The Sevarian Way

by Justine Elyot

  Suka caught her breath. “No! My dissertation was about the female submissive in bygone culture. I wrote about her because I felt close to her. I’m sorry, I can’t talk about this with you. I want the ground to open up…”

  They were at the city walls now, ready to pass through its enormous gate of overarching black marble.

  “I don’t,” said Paul softly, letting his grip on her arm tighten just a notch. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be exploring this city with.”

  Suka looked up at him with vivid interest, searching for reflections of herself in him, for signs that she was not alone. She thought she could see them. Could she really see them? Was there really a man who…?

  No. He was her commanding officer. It would be unethical anyway.

  She turned her face away again.

  “I can’t imagine why,” she said stonily.

  “Oh, I think you can,” he said with an odd little sigh. “Come on then. Let’s see the sights of Sevarium.”

  He dropped her arm, clapped his hands together decisively and strode beneath the archway at such a pace Suka had to trot to keep step with him.

  “It’s a bit like ancient Rome,” she offered breathlessly, looking around what appeared to be a large public square, like a forum, walled on all sides by public buildings, the fourth side inset with a second black marble arch. Wide, wide stony space under an ochre sky, stretching out for a good half-mile square, was the introduction to Sevarium. The space was partitioned by the colour of the stone, like a less chequered chessboard, and Suka wondered aloud what this signified.

  “Different usages,” said Paul, though it wasn’t clear whether this was a guess or a statement of fact. “You can see that that area with all the flags was probably a market of some kind. There’s a stage over in the far corner.”

  They walked on, through the eerily empty expanse. Paladian bones were chemically constructed to dissolve and biodegrade, something Suka knew the Earth scientists were working to incorporate into humans. It was as if nobody had ever been here, Planet Marie Celeste. She felt nervousness at the pit of her stomach that wasn’t entirely down to the bizarre atmosphere of the dead metropolis. Commander Paul read my dissertation continued to flash through her mind in bright red alarm mode every now and then. He knows what I am.

  They stopped at the top-left corner of the square, where a small platform acted as plinth to what looked like some kind of sculpture. Crafted from a smooth obsidian-like mineral, it mimicked the crude outline of a humanoid shape, dark legs travelling upwards in an inverse V to a broad flat torso, with arms raised. The only thing missing was the head—at neck height, a padded semicircular dip curtailed the body’s progress. Suka and Paul, once on the platform to examine the installation more closely, noticed thin leather straps dangled from the knees, waist and wrists of the sculpture.

  “You know what this is?” Paul turned to Suka, seemingly expecting her to supply the answer.

  “I’m…not sure,” she hedged, though actually she had seen a picture of one of these in her copy of Peoples of the Outer Reaches. That chapter had been abandoned halfway through for Suka to dive beneath the covers and think about it in exquisite detail, fingers working busily inside her slicked sex lips.

  “Yes, you are,” contradicted Paul, one hand travelling down the defenceless left arm of the headless statue. “You know exactly what this is.” He turned and grinned, challenging her. “Don’t disappoint me. You aren’t usually so coy.”

  “It’s a whipping post,” said Suka, the thought of disappointing Paul somehow unbearable.

  “That’s right. The nobility of Sevarium underwent an interesting form of training. They believed that, to demand service, you first needed to experience it. To rule, you needed to understand how it felt to be ruled. Men and women alike, it must be said. They were equal opportunities deviants.”

  Suka laughed.

  “Judging by the height of this, it was the women’s post. Tell me what you know about this aspect of Paladian society, Suka. What have you read?”

  “Once a Paladian noble reached majority, they were put into the service of a Sevarian master or mistress. It was quite a harsh regime, I think. Training lasted three or four years…I can’t exactly remember. If they didn’t please the boss, they were whipped.”

  “Good thing we don’t operate that policy on the Ulysses IV, eh?” Paul smiled. “Or is it?”

  Suka’s cheeks burned. She was uncomfortably damp between her legs at the thought of standing on the whipping platform as it was, and her trousers felt too tight all of a sudden. If Paul was going to personalise all this, she was going to end up coming then and there, right in front of him. She wondered what the Federation penalty for that was. Nothing as exciting as a whipping, obviously.

  Paul began searching the deck, looking for something he eventually found beneath a loose plank of the platform. It had an ornate, marbled handle and six stiff leather tails. A whip.

  “Ah,” said the Commander, swishing the thing through the air.

  Suka was transfixed. An actual whip. In the Commander’s hands, it looked so deadly and sexy that her knees began to feel as if they might give way. She held on to the sculpture, wrapping an arm around its waist for support.

  “Commander Paul,” she ventured faintly, pressing her body into the cool, sleek embrace of the whipping post.

  “Mm-hmm?” he replied absently, running fascinated fingers along the whip strands, curling them around and around.

  “Are we…observable? From the Ulysses?”

  He looked up sharply. “No. This is a low-risk mission. Visual satellite link has not been enabled.”

  “I see.” She fitted her chin over the padded neck rest. Exactly the right height.

  “Why?” Paul’s arch question hung in the air, seemingly laden with hope to Suka’s oversensitive ears.

  She spread her legs to fit the sculpture’s inverse V and raised her arms up, pressed in a close embrace with the whipping post. It felt too good, wickedly good. She knew she ought to take a step back, recover her wits and ignore her senses, but this was too intoxicating to resist. She was a young Paladian noblewoman, in the service of a strict lord who looked highly reminiscent of Commander Paul…and she had failed in her duties…and now the price must be paid…in front of the populace. There they would stand, all around her, munching on hot snacks from the nearby market, jostling and catcalling, remarking on her physical attributes.

  Her master would approach, whip in hand, and then…

  She flinched as something—it could only be the handle of the whip—came to rest at the small of her back.

  “Suka.” Paul’s voice, in her ear, saying her given name, was so intimate that she shivered. “I asked you a question. Why did you ask whether we could be seen?”

  She gripped the top of the model, where the hands were meant to rest, and thought that, perhaps if she wasn’t looking directly at Paul, she might be able to say this.

  “Because I can’t help thinking…this chance will never come again…”

  “You may well be right. But I’m your commanding officer. If it ever gets out that I—”

  “It won’t. It wouldn’t. Ever.”

  “And I have certain principles to which I must adhere. I can’t just go giving in to my base desires.”

  “Just this once…”

  “Especially with an ensign. It’s an abuse of power. An abuse of privilege.”

  “I want you to abuse your power. I will do anything if you’ll just abuse your power, just today, just this once, please.”

  “Then ask me for it. There must be no ambiguity at all. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Please whip me, Sir. Please tie me to this thing and whip me hard.”

  “All right,” he whispered, bending to strap her legs to the post. “I can do that.”

  Suka could hear the roar of the phantom crowd as her wrists and waist were firmly secured. Probably in Paladian practice her bottom would be bared, bu
t Commander Paul did not go so far as that, leaving the thin, skin-tight trousers in position—not that their super-lightweight microfibres would afford much protection.

  She tried to regulate her breathing, but the sound of Paul’s boots pacing up and down the platform behind her was making her pussy convulse and her hips squirm and writhe against their bonds. Oh, please, get on with it, she pleaded silently, but at the same time, the way he drew out the anticipation was so deliciously cruel she found herself getting even hotter.

  “So then, Ensign,” he said gently, and Suka felt the faint tickle of those leather strands travelling across her bottom, making her squeak. “We have issues to address, don’t we?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she exhaled.

  “Disobedience will not be tolerated in my service. I am going to show you what your petty rebellions have earned you. I hope the lesson will be learned. Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The maddening tickles withdrew and there was a moment of pure tension before the air sang with the sound of flying leather then a starburst of heated sting lit up Suka’s behind.

  “Ahh,” she cried brokenly, finding the sensation at once better and worse than her imagination had prepared her for. She worked hard on processing and assessing it, letting the burn sink into her skin before she came to her final conclusion.

  Paul held back. “Yes?” he murmured. “More?”

  She nodded. “Please. More.”

  Then he did not hold back. The lash fell again and again on Suka’s tautly-clothed rear, opening the door of the chamber she had considered forbidden for so long, letting her sensual self out of its prison. Simultaneously she blessed and cursed Paul’s strength, stamina and disciplinarian determination. He left no portion of her bottom or thighs unscathed, whipping the strands with expert precision from the crest of her buttocks to the tops of her knees, searing the tender skin until Suka feared it might crack, so tight and swollen did it feel.

  As the lash fell, so did Suka, into a maelstrom of passionate submission from which she was not sure she could ever emerge. This was life now, this was her—one helpless subject, beneath her master’s whip hand.

  It took a few moments for her to realise he had stopped. Her bottom and thighs continued to pulse with urgent heat and she had writhed herself into exhausted passivity. She wondered why her face was wet then realised she had been crying. She hung, loose and infinitely relaxed in her bonds, finally understanding the meaning of the word catharsis.

  Paul’s hand landed on her shoulder, light and reassuring.

  “Did I go too far?” he asked abruptly, beginning to untie her.

  “No,” she gasped. “No. Oh no.”

  Once untethered, she collapsed into his arms, seeking a comfort he seemed to provide instinctively, holding her close and burying his face in her hair, letting the tears flow until the sobs subsided and she lay, quiet and peaceful, in his embrace.

  “I think I got a bit carried away,” he said with a rueful little catch in his voice. “I’m sorry if I—”

  “No, you don’t have to be sorry. I know what I’ve been missing now. Something amazing. I’m so grateful to you. So grateful, and I’ll never forget it.”

  “Shh,” he soothed, tightening his hold on her. “It’s me who should be thanking you. I’m the one who should be grateful.”

  “Hmm?” She looked up at him, daring to hope this hadn’t all been a little treat for her sole benefit.

  “We’re mirror images of each other, Suka, when it comes to these practices. Do you think I didn’t enjoy that—more than I legally should? Eh?” He smiled indulgently, and a little fearfully. “What you like to receive, I like to give. Always have. Urge-repression will never change that.”

  “Really? You’re a, you know, what they used to call a…dom?”

  His apparent embarrassment was so endearing to Suka she felt a rush of emotion for the man she had cursed and reviled for the past months.

  “I can’t deny it,” he said. “When they finally perfect time-travel, I’ll be first in the queue at the dungeons.”

  Suka giggled. “You’d have to hold me back.”

  “Believe me, it would be a pleasure.”

  They maintained wry eye-contact, glowing at each other, neither quite ready to say the thing they were both thinking.

  “So, have you done that before?” Suka asked.

  “Not on a human person,” he admitted. “Not outside my imagination.”

  “You seemed quite the expert.”

  “I’ve studied widely.” He patted her bottom. “How does it feel?”

  “Very sore.” She sighed contentedly. “Gorgeously so. It…” She held herself back. Even given the powerful emotional experience they had just shared, she was not about to tell her commanding officer that his whipping her had made her insanely horny.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just…it was nice. I wish we could do it again. I mean, I could do it again.” She corrected herself swiftly, but Paul had stiffened and released her from his embrace.

  He shrugged. “If only,” he said neutrally.

  Shit, now he thinks I’ve got a crush on him, thought Suka, cross at herself. But I have. Oh, stars. I really have. The way he did that…the way he whipped me…oh, I want him. I really want him. Oh, this is awful. I wish I’d never come down now.

  “Well,” said Paul briskly, putting the whip in his belt beside the landing pack. “That’s one way of introducing yourself to the local customs. Shall we look further?”

  Chapter Two

  Suka dusted herself down, still naggingly aware of the tug of need for Paul at her crotch, but determined to ignore it. Difficult when your arse was hotter than Mercury and every step caused friction between the unforgiving fabric of your trousers and the smouldering surface of your behind, but it had to be done.

  “Right,” she said. “What is that building over there? Is it a temple of some kind? A religious edifice?”

  “Let’s see, shall we?”

  He strode a few paces ahead of her, so she could not help feasting her eyes on the broad shoulders, the strong back, the long booted legs and the perfectly-shaped behind in front of her. The head of close-cropped hair made her want to reach up and run her fingers across its prickling fuzz. Everything about him seemed designed to torment her with unassuageable lust. The universe hated her—it was official.

  She concentrated on shaking herself free of these inconvenient longings by taking a keen interest in her unusual surroundings.

  The building they were entering was made of something a little like marble but with a glow about it. Before Paul and Suka reached the top of the steps, Suka was stopped in her tracks by a feeling.

  When Paul turned around to look at her, Suka knew he felt it too.

  “This is…what’s this then?” she asked helplessly. She had a violent urge to drape herself around Paul’s neck and cling on to him.

  “This must be the coupling place,” said Paul, visibly struggling to keep control of himself. “One of the little tricks the Paladians had—infusing building materials with emotion traces. Their cultural signature, if you like. Or one of them, at least.”

  “When you enter this building you feel—”

  “Love. Erotic love. Romantic love.”

  Suka had not noticed herself doing it, but she had managed to wrap herself up in the crook of one of Paul’s powerful arms. Her head rested against his chest as she lifted her eyes to his.

  “It’s like a spell,” she murmured.

  “I know,” he said, bending his head lower until his lips were close, so close. But he tore them away in time. “We can’t do anything about it until we leave. Perhaps we shouldn’t go inside.”

  “Oh, we should,” gasped Suka, putting a hand to Paul’s cheek, the physical connection of skin on skin almost knocking her off her feet.

  “It’s not your call, Suka,” he said, but his voice was a croon now, low and deep, his chest vibrating against her ear. He was losing thi
s fight.

  “Think of the book I could write,” she marvelled.

  He gave in and pulled her into the vast chamber with its jewelled ceiling and fragrance of musk.

  “This was where Paladians would have their weddings,” said Suka, her arms around Paul’s neck now, their foreheads bumping.

  “Yes.” His breath warmed her ear and neck. “All the congregation would come together in the spirit of love and passion, to celebrate the joining of the couple.”

  “Come together…literally?” Suka’s hand had found its way to Paul’s backside. Paul grabbed one of her thighs and lifted it so her leg was hooked around his and a convenient resting place for his hardening cock was provided.

  “Yes. The Paladian concept of a good wedding party was an orgy.”

  “I kind of love these people. I wish they hadn’t died out.”

  “I might have settled here.” Paul’s words poured directly into Suka’s ear now, hot and savage with lust. “I might have brought you with me.”

  “Oh lord.” Suka sighed blissfully, though the tiny part of her that retained its rationality wondered with unease whether it was just the erotically-charged stone speaking. “I would have come.”

  “You most definitely would,” he agreed, and his hands stroked down the curve of Suka’s back until they met the swell of her bottom, still burning sorely from the whipping, so that she winced when his palms rested there.

  “So.” Suka shuddered, feeling she should probably look up from Paul’s chest and take in her surroundings, but somehow unable to do so. “Talk me through the Paladian coupling ritual.”

  “Mmm, okay,” he said. With an effort of will, he unwound Suka from his body and led her to the raised dais at the centre of the chamber. “Let’s say we’re the happy couple. We come up here, where the crowds can see us properly.”

  They climbed the steps and stood in front of a piece of furniture resembling an altar, but with padding, all covered in richly coloured, water-resistant fabrics, reminiscent of earthly silks.

  “Now, the form of service depends on the type of bond,” Paul explained, his hand coming again to rest on Suka’s bottom while she drank him in, longing for him with every fibre of her being. “The type of bond I think you’d be most interested in is the subjection bond.”