by Jaye Peaches
“Oh, no,” she muttered, realizing exactly what its purpose was. If she reacted by clenching, the aylerberry ramped up its impact; if she relaxed, then the cane would hit a softer surface.
He touched her. Not between her legs, but along the line he’d produced on her ass. He stroked it back and forth, testing the rise of the welt. She arched her back and pushed toward him. She desired his touch, not the cane, and if he saw her respond then he’d know what she wanted from him.
A soft swell of exclamations and mutterings reached her ears. Had she done something unusual? She wished they were alone, then she could be more vocal, perhaps even tell him what she felt. Instead, the presence of an audience inhibited her and added to the humiliation.
Why had he elected to punish her in such a fashion? She could make a guess. Pain, she could tolerate up to a point, but the shame was harder to bear. The proud Earthling stretched out with her red ass on show and no means to extradite herself.
The rod cracked against the width of her bottom and the singe of fire joined the line below it. Eight more to go. Then, as she attempted to relax her cheeks, a flurry of butterflies leapt out of her belly. Another different, more pleasurable reaction had awoken.
Her eyes widened in amazement. How could this be happening in the midst of a humiliating caning?
Marco launched another snap of the rod and the response intensified, and again with the next. It wasn’t a false emotion—she really was aroused.
Nothing could have prepared her for the conjoined impact of the cane and the strange effect of the aylerberry juice. She squirmed, as much as her bonds allowed her and moaned. The heat inside her interior rose and the plug seemed larger, more invasive. It pressed down into her belly and as she jolted with another blow of the rod, reaching the seventh in the count, her clitoris knocked into the beveled edge of the bench. The rounded surface chafed in a way she’d not expected—it magnified the arousal.
How could she find pleasure amongst pain and heat of her punishment? While Marco brushed his fingertips along another welt, Freya clenched her pussy as if it too had been penetrated.
To add to her mortification, Marco used the interval between strokes to do a closer inspection. Placing the cane to one side, he moved her buttocks apart, spreading them wider so he could see her slit. He separated her folds and opened up her pussy with his fingers.
A plume of heat rose across her bosom and into her neck. Oh, if they were alone, she’d start asking to come, but in front of others, the examination was nearly intolerable. Please, she pleaded silently, don’t touch my clit.
“Pass me the aylerberry juice,” he commanded.
With another three strokes on her ass, he chose to torment her further. He smeared the extract along her labia, mixing it with her own juices. The prickles preluded a fresh wave of burning heat and by the time he resumed caning her, a spicy inferno had formed on the tender skin.
“Oh, gracious,” she mumbled in English. The composition of pain and pleasure he’d created was indescribable and she responded to each element with conflicting emotions—she loathed the sting of the cane and the sharpness of the aylerberry’s prickling, but she welcomed the warmth generated and how it excited her.
The ninth strike heralded a new level of pain and it nearly obliterated all other sensations. Freya yelped and bucked against the benched, grateful for the layer of padding on top of it. As with all the other stripes, Marco traced his finger along the new line and as he did, he leaned over her and whispered into her ear.
“Do you trust me now? Will you accept my role in your life as essential? Desired? Do you promise to share your worries, your concerns, to keep alive the bond between us with honesty?” He spoke in English, aware of their audience.
“Yes. Yes, yes,” she rattled with increasing urgency. He’d pressed his hips against her ass when he’d bent over her and she detected the slight bulge, the hardness contain within his pants.
She swept aside any residue feelings of humiliation when he ended her punishment with the last stroke of the rod. She bore the thwack as she had all of them, with as much fortitude as she could muster. Except, now that it was done, she could let the tears fall. She didn’t care any longer who saw them. She openly sobbed.
* * *
It was too late. What had happened couldn’t be undone. Freya had proved to him she’d courage and that she’d trusted him. She’d not balked, screamed, or harangued him in front of the others. She stoically accepted the punishment, and with the aid of the versatile aylerberry, she’d reached out to him in another way, one that required completion and he couldn’t ignore the urgency of his growing erection. However, the audience had to go—they had been a mistake.
“Leave us,” Marco barked to the throng. He’d had enough of them. Some had gloated, others had struggled to watch without a mutual flush of embarrassment on Freya’s behalf and a few had stared transfixed, as if in envy.
Lalita appeared too smug. Now he regretted her influence on his decision. She’d wanted this exposure of their intimacy, not him. Marco would have been content to discipline Freya in private. Although Lalita protected her jenjin with the level of duty expected of her, he sometimes wondered if her need for dominance amongst the other women lacked appropriate limits.
Freya had nearly breached his own limits. He’d held off from using the cane harshly, as he might with a man. He’d seen how it could harm and damage, and the last thing he wanted was his beautiful Freya broken. However, to his surprise, he’d taken satisfaction from punishing her. Not in seeing her suffer, but in her submission, her endurance of the aylerberry juice and the inevitable effect it had on her—her swollen sex and dripping pussy provided all the evidence he needed that it had worked as anticipated. Her humiliation had been intense, but then it was a necessary part of her punishment, more so than the cane, which he’d used sparingly, compared to Gellis’s thrashing. He’d witnessed that over the monitor screen in Lalita’s office, where he waited, observing the impact on Freya.
She’d arrived in the Volta angry and determined to fight. While the fire rabbit danced around her back, invisible to her, he remembered what it was about Freya that had drawn him to her—her resilience and passion. During Gellis’s caning, Freya had seemed pained, and probably stricken with guilt. Perhaps that punishment alone had made her reconsider her foolish plan to help Lucilla. However, her compassion for others hadn’t excused her actions and she had required discipline. Yet, as he heard the door close behind him, he wished to reclaim her.
She lay somewhat limp, but had ceased her soft crying. He leaned over and kissed her between the shoulder blades. She didn’t flinch.
“It’s done. We’re alone. Did you mean it when you said yes?”
She lifted her head, with it her rosy cheeks, and nodded. “I’m sorry. Lucilla’s—”
“We’ll talk of Lucilla another time. Now I want you. In this room you must demonstrate your submission. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He plucked at the fastenings of his shirt and bared his chest. His balls ached while his cock stretched the fabric of his pants into a tent. He freed it and allowed the clothing to slip down his thighs before kicking off his pants and boots. Naked, he stood by her bottom. The thin red stripes formed parallel lines across her bottom from the apex of its curvature to the crease by her thighs. The accuracy of his strokes pleased him. Taking his cock, he rubbed it over her bottom and she moaned.
“You want this, don’t you?”
A low gasp accompanied her reply. “Yes, sir.”
“In the bedroom? On the bed in a comfortable position, or here, where I will demand much from you?”
“Here,” she replied without hesitation.
It was the answer he desired, but if she’d refused his request, he’d have carried her in his arms to his quarters and given her what she desired. That was what she’d done to him, he realized, as he circled her gaping pussy with his erection, allowing her juices to coat the glans, she�
��d shifted his perspective from his world, to hers. Was that what love did? For now, he needed to claim her back to his. With her consent, he had all he needed for the next few hours. Would she endure it for him, as she had done the cane? The aylerberry had prepared her for pleasure—had its potency been sufficient?
He paused before making his thrust. “If this gets too much for you, say fire rabbit, and I’ll stop. This isn’t part of your punishment. I’ve forgiven you. I trust you again, because you trust me. Let’s do this, sweetness.”
“Please, please.” She twisted slightly and he saw the brightness in her eyes. No longer were there tears; instead he saw a yearning and she smiled.
Buoyed by her enthusiasm, he held her hips, leaned into her, and drove his cock into the depths of her wet pussy. The plug remained in place, whether it would remain there for much longer, he didn’t know. As he rocked back and forth, building momentum and force, he doubted it. He truly needed all of her.
* * *
She curled up on the bed. Marco had a special healing cream to treat her bottom. Her sore pussy he had no power to help, but she didn’t mind. It was worth it. The aylerberry had left no residual effects and the way in which it had stoked her fire had proved to be beneficial. How she would have coped with his demands without it, she didn’t know.
He’d unbound her after his first climax, and gently removed the plug. Then, she’d knelt at his feet and sucked his cock until her jaw ached, before being taken from behind twice, once in her pussy again, then her bottom hole. Throughout, he’d been firm with her, grasping her hair and holding her in place, but not once had she thought to shout out fire rabbit and end it.
Her orgasms, of which there were numerous and chained together into what felt like one long climax, had exhausted her. He’d carried her across the Volta to her rooms and quickly set about bathing and soothing her. Now he shifted and spooned his semi-clad form around her. She remained naked.
He stroked the hair out of her face. “Lucilla has been badly treated by my people, and hers too. They gave her up as a hostage to prevent further bloodshed. Her people honor hostage taking, but she was supposed to have been returned when a treaty was negotiated. Instead, she’s been kept here in secret, forcing her father to choose between another uprising or honoring the treaty. I have sent an inquiry to the appeals court and to various diplomats to highlight her situation. I await their reply.”
Freya had underestimated Marco, and the thought of that added to her sense of penitence. She should have trusted him. “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be grateful. She’s such a meek creature and would never have created a fuss on her own.”
“She’s lucky to have you as a friend. However, you know that you should come to speak to me. Am I a tyrant?”
“No. But you’re quite rigid in your ways and I suppose I assumed you knew all there was to know about your prisoners and didn’t care.”
He sighed, pausing in his gentle caresses of her skin. “There are thousands of them here, Freya. I can’t possibly inquire after each and every one.”
“What of me? My conviction is flawed. I never stole military secrets. I only sought to understand how the terraforming works. Earth needs it.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll make inquiries about that too.”
She rotated, coming to face him. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She kissed his mouth and snuggled closer to him.
“You miss Earth, I know; what would make you happier?” he asked.
“I’d love to write to my parents. Reassure them I’m okay.”
“Write? Interstellar communications are forbidden to prisoners. Too complex to manage and in the past, some have used it to stir up trouble with secret messages to insurgents.”
“I could use something old-fashioned, like pen and paper. Do you ever send transporters to Earth, even without prisoners?”
“Yes. Troop movements from here include Earth. The next is due to leave soon. Pen and paper?”
She yawned before speaking. “I suppose they don’t exist here.”
“I’ll speak to our provisions officer. He’s remarkably inventive when it comes to supplies.”
Her eyelids drooped. She wondered if he would stay with her, or leave her alone to sleep. But before she could inquire, she drifted off.
Chapter Thirteen
In the morning, after Marco had left, Freya expected a frosty reception from Gellis. The maid appeared on schedule to perform the morning’s rituals and routines, and showed no evidence of what must be a sore bottom. Freya moved a little stiffly, but otherwise without discomfort.
Gellis said nothing about the stripes on Freya’s ass. As she brushed out the knots in Freya’s hair, the maid tut-tutted and muttered under her breath.
Freya reached behind and stilled Gellis’s hand in mid-stroke of her long locks. “Please. I’m sorry. I should never have put you in such an awkward—”
“I knew exactly what I was doing, Freya.” She continued to brush. “I don’t harbor any hard feelings toward you. I may have got a little carried away with that fool Puto, but he exaggerated what happened to the governor.”
“I owe you, Gellis. You took such a caning,” Freya fretted.
“I’ve had them before and what you did to help Lucilla—”
Her shoulders stiffened. “You know about that? Who told you?”
“Nobody. I worked it out myself. She’s not a rebel or a criminal, what keeps her here is something different. I wasn’t the least bit surprised you went looking for answers. It’s what you do.” She lay the brush down and lifted one of Freya’s hands, inspecting the fingernails. “Have you chewed these?” She frowned.
“A little, yesterday, in the cell.” Freya’s childhood habit often reemerged in times of stress.
Gellis picked up a nail file.
Freya watched as Gellis reshaped the nails. “You don’t think I did wrong, spying?”
The maid chuckled. “Do you think you’re the only one with an interesting past? I commanded a team of rebels on my own planet. I realized what you were up to, making an excuse to go to his office. It was a good try, very brave. It’s been the most excitement I’ve had in a long time.” Gellis glanced up and grinned.
Freya relaxed back into her chair. “You were a rebel leader?”
“A long time ago. I arrived here fired up, ready to make more trouble, but instead of fighting the Vendu, we prisoners just fight amongst ourselves. I switched between factions, hoping one would be better than the other. Then, one day, I gave up. I became the perfect prisoner, trusted and given this job. I nearly turned it down.” She paused in her filing.
“Why? It has to be better?”
“It meant leaving my friends behind. One in particular. That was three years ago. I suspect he’s forgotten me. I thought I would hate it here, but I don’t. I’d also hoped he might be given work up here too, like maintaining the parks, cooking… but it didn’t happen. I’m not sure if he’s even alive. There,” She admired her handiwork. “No more chewing.”
Freya smiled, but the edges of her lips twitched. Gellis had recounted a sad tale. She suspected that Gellis referred to her lover. “Was he from the same planet as you?”
“No. Another. But, we’re all so similar, it doesn’t matter.”
“Are we? I mean the same. The Vendu seem to like to differentiate us.”
Gellis shrugged. “That is to their advantage. A divided enemy? The Vendu won’t be in power for ever.”
Freya rose and slipped into the robe that Gellis held out. “Why?” To her, they seemed indestructible.
“They are a dying race. Their exhausted planet is on the brink of disaster. They seek this idyllic new home world that will give them everything that Halos once had. These colonies are a desperate means to control their empire. One day, it will crumble. Did you ever have empires on your world? On Earth?”
“Yes,” Freya could name many. “They all collapsed.”
A gong
sounded, resonating around the room.
“It is time for breakfast.”
Freya thanked Gellis. Why hadn’t she bothered to show any interest in her maid before now? She was ashamed of her dismissive attitude—assuming Gellis was a simple woman. Before she left, she asked one more question. The name of Gellis’s lover.
The maid hesitated before replying. “Jophran. Planet nine.”
Freya would have to find some way to help them. How, she didn’t know. Not yet.
* * *
Marco had to read the letter before it was sent. Paper turned out to be easy to produce using the reeds from the riverbed. Why humans used such a primitive form of communication he couldn’t fathom. The paper had a tinge of green and was rougher than he expected. The ink, which was produced from a natural chemical that leached out of the ground, covered the page. Her handwriting was tricky to read.
Freya painted a picture that glossed over the truth of her situation. She described the ‘beautiful’ canyon and the desert sun that glowed all day. She never mentioned the men who nearly raped her, or those early days of toil in the laundry. She skipped past the reason she was in the Volta; instead she implied she had a coveted position in the city as a trusted prisoner. Not exactly a lie.
He sighed as he read the note and the positive swing she placed on her situation. She should be rallying her supporters, and even with the lack of dialogue between Vendu and Earthlings, she had more chance of freedom if she could engage her own side to fight for her release. She ended the short note telling her parents not to worry. She was in good health.
Marco traced his finger around the stains on the paper. He guessed they were watermarks produced by her tears. It surprised him how attached she remained to her parents. Once any Vendu reached maturity, they went their own way, often never seeing their parents again. His mother, having fulfilled her maternal duties, had returned to live on Halos in the emperor’s court. His father had another son somewhere. Marco had never met his half-brother and neither had he ever wept tears over his absent family. He rolled the paper into a tube and placed it in the delivery capsule. Hitting the intercom button, he summoned Puto.