

  “No, please…” she whispered, knowing what was about to happen.

  “You only have two clear ones left.”

  Her knees gave way, and she let out a wail as she realized she was about to get eight strokes.

  “But I need your opinion.”

  She managed to pull herself up. “S-sir?”

  “I can do them lightly, and possibly need to do them all over again tomorrow. Or I can do them heavy and hard, and you might not need any more for five or seven days.”

  “Sir! I can’t! Please don’t make me pick one!”

  “Very well.”

  She hardly registered the swishing sound before the cane impacted her skin. Crying out in agony, she danced around in the water, trying to relieve the pain.

  “Stop moving, or I will have to tie your ankles together. I don’t want to accidentally hit the wrong spot.”

  “It’s all the wrong spots!” she cried out. To her astonishment, he started to laugh, but the sound was quickly stifled.

  “Beginning again.” The cane cut through the air, and another searing line was laid across her scalded skin. She shrieked but limited her movement to stamping with one foot. Again, the cane fell, and the pain registered a millisecond later. This time, she screamed. It shouldn’t have surprised her he had chosen the heavy and hard route. The blows came one every five seconds or so, the whole thing lasting maybe an Earth minute, and when the ninth one was over, she was sobbing and shaking violently. He released her hands and picked her up, just like yesterday, bringing her out to the bed. A moment later, the cream had been applied, and she knew relief would come, eventually.

  “I’m glad you let me choose. I’m looking forward to doing this again tomorrow.”

  “What?! Those were hard!”

  “No, not really. You haven’t felt hard yet, but don’t worry. As long as the lines are still there, I won’t repeat the caning again. We’ll just see what they look like tomorrow. Up.” He held out a hand to her.

  She hesitated, angry at what felt like a betrayal. Eventually, she took it, groaning as she put weight on her butt. He pointed to her mat, and she eased herself down onto her knees, glad her hands were still free… but not for long. He fastened them once more.

  “Do you know the most important reason to keep a slave restrained in some way all the time?”

  She’d thought about that, a lot, over the last two nights.

  “Because being restricted in some way all the time helps the slave realize what she is. It’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, and scary, and it prevents her from stopping or protecting her body from what her master wants to do. And that’s something a free person would not experience.”

  “Very good. Open your mouth. I’m going to push myself all the way down and hold you there for forty beats, and I’m going to do it repeatedly until I come. You will only have two or three beats to get air in before I push back down.”

  He pushed himself in before she had a chance to say anything because what was she going to say? He was as good as his word, pulling her forc
efully onto his cock until her face pressed into the taut muscles of his stomach, above his dick. She tried hard to relax, to open her throat, and not to worry about the time. It worked. He pulled out, and she quickly gasped as he pulled her back on. Over and over he impaled himself deep in her throat. At last, he began making the grunts that signaled he was close. He pulled back, she got a breath, then he pulled her forcefully to his stomach, and his groan grew louder. He’d ceased moving inside her. She was beginning to panic. He was going to come when he was all the way down, and he’d swell up and suffocate her! She tried to push his cock out of her mouth by tightening her throat and pushing with her tongue, which only made him bellow louder. His cock spasmed in her throat, and the cum erupted deep inside. Then her mouth filled with firm flesh.

  She started to panic, sure he was about to be trapped inside, when the firmness left her mouth, and all she had between her lips was the end of his cock, which was still pumping cum into her mouth. Even that left ,after a moment. She barely remembered to keep her mouth shut.

  “Good.” His voice was strained. “Keep it there.”

  Mena was doing her best to catch her breath through her nose and it was with relief that she finally dumped the cum out into the same bowl of brown stew that had been her only meal since she’d arrived.

  Still breathing heavily, he released her arms and handed her a spoon. She bent over the bowl and it only took her a few minutes to finish, and when she did, he was right in front of her with a damp cloth to wipe her mouth.

  “Unfortunately, my days do not include extra time to train a slave, and I have work to do. Would you like to take a short sleep on the bed?”

  A thousand warning bells played in her head at the thought of being asleep and completely vulnerable to him. Despite that, the soft bed looked so much better than the floor of the closet, and she hadn’t slept well for a long time.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He helped her to her feet and walked her over to the bed, guiding her down on her back. She winced at the pain of lying on the cane stripes and tried to turn to her side, but he shook his head and rolled her back. She didn’t need to hear words to know he wanted her to feel the pain of lying on them. As he drew her arms over her head, he locked eyes with her, and a wave of lust took her breath away. As he stood, his hand traced a line down the side of her face to one breast, where the lightest of caresses compelled her to arch up, offering it to his touch. Instead, he reached for the cover and drew it up to her chin.