“Our violence tends to be cyclical. We were in one of the violent periods, the sort of emotional storm we go through periodically as a people. Most of the time violence is rarely turned upon anyone else on the planet, because for hundreds of years everyone on the planet has gone through something called the Adenję Trials, which help us learn to control it. But during our violent cycles it’s much harder to contain, and your people showed up in the middle of it. We took all of them as slaves. All kinds of slaves. We had other slaves here as well, from other planets, and they’re treated well. But your people rose up and fought back hard, and because we were going through the violent cycle, we reacted… badly. In the end, most of them were killed. Some killed themselves. It shocked our people. That’s when we started to make real changes toward meeting our needs in other ways.” He paused. “For at least five years after that, there were terrible storms and earthquakes across the planet. Some say the planet was angry at what we did. Others say that is ridiculous.”
“What do you believe, sir?” she asked softly.
“I think it’s foolish to dismiss possibilities just because we don’t understand them.”
She was silent for a long moment.
“We had slavery for thousands of years on Earth. We did terrible things to people. It took hundreds of years to remove the stain from our souls. The last few decades it seemed our society lost all the progress we’d made. Powerful people became comfortable with using the less powerful, and the planet, for personal gain. So, some of us decided to leave. We wanted to establish a new home for humans without the mistakes of the past haunting us. A place where no group of people had power over another group, and people would respect the planet. A month before we were supposed to leave the news broke that a rogue country had gotten hold of stealth nuclear missiles—the kind no one would know about until a city blew up. So even though the ship wasn’t ready, we were sent a message—it would be leaving in thirty-six hours. That’s about one and a half rotations.
“I was supposed to leave with my mom and my brother, Steven. He’d had a brain injury a few years before and needed extra care. I was only fifteen, and it never occurred to me Steven’s issues might mean he wasn’t really chosen for the trip, and my mother would never leave him. It was my mother’s plan all along to get me on the ship and send me alone. She wanted me to survive, even if it looked like everyone else might not…” Mena rubbed her cheek on her shoulder to wipe off tears. “She sent me by myself, saying she’d be right behind with Steven, but I was only on the ship for an hour before the first bombs exploded and the world fell apart. The captain decided right then to take off with only half the people and without all the supplies or parts we needed. That’s why we had such trouble along the way.”
She fell silent again, but he waited, sensing she had more to say.
“The captain told us shortly after we left that we’d lost communication with Earth, and it was possible we were the last humans. I think he may have felt the stakes were the survival of our species, rather than just our ship. He may have felt that was more important than honor. I can’t excuse his actions, though. There had to be a better way.” She looked up at him. “Even so, those of us who have a predilection toward submission will only submit to someone who has earned our trust, someone we’ve chosen. You’re mistaken if you think we’ll submit willingly just because you tell us to.”
He’d been listening intently, enjoying hearing about her past, but her last sentence made him bristle.
“We must conquer. We must force. We do not ask our slaves if they consent to submit. They submit or they are punished. And I’m tired of talking.”
His nirza actually growled in his head. He couldn’t remember it ever doing that before. The silence between them grew.
“Yes, sir.” Her head dropped down. The energy in the room disappeared with an almost audible pop!
“It’s time for me to fuck your mouth.”
He fisted his cock in his hand, annoyed it wasn’t as rigid as usual. When he’d gotten it halfway erect, he pushed into her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat. He set up an angry rhythm of pushing deep to trigger her gag and holding there until she struggled for air, then pulling out for the briefest of moments for a frantic breath. He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, a tear slipping from underneath to trickle down her cheeks. Her hands were fisted at her sides. She gave no resistance as he assaulted her mouth. His orgasm, when it finally boiled up and over, felt weak and unorganized. She held his cum obediently in her mouth as he pulled out, not spilling a drop.
The two of them ate silently, and when she was done, she sat utterly still.
This was all wrong. He dropped into the chair off to the side and studied her.
He needed her fire. Needed her spirit. The darkness inside him needed light to bounce off of, else it would simply swallow them up, and nothing would remain, for either of them.
“You’re not an object, you know.”
She looked up with a flat expression. “Sir?”
"I know you’re a person, even if I think humans are reckless and dangerous. I know you have thoughts and fears, and likes and dislikes. And as a sentient being, you have the right to autonomy."
“What?”
“I’ve taken away your rights, but it doesn't mean you don't deserve them. It just means I’m stronger than you. I’ve taken them away because I can. But there’s nothing exciting about how unfair this relationship is if I don’t recognize the pain I’m causing to an intelligent person. There would be no fun hurting you if I saw you as an animal. I hope you never give up your desire to be free, and if you struggle to resist the label of slave, I’m okay with that.”
“You’re okay?” The fire in her eyes had lit again. “What if I'm not okay with that? Do you know how exhausting it is to fight you every day? How much energy it takes to hate you, to wish I had a way to murder you? It would be much easier to surrender who I am and become a mindless, obedient slave!”
That was the woman he wanted to conquer ,and subdue…
And take care of…
"I hope you never give up the urge to murder me," he said, giving in to the sudden urge to grin. "That's what makes owning you such a delight."
Her eyes widened, and he didn’t have time to consider what she might do before she launched herself at him. Coming off the floor, up to his chair, with her arms constrained by the wires, she could barely stumble in his direction before he neatly snagged her and upended her over his lap. She vented her fury, kicking and screaming, and he held her tight and silent until she ran out of energy. Then he raised his hand and brought it down to smack the skin of her pink cheeks. She howled, but it sounded more like anger than pain. He set up a rhythm of left cheek, right cheek, right thigh, left thigh, going around and around as she fought his grip and called him all sorts of words in her native language that he had no doubt were expletives.
Her pink skin had turned cherry red by the time she gave up and fell limp over his lap. He thought he’d feel a rush of pleasure at her defeat. Instead, he felt emptiness. He circled the redness with a finger, cupping and lightly squeezing the hot skin.
His hand slid into the cleft between her cheeks. One finger absently stroked the tight tiny hole he’d forced open just last night. His cock jumped at the memory. She shifted on his lap, stifling noises that sounded like groans.
He slid his hand further between her folds. He marveled at the slickness, how her body was always ready to accept his cock. No matter her denials and protests, her wetness was proof she was made to be taken and used for his pleasure.
His finger probed deep inside her breeding channel as she groaned quietly and lifted her head. He pulled his finger out, moving it to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves he continually kept on edge. She panted and wiggled, bringing his cock to life underneath her hips. He kept his touch light, his finger barely brushing the little button, and the mewling sounds and shudders told him he was on the right track. Her gyrations threa
tened to spill her off his lap, so he tucked his arm tight around her waist and kept stroking.
“Master! I’m—” She screeched and bucked and came apart, the orgasm far more explosive than he’d expected. It went on for almost a micro, finally subsiding into shudders as she collapsed across his lap.
He removed his hand, now soaked with her juices, and turned her over. Even as the aftershocks continued, he pulled her close against his chest, stroking her hair.
She hissed at the contact of her burning skin with his trousers but after a moment, relaxed into his hold. He licked the sweet nectar from his fingers. And as they sat together in the silence, his nirza began to purr.
22
Mena
Mena was quiet again the next morning, but she felt more thoughtful than depressed. She had no problem kicking and fighting her way through a vigorous paddling that left her red and sore, again. Mik’kal had just ordered her over the cushion to fuck her pleasure hole when a chirp interrupted.
He walked over to the table and out of the corner of her eye she saw a small hologram pop up.
“Yes, Dirac Ortan, how may I serve you, sir?”
“I need to see you this morning. Can you be here by fifth hour?”
Mik'kal nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Mik'kal, bring your slave. I want to see her, too.”
“Sir, she’s not really street-trained yet.”
“Bring her anyway. It would be entertaining. You can always borrow my shockstick.”
Her anger flared at their casual discussion of her behavior, and she started to rise. He turned and glared at her, pointing down. She halted her rise but refused to lie back down.
“Yes, sir. I might need it.”
The hologram disappeared. He looked at her with thunder on his face but she was too pissed off to heed the warning.
“Entertaining and street-trained? Who the fuck does he think—”
“Silence!” he roared. “You will never speak disrespectfully of Dirac Ortan. He is the most powerful Kaziri on the planet. Do you understand?”
She understood she needed to back down, now. She knelt and took a breath. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”
“Dirac Ortan wants to see you. When I said you’re not street-trained, I meant it. A street-trained slave knows how to walk beside and behind her master. She knows when to kneel. She keeps silent, no matter what she hears. She does not object when her master permits strangers to touch her.”
Mena kept her words soft. “I’m not sure you’ll ever get me to be street-trained, master.” She wasn’t protesting; she was stating a fact.
“If you ever want to leave this apartment, you will learn all of that and more, but for now, these are the rules. You will be silent, or you will be gagged. I will not let anyone touch you except the Dirac, and he probably will.. You will accept a collar, which I was going to give to you today anyway, and a leash. The Dirac’s offer of a shockstick was not a joke. He has one, and he likes to use it.”
She shuddered at the memory of the one that had touched her.
“You remember it. Good.” He picked up the cushion and tossed it into the corner, released her wrists, and handed her the block of wood with spikes that was the Kaziri version of a comb.
She tried to ease the tension. “Sir, do you want me to wear my hair any certain way?” The question felt strangely intimate.
He walked behind her and gathered her hair in his hand, pulling her head back gently until she stared up into his dark eyes. She sensed he was trying to ease the tension as well. His hold was perfectly balanced and the pull on each strand sent shivers across her scalp.
“Mmm. I love your hair. Very soon I plan to use it against you. Perhaps with rope braided into it, and the rope fixed to someplace over your head so you have to stand on your toes.”
“Ohh…” The whimper was out before she could stop it.
He chuckled. “Tell me, slave, are you wet between your legs again?”
Her clit pulsed and warmth flooded the junction of legs and stomach. A familiar feeling grew…
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
He released her hair gently, letting it slide through his fingers.
“Braid it like mine. I want to see your face clearly, so I can watch it redden each time you encounter a new humiliation.” He let go and walked over to the panel that hid his clothes.
As she combed and braided her hair, she worked to get her breathing under control, which wasn’t easy as she tried to imagine what humiliations he might have in store for her. She was not an exhibitionist, and the possibility he might make her do something in public worried her greatly. Then the worst humiliation of all occurred to her.
“Sir—Master—are you going to make me… oh, please… don’t make me go outside naked!”
He paused from sliding a coral-colored robe around his shoulders.
“And if I did?”
“I can’t.” She slumped over. “No matter what you’d do to me. I just can’t do that.”
“Mena.”
She looked up to see him holding a length of red cloth. He beckoned her to come over, and she rose, holding her breath.
“Hold still.” He took one long length and stepped behind her, winding it around her waist and over her shoulders, crossing her breasts in front, and finishing it off in the back.
He picked up a second piece of two large, long lengths of red mixed with gold threads, joined and overlapping at a waistband. He moved behind her, his large hands encircling her waist as he placed the skirt around her and fastened it at the back.
He stepped away, and she wiggled, loving the soft fluttering of the light material. It was a beautiful dark red, the material soft and silky as it caressed her skin.
She was startled by a coolness at her back. Reaching behind, she found the skirt panels overlapping by only a few centimeters. The overlap at the front was similar. The merest breath of wind would flutter the sides apart. Her nipples, pointed and hard, were visible through the fabric. As she walked, she would be exposed to anyone who cared to look. But she had to admit the dress was amazing, and she felt sexy as hell.
“How a master dresses a slave is a reflection of his status. Making you go without clothes might be good for your training, but it wouldn’t be good for me if you appeared on the street naked.”
She bit her lip and looked down, her pleasure dimmed by being reminded it wasn’t about what she wanted or desired; it was about what mattered to him.
“There’s one more piece to this.” He held up a thin gold cord. Moving the fabric aside to reveal her breasts, he slipped a loop over her nipple, where it tightened enough to make it stand out like a brown berry. He did the same to the other. He gave an experimental tug, and she gasped at the erotic shock that leaped from one nipple to the other. He dropped the cord, rearranging the fabric. She looked up at him and drew in a shaky breath. He nodded in approval.
The metal belt went back around her waist, and her wrists were hooked to the cables.
He pulled out a pair of soft red shoes and she slipped them on.
After five days of nudity, having the whisper-soft fabric touching her body and sliding across her lassoed nipples was a constant tantalizing caress. She was already soaking wet.
Her master wore a charcoal-grey shirt with dark trousers, dressed much like he’d been the day she met him. Over his shoulders hung the cloak, pinned at one shoulder with an elaborate gold pin that looked like a bird rising up from the ground. The arm under the pin was free, but the cloak draped over the other arm as he raised it.
He was magnificent.
“One more thing.” He opened a box on the table and drew out a gold circle.
She knew this would happen eventually. She was dizzy as he wrapped it around her neck, and the click as it closed sounded so… final. She wondered if she’d ever be able to remove it, or if it would be there forever. Strangely, that thought both terrified and aroused her.
“It looks perfect on you. You a
re very beautiful.”
The compliment caught her off-guard. “Um, thank you, sir.”
“There are two small rings at the center front. The top one is to attach a leash.”
“A l-leash? Sir, please—”
His raised eyebrow reminded her there was a penalty for interrupting him. She closed her mouth.
“Slaves are frequently leashed in public as a reminder of their status.”
The collar, the morphicwire belt, the see-through dress with a nipple chain, the scorched and painful skin of her butt—those weren’t enough to keep her constantly aware of her status? She held her tongue.
“The ring on the bottom is to attach a little vial.” He held up a teardrop-shaped vial of multicolor glass which he clipped to the ring. “It holds a slippery lubricant. If we are outside and I wish to fuck your pleasure hole, you will have this vial so I can oil up my cock. If you forget to ask me to refill this after use, I will fuck you without lube. Understand?”
Her knees almost collapsed at the idea he’d fuck her ass in public. She took a couple deep breaths to steady herself.
“Yes, master.”
“Please use your hands to grasp the skirt panels to pull them apart, and kneel. I have a couple things to tell you.”
As she spread her knees wide, the skirt split open and gave a view of her entire pussy. He picked up the hated spreader bar and inserted it between her knees, pushing them apart them wide until she hissed in pain and her hands laid upturned on her thighs once more. He drew a finger through her pussy and she blushed bright red as it came out soaked.
“Perfect.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I have a couple things to say, and you will not interrupt me, is that clear? I can gag you if needed.”
“No, Master, I’ll stay quiet.”
“I’m a very senior senator in the Kaziri Assembly. The island where your people are resettling is in my territory, and I am in charge of their resettlement.”
Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing, digesting the implications. No wonder he knew so much about humans.
Tribute: Captives of Kazir Page 13