Binding Brinley (Captives of Pra'kir Book 1)

by Maren Smith

  “Say it.”

  She twisted her face far the other direction and hid beneath her arms. Well, he always kept a pair of cuffs on the bars of both head and footboards, and for this very reason. She barely fought him when he took her wrists and, one at a time, bound her to his bed. He used the smallest setting he had, but the cuffs were not made with tiny human wrists in mind. If she struggled, she would easily slip free. But Brinley didn’t struggle. In fact, when he tightened the chain to force her arms up until she could no longer hide behind them, she cooperated by grabbing onto the bars and holding on tight. Someday when her legs had healed, he was going to have her back in his bed, bound just like this, only with her knees bent all the way back on her chest, her ankles in cuffs as well, and the chain attached to them linked to each of the headboard posts, spreading them apart, forcing her ass up off the sheet and giving her nothing to do except watch as he spanked her pussy with his cock before sliding in as deep as she had room for him to go. She’d groan, she’d cry, and she’d lie as she was tied, helpless to do anything but stare while he tickled the budding end of her swollen little clit until she gave in.

  But she wasn’t healed, and he wasn’t about to hurt her. She’d had enough of that for one day. Instead, he knelt between her thighs, watch her while she watched him, breath catching, tongue flicking out to lick her soft lips as he unbuckled, then unhooked the fastenings of his pants, and finally shoved them down far enough to free the full jutting length of his cock.

  The sound she made was one caught somewhere between a mew and a squeak.

  That was all right. He’d be wresting cries from her soon enough—cries for mercy; cries for more—and he had every intention of taking his time while he did it.

  She mewed again when he took his shaft in hand.

  “Say it.” He stroked her, letting her feel him from the lust-swollen knob at the end, all the way down the sinewy underside of his shaft to the tight pull of his balls, which he could feel drawn to taut as to make the glide of his skin through the slickness of her feminine oils almost impossible to resist. Apparently, it was for her as well. She both arched and ground, moaned and sighed.

  Angling the head of his cock to part her glistening folds, he teased her, tracing up and down along the beckoning source of all her body’s heat until she was writhing, unable to hold still, unable to stop herself from grabbing until the chains clattered against the headboard bars and the cuffs restrained her reach. The second time she did it, her hand slipped right out of the cuffs before she caught herself. Her thighs were trembling and her eyes dazed as she threaded the cuff back onto her wrist.

  He made a mental note to order a custom-sized set and then he was in her, in the mind-blowing storm of her quivering heat, in a fit so damn tight that he could feel the wanton pulse of her heart in the silken grip of her pussy. He ground his hips to hers until the wildness was once more in her restricted undulations. Her skin was flushed; her eyes dilated, fixed on him but unfocussed. Her nipples were tight little beads on swollen areola and she was trembling. He liked it when females trembled. He liked it when each breath they took shivered and shook, the way hers was now. He could feel that shaking in his fingers, feel it travelling all the way up his arm and into his chest. It made his breathing unsteady too, and every slow breath he inhaled came into his body both smelling and tasting of her.

  “Say it,” he growled, catching the soft mounds of her bottom in both hands and pushing them both together as hard and as tight as they could go.

  “Fuck!” Brinley gasped. “Fuck… please, fuck!”

  Close enough.

  Rowth withdrew just for the single-minded pleasure of that first full surge into her. The chains rattled, the bed rocked. When she cried out, he fell on top of her, releasing her hot little ass in order to brace his much greater weight up off her. When he ducked in toward her, she turned her mouth to meet his, but he evaded. He bit her neck instead.

  “Mine,” he growled into her skin. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but the cause and consequence of uttering such a statement took an immediate step back when the well of her pussy spasmed in response all around the length of his pounding cock.

  “Yes,” she mewed—not frightened now, but still with her face turned away as if she were ashamed to admit such a thing, and damn, if that wasn’t intoxicating too.

  He rumbled, enjoying the exotic sensation as he exhaled, “Mine,” all over again, and gods did her wetness flow. A sweet dripping rain that coated his balls as her back bowed and her hips arched to meet him mid-thrust, and fuck if the whole of her sex didn’t shuddering all down length of him in a way that seemed to suck him deeper, hold him tighter, clench in like a fist in a way that damn near doomed his self-control. He wanted to pound her into the sheets. He wanted to break the bed with her.

  But she was just a little human, full of great swaths of disobedience, and she had yet to ask for the pleasure that even now contorted her perfect body as she strained to reach the orgasm straining to be caught. He almost let it happen. Rowth growled, driving himself into her, his own pleasure dancing just out of his reach, but when he felt that first twitching squeeze lock down like a fist on his cock, he whipped out of her. He clapped his hand over her pussy while she contorted, shouting out her loss while he squeezed her in one hand and found his own release with his other.

  His aim wasn’t the best. Orgasms could do that, but it was good enough and Brinley jerked, twisting her face sharply away as he shot his cum up her belly, splashing her breasts and even catching her cheek with a few salty drops. He stroked on, drawing out the shuddering release until he’d wrung every last splash of seed from him diminishing cock.

  Brinley was slow to react. Only when she was sure he was done did she finally turn her head and glare at him. Fury lit the raging blue of her eyes. “What. The. Fuck?” she demanded.

  A corner of his mouth curled. “The next time you are told to beg permission before you climax—” Rowth bent to kiss the very tip of her nose. “—beg for permission.”

  He got off both her and the bed, before she could deliver the retaliatory bite that mutinous set of her jaw suggested she was nerving herself up to deliver.

  “No,” he ordered, stopping her when she struggled to sit up. She glared at him, then her ill-fitting cuffs, and then him again. Miraculously, she stayed, though he had no delusions that she would beat Rog’s record for getting out of bed the instant he was out the door. Still, a man had to try. “Stay as you are while I take care of things.”

  Her temper sparked even higher. “You got what you wanted, so now I’m just supposed to lie here?”

  Rowth paused in the middle of refastening his pants. He arched an eyebrow at her. “Did I tell you to do something?” he asked pointedly.

  She fumed up at the underside of his canopy curtains and did not reply.

  “Did you do what I commanded?” he asked even more pointedly.

  Her mouth flattened even more.

  He arched an orgasm. “Would you ever like to receive another orgasm from me?”

  Just a hint of desire rekindled before she snatched her arms out of the cuffs. She folded them across her chest as if doing so helped her fold her anger in closer too. “Fine.”

  It was not fine, clearly, but as he pulled his shirt on he felt the pinch of other more pressing obligations. The guard down the hall needed to be dealt with, calls needed to be placed, Rog would no doubt have a question or two, and he still had a full day’s work that needed to be done—damn it—from his office on the main floor. Where in all of that did he have time to placate the scowling whims of his human?

  His human. Rowth almost smiled. He liked the way that sounded, even if only in his head.

  “All right,” Rowth decided as he straightened his shirt and tucked it in. “Wait right here.”

  “Like I could go anywhere,” she muttered as he walked out the door. He was tempted to bring back a switch but, walking around the body, he picked up her tablet, a heavy strap
from the closet and two silver butt plugs—both the smallest and the largest—from the set he had in the top cabinet drawer, and that’s what he brought back with him down the hall to his bedroom.

  Brinley sat bolt upright when he stepped through the sliding door with that strap in his hand. “I was good!” she said when he set everything on the bedside table and reached for her. “No!”

  She slapped at his hands, but he forgave that. It had been a hard morning. He understood the pain she had suffered, the stress of the huge adjustment she was still making, and, well, he had just deprived her of at least two good orgasms. He could overlook a small bout of human temper, so long as she understood it would not be tolerated again.

  She stiffened with a squeak when he flipped her onto her stomach. She also made a mad-grab for the wrist cuffs, but he hauled her to the edge of the bed. She stopped fighting the instant her legs dropped over the side of the mattress. Her feet were inches off the floor, even before he propped her naked ass up on pillows.

  What a beautiful picture that made: her legs tense, her bottom clenching, the pale roundness of both cheeks marred by one bruising thumbprint near her hip and twin rows of dots on both sides of dividing crack where his fingers had dug in.

  “You look good in this position,” he told her.

  She shot him a look over her arm that went from startled, to seething, to that funny little, ‘Jesus Christ, really?’ glare she liked to give him (usually as she said it), and all in the span of an instant.

  “You will stay right here, like this.” He lay her tablet in front of her, right beneath her nose, and pointed at it. “You will begin your first lesson and it will be complete to my satisfaction before I bring you to dinner, or you will be punished. First with this—” He lay the strap where she couldn’t help but see it, albeit just out of her reach. “—and then with this.”

  He lay the smallest silver anal plug on the cover beside the strap. Rowth tapped it with his finger.

  “Unless, of course, you give me grief,” he said, and placed the larger plug next to the smallest.

  “Then I get that,” she finished for him. Her tone said she wasn’t scared. The pluck of her fingers as she twisted them in the bedcovers told him differently.

  “No.” Rowth shook his head, barely resisting the urge to stroke her soft hair all the way down to the small of her back, or the curve of her luscious ass, where the temptation to stop and play might have been too much for him. “No,” he said again. “I merely use this as a size reference to the cock that will be used instead.”

  Her buttocks clenched and held. Her thighs squeezed together. As if that could keep him out of her if he had a mind to do otherwise.

  “Do you understand what I have just told you, Brinley?” Her name on his lips was more sensual purr than authoritative growl, and he loved how it made her fight not to squirm. If he slipped two fingers between her legs, he’d probably find her wet.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Yes, what?” he coaxed, unwilling—perhaps, unable—to let her go just yet.

  “Master,” she whispered. “Yes, Master.”

  Smiling, he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. He stroked her cheek without too much fear that she might bite, and then he left her there. Once back at his desk, he placed a call for a medical unit to come clean up the mess. It took four times longer than necessary to fill out the required paperwork on a pre-trial execution and when it came to cause, he simply put down: Attempted theft of personal property. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth either, but Rowth refused to dwell on it. His mind was too preoccupied with the lingering scent of her in his nose and on his fingers, and the salty-sweet taste of her still filling up all the dark recesses of his mouth.

  He really should call a real woman now. Any woman. The who of it didn’t matter, because in the back of his mind he already knew he would enjoy none of them to the same level that he already did whenever he dominated Brinley. She was a rush, not just to his ego or his loins, but to all his senses. He loved her squeaks, her cries, her muffled whimpers as she tried so valiantly to smother them in a pillow so he wouldn’t think her weak. He loved her defiance, her sassy little mouth and rueful defeat that so often twisted her lips just before she gave in, offering belated cooperation when he punished her. He wanted to bury his cock in her until they were both too weak to move.

  He wanted… her. Not just for an evening, as had always been his preference. Not just for a scene, a slap and cum to help relieve either boredom or the stress of the day.

  He wanted her. That was it. Period.

  In some part of her, he knew she must want him too or she never would have cozied up to kiss him the way she had. What would it take, he wondered, before she would admit it?

  CHAPTER NINE

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  Brinley lay where he had left her, half on and half off the bed, her naked ass bent over the edge in the most vulnerable of fuck-me positions. And damn, if part of her didn’t want just grab one of those butt plugs and finish the job he—big, dumb jerk—had started before he’d just abandoned her here.

  Her whole body throbbed in wanton neglect. Her pussy ached she felt so empty. Everywhere he’d touched her, his fingers, his cock, the force with which he’d shoved himself deep inside her—oh God; she buried her burning face in wads of tightly-gripped blanket—every part of her felt branded by him. An alien. An alien lawyer, no less. Hell, the same alien lawyer who had got her sentence to life-long captivity in his home for the sin of crashing on his world.

  She ought to be in tears, but she wasn’t. She ought to feel victimized, yet she didn’t. Her thighs were saturated in the evidence of an arousal so damned wrong that she hardly knew how to feel, but she knew what she’d looked like. A veritable cat in heat, arching up to meet him thrust for thrust until all she could feel was the force of him, in her, on her, all the way up to her neck.

  And his threat? Ha! Her pussy spasmed all over again. The ominous echoes of his voice still whispered through her mind, making her skin prickle and her nerves hum. She knew she shouldn’t, but she loved his voice. She hated him, the situation, and her own damned helplessness in the face of something so inescapable and yet which never should have been. But she loved his voice and those threats that he liked to purr in her ear, all of which sounded anything but threatening to her.

  Fuck me again, damn it. She glared at the tablet he’d left on the bedspread practically under her nose.

  You will remain in this position, he had said. You will begin your first lesson and it will be complete to my satisfaction before I bring you to dinner, or you will be punished.

  Punished.

  Her heart quickened as echoes of all the same erotic trepidation that had swept her the first time he’d used that word to both mock and tempt her, swept her all over again. Punished… It wasn’t just her face, now she covered her head with both arms, so thoroughly ashamed of what the memory of that one word still had the power to do to her. She was so stupid. Only a stupid person would let herself get this enamored by the thought of Rowth and his deeply sexual punishments. Hell, even the spankings were sexual, since no sooner had he finished lighting his fires in her ass than did that heat sing straight up between her legs.

  Punished, ha!

  Only a really stupid person would let herself find enjoyment in that sort of thing, but here she was. Forced to admit (if only to herself) that she’d liked the helpless humiliation of being held across his knee while he salved his disapproval by smacking her bottom red. She’d liked being ordered to roll onto her belly in the bottom of the shower, and that tingling that has suffused her clit when he’d stepped into the shower with her and stood over her. Silent. Contemplative. A master making his judgment over the disobedience of a slave.

  An extremely well-pampered slave who didn’t have to do anything but lie in bed all day and study whatever it was he wanted her to study. But that right there, was beside the point.

  The
point was, she’d liked feeling the weight of his stare digging in between her naked shoulder blades, just as she’d liked it when he’d towered over her in the shower, his cock swollen and thrusting aggressively against the confines of his trousers. She’d loved the terrifying uncertainty that had rolled through her on shivering waves because she knew—just knew—while the urge to punish her might have won out that night, he’d also just plain wanted her too. And God help her, but she’d lain in his shadow on the tiles as angry and as scared that he was about to take her, right there on the floor, as she had been angry and scared that he might back down.

  And sure enough, something had made him hold back. He’d shoved a butt plug up her ass instead and afterward left her in her bed to wallow untouched among the pillows and blankets, wishing late into the night that he had done… something. Anything. Even if it was just to turn her back over his knee and spank her like the naughty ward the courts proclaimed her to be.

  Sleep elusive, in desperation she finally masturbated, forcing herself to orgasm to the demands of her own fingers, not just once but twice before finally sinking into the oblivion of her dreams. There a fantasy Rowth had been waiting to catch her by the hair and drag her around the room, forcing her to crawl because, “This is where you belong,” he’d growled, increasing the pressure on her scalp and refusing to let go no matter how savagely she’d clawed at his hand.

  “At my feet,” he’d ordered. “Crawl for your Master. Tell me you yield. Say it! Say, ‘I yield, Master Rowth. Do with me as you will.’”

  Within minutes after waking, exactly what she’d replied had faded from her mind and refused to be recalled. She liked to think it was, “Fuck you!” But only because, while she couldn’t remember the exact words, she did remember hoping he’d take her response and retaliate with pain. Not a lot; she wasn’t crazy. She just wanted it to hurt a little bit. Enough to make her nipples perk and her clit swell. And oh yes, please, her ass to burn.

  First with this…