by Ivy Barrett
“You will accept correction without complaint, or I will add to your punishment.” He reached between her thighs and spanked her pussy. The slaps were measured, but shockingly painful.
“That fucking hurts!” she yelled, then hissed, a fresh burst of anger fueling the outburst. She twisted around and glared at his handsome face. Handsome? When had she started thinking of this creature as handsome?
“Punishment must be painful to motivate a change in behavior.” Undaunted by her temper, the magister resumed the steady swats on her already sore behind.
She stilled, concentrating on the escalating sensations. She knew how to process pain. Her training had been extensive and she’d endured situations that built up her tolerance. But this arousal was new, and unexpected. With a groan, she relaxed into the discomfort and let the warm tingles wash over her. She floated above her body, connected to but not trapped within her aching flesh.
For one blissful moment, Lorna forgot about the danger, the oppressive pressure and ongoing risk. Then Brianne’s lovely image intruded, snapping Lorna back from that peaceful void. Lorna wasn’t here to exorcise her demons. She was here to save Brianne and her friends.
The spanking continued despite the sudden shift in Lorna’s mindset. Each swat fed her anger and released long-buried resentments. Her needs didn’t matter, they never mattered. Her safety, her life must be sacrificed whenever one of her sisters was at risk. It was her duty, her obligation to fill the void their parents left behind.
“I hate you,” she sobbed, shocked by the sudden rush of emotions. Had she meant the magister, her parents, or Brianne? The disconcerting thought unleashed an even wilder surge of emotions. Anger, fear, and hopelessness combined into utter vulnerability.
The next swat never came. Instead, a warm hand pressed against the small of her back. “These are not affected tears. Why do you weep?”
She thought the magister touched her back, but the voice belonged to Sir. A harsh sob tore from her chest, but all she did was shake her head. She would not share her deepest pain, her most shameful secrets with alien monsters.
Sir moved to the other side of the table and brushed her hair back from her face.
She quickly shut her eyes, not wanting his pity.
“Look at me, sweet terran. Explain this reaction.”
“You kidnapped me. You’re abusing me, and you’ll probably rape me before the night is through.” Everything she said was true, but it had little to do with her odd reaction. “What’s there to explain? I want to go home.”
“Freedom is unlikely,” the magister said firmly. “Once body-slaves are claimed, they are seldom released. Your only hope of ever setting foot on Earth again is pleasing your master so well that he chooses to set you free.”
Fighting back the last of her tears, she twisted, going up on one elbow so she could see the magister. “Why would this master release me if I please him?”
His lips curved into a sardonic smile. “That is what you must figure out.”
So the mind fuck had begun. She wasn’t intimidated by the challenge. But first, she needed to verify the rules. Already it was glaringly obvious that the Yashonty culture was very different than modern America. She took a deep breath and pushed off the table, standing beside it while still facing the first male. She hissed as her dress slid across her sore behind.
The magister eased the material back up to her waist, then rested his hands on her hips. “I wasn’t finished admiring my handiwork.”
She tensed at his continued familiarity and the surprising hint of humor. Had the pun been intentional? Could the stern magister actually have a sense of humor?
Instead of asking, she looked across the table at Sir. “Are you my master?” Better him than the cruel magister.
Sir’s gaze narrowed and gleamed. “Would you like to serve me, sweet terran? I don’t usually claim body-slaves.”
“My soft-hearted cousin finds the practice upsetting,” the magister told her. “I, on the other hand, prefer my fucking without emotional entanglements.” His gaze shifted to Sir and he switched to Yashonty. “Claim her for me. You want to fuck her, it’s obvious. If I’m her master, your conscience will remain clear while you rut between her thighs.”
A heaviness came over Lorna as she heard his words. Her only hope of gaining his assistance was to make him care for her on some level. It didn’t sound like the magister cared for any female, much less a body-slave. Sir would be much easier to recruit, but did he have the authority to do any good?
“I can’t,” Sir insisted. “You know I want nothing to do with—”
“Your bulging cock says otherwise.”
“Yes, I want her, but I will not make her my slave.”
“Then make her mine.” The magister wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back into his hard body. “I ask very little of you, cousin. Do this for me,” then very softly, he added, “please.”
She tensed. His cock pressed into the small of her back, long and thick by the feel of it. Lust could be a powerful motivator, but it tended to burn out quickly.
“Fine,” Sir snarled in Yashonty, then switched to Ventori. “If I were to claim you, I would expect absolute obedience without argument or hesitation.”
“If I serve you absolutely without arguing or hesitating, will you help me free my sister?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and the gleam in his eyes turned calculative. “Show me what you’re offering?”
It was a test, likely the first of many. Lorna glanced behind her and said, “Would you please lower the zipper. It’s hard for me to reach.” She had to please them both for this to move forward. His attitude pissed her off, but he was the one with authority.
Holding the dress up with one hand, the magister unzipped it with the other.
Instead of wiggling out of the garment as she usually would, she pulled it off over her head. The magister had ripped off her panties, but her bra still covered her breasts. Without prompting, the magister unclasped the band with a skillful twist of his fingers. She slipped it off and let it drop to the floor.
Sir came around the table, and the magister stepped back, placing her in between the two males. Sir made a rotating motion with his index finger, so she turned in a slow circle, stopping when she faced him again.
“You’re lovely, but how long will you remain obedient?” The challenge in his tone was unmistakable.
“Let’s find out,” the magister suggested. “Tell her to do something.”
Sir moved closer again, his voice low and urgent. “I want to see this strange pink cunt Moxtel keeps bragging about.”
Moxtel? Was that the magister’s name? It had certainly sounded like a name. If she put all the pieces together, he became Magister Moxtel Lark. One down, one to go. Now she needed to identify Sir and determine his position on this ship.
Not wanting Sir to realize his slip, she asked, “How do you want me to do this?”
Sir thought for a moment, then flashed a wicked smile. “Bend over the table and spread your legs. Show me all that will be mine if I choose to claim you.”
Of course he’d want the most humiliating position for this little show and tell. She turned toward the table and bent over, going up onto the balls of her feet as she moved her legs apart. She wasn’t ashamed of her body. It would take more than this to shake her.
“I have a better idea.” Moxtel wrapped one brawny arm around her hips and lifted her onto the table. She ended up on her hands and knees facing the wall. “Head down, ass in the air.”
He slapped the back of her thigh when she didn’t move fast enough. She originally thought Sir was the hard-ass. Now there was no doubt that Moxtel was more aggressive.
“Now, open wide, pretty human,” Moxtel ordered. “You’re going to show us that soft pink pussy. Then you’re going to let my cousin finger and tongue-fuck you.”
A nervous laugh escaped her throat as she looked back at him, thighs still pressed together. “And why
am I going to do all that?”
“Because he is next on the officer rotation,” the magister said as if she understood the significance of the statement. “If your cunt feels good gripping his fingers and he likes the taste of your cum, he will claim you as his body-slave.”
“I thought Sir didn’t claim body-slaves?” But if Sir didn’t claim her, she’d lose access to Moxtel. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was someone of importance.
“He’s doing it as a favor to me,” Moxtel told her. “So be a good girl and open those thighs.”
She looked at Sir and asked, “What happens if you decide not to claim me?”
Sir still stood to her side, looking uncomfortable with the entire situation.
Moxtel was happy to enlighten her. “If you don’t please him well enough, he’ll turn you over to the lottery. Trust me, sweet slave. You don’t want that.”
The lingering heat from her spanking cooled in an instant as she realized this was likely what had happened to Brianne and the others. “What’s the lottery?”
“Crewmembers pay for a chance to win the comfort of females. Winning allows them to use the female for a stated period, generally a week, but sometimes an entire moon cycle.” Moxtel made it sound so casual as if they weren’t talking about the complete subjugation of human females. God above, he really was a bastard.
Tension gripped her belly then spread to her chest, making it hard to breathe. This was worse than she’d feared. It had been almost a week. The Yashonty could be about to raffle off Brianne and her friends for the second time. “After the first male is finished with her, the female is auctioned off all over again?” Lorna gripped the sides of the table, fighting back the frantic need to search the ship, to kick in every door until she found her sister.
“Actions are different,” Sir stressed. “He was talking about the lottery.”
She turned her head to the other side and looked at Sir. These were the first new fragments of information she’d learned. She didn’t care about her humiliating position or what they intended to do to her. She had to find out as much as she could. “What happens at an action?”
“Each female is sold outright,” Sir explained, his tone filled with regret. “These events are rare and extremely expensive. Few Yashonty possess the wealth needed to participate.”
They might not bid on the victims, but they provided the females who were ‘sold outright.’ It was all so disgusting Lorna had no words. It also made one thing glaringly obvious. Celeste’s worst fears had been justified. Brianne and her friends were the tip of the iceberg. If the Yashonty were providing a continual stream of females for these auctions and lotteries, there had to be hundreds of human slaves on Yashonty ships.
Moxtel grasped the back of her neck and urged her head down. “Are you concerned about your sister?”
“Of course. Do you know what happened to her?” She glanced in his direction, but her hair blocked her view. With a frustrated sigh, she moved her neck to a more natural angle and rested her forehead on her folded arms.
“Is your sister as pretty as you?” Sir asked, his voice coming from behind her now. Despite his obvious reluctance to slaves, he was ready to see her ‘strange pink’ pussy. “Is she untouched?”
Willing to indulge his curiosity—and likely a whole lot more—if he continued to give her actionable intel, Lorna slowly spread her legs and canted her hips. Let him look. Hell, let him touch and taste if this led to Brianne’s freedom. “Brianne is—”
“Holy Spirits of Fire, she is bright pink.” He sounded dumbfounded, and all thoughts of Brianne were forgotten. At least for him.
Moxtel laughed and stroked down her back. “Go on, touch her. She might look different from Yashonty females, but even alien pussies feel more or less the same.”
More or less? How did humans differ from the Yashonty? Sensation tingled down her spine, and her clit twitched. She wasn’t curious enough to ask what he’d meant, but what was Sir waiting for? This was something she must endure for the benefit of the others. She wasn’t supposed to enjoy it.
“You gave me permission to look,” Sir said in Ventori. “You will now offer yourself to my fingers.”
He wanted her to ask for her own humiliation? What the hell was that about? Despite her annoyance, she understood the situation. If she didn’t obey, she was just postponing the inevitable. “Sir, you have permission to touch me.” Her clit tingled and her inner muscles clenched as she heard her own words. She sounded so meek, so submissive. Just the thought made her shiver. Never in her entire life had she thought of herself in that way.
“Of course he has permission,” Moxtel said. “You are a Yashonty slave. He can take whatever he wants, and no one will stop him. He does not want to take. You accused us of rape though we are both innocent of the crime. If you want him to touch you, sweet slave, you must beg for his fingers.”
Her nipples gathered against the smooth tabletop and heat rushed through her pussy. She had no choice, and they both knew it. Sir wanted her to accept her subjugation to welcome her defeat. And Moxtel wanted to watch her surrender. She tried to think of the others, but already her body ached to be taken, to be used. “Please touch me, Sir. I want your fingers deep inside me.” The biggest shock of all was realizing how much she meant the words.
Sir’s fingers were warm and surprisingly tentative as he stroked her folds. She closed her eyes, savoring the momentary gentleness. Tenderness was something that had been nonexistent in her life lately.
“She’s soaking wet.” Sir sounded surprised as he switched to Yashonty.
“Pain excites her,” Moxtel told Sir in the same language. Moxtel continued his lazy path up and down her back, while Sir played with her exposed pussy. She was an object, a toy, positioned for their amusement, readily available for their casual use. “She was about to come when she started thinking about her sister. That’s what made her cry.”
Lorna held still, struggling not to react to his words or their impersonal exploration. Had Moxtel read her body language, or was he empathic? He’d obviously had more experience with human females than Sir. Moxtel had called Sir cousin, but she still didn’t understand their positions within the crew.
Not surprisingly, Sir’s gentleness didn’t last long. As soon as he realized she was wet, his touch grew bolder. Opening her folds so he could see right up into her core, he fucked her with his long, thick fingers. “She’s tight and hot, but her scent is so... strange,” Sir whispered in Yashonty.
“Taste her,” Moxtel urged. “But be warned, Belton. I came in my pants the first time I tasted human pussy. Their hormones are very potent.”
She felt Sir’s tongue, then his lips. Belton, her passion-muddled mind reminded. Moxtel had called him Belton. Belton licked and nibbled, seeming to savor the new flavor of human arousal. Suddenly, he caught the front of her thighs and pressed his face against her sex. For a long, tense moment, he didn’t move, just inhaled deeply and gently sucked on her delicate inner folds. Then his tongue slid along her slit, circling her core twice before pushing deep inside her. She was barely able to breathe as he sucked and licked at the center of her body.
Moxtel’s touch grew bolder. He stroked her sides, teasing the outer swell of her breasts. “Does that feel good, sweet slave?” A mixture of challenge and mockery deepened his voice, giving it a husky growl. “Does it make you ache for a nice hard cock? Or two?” He chuckled. Slipping his hand under her, he squeezed her breast.
Holding her firmly in place, Belton fucked her with his tongue. His fingers tightened on her thighs as his tongue slid in and out. He grunted and growled, lifting her hips so he could push even deeper into her core. He grew wild, almost feral, demanding her surrender.
Her arousal built gradually, almost against her will. She was distracted by the humiliating position and thoughts of Brianne, but Belton’s lower lip put just enough pressure on her clit to keep her orgasm building.
Moxtel lightly stroked her punished cheeks
, stoking the heat and reigniting the sting. “Do you need pain to come, pretty human? Can you surrender to pleasure alone?”
“Yes,” she gasped, but pain seemed to make the pleasure more intense.
“Then come,” Moxtel ordered. “Let him taste your release.”
Like the good little slave he insisted on calling her, she obeyed his command. She cried out softly as fast sparks of pleasure detonated between her thighs. Her nipples tingled and her clit twitched as her inner muscles rippled around Belton’s tongue.
Belton went wild. He licked and sucked, growling and moaning. “Fucking bliss,” he whispered against her soaked pussy. He pulled out of her core and sucked on her folds and clit. His mouth moved with artless enthusiasm as if he weren’t quite sure how the human body worked. Maybe he wasn’t. He hadn’t known her pussy would be pink. The distracting thoughts freed her from the sensual haze and allowed her mind to focus.
Lapping at her pussy like a hungry cat with cream, Belton devoured the proof of her surrender. Finally, he straightened and paused. She glanced back as he ripped open the front of his pants and pull out his blue-black cock. She’d known this was inevitable, thought she was prepared to be used by her alien captors. Yet part of her balked, frantically resisting the complete loss of control. She wanted to struggle, to scream and fight. But that wouldn’t help Brianne. Lorna must please these males, make them want to assist her. And the only thing she had to offer was a wet and willing body.
Belton pushed two fingers into her core, fucking her hard and fast while he pumped his cock. She didn’t understand his choice but was thankful for the postponement. She was already overwhelmed by what they’d done. Moments later Belton’s hot seed splashed across her ass and lower back. She cringed, horrified by the degrading act. He was treating her like a possession, a territory to be marked.