Chosen by the Governor

by Jaye Peaches

  The young assistant, whom Marco had grilled over Freya and Gellis’s visit, had spent his subsequent spare time in the company of the barracks’ least friendly drill sergeant. The vigorous exercise had been sufficient punishment for Puto, who would never pass the rigorous examination to join the warrior orders. He moved stiffly toward Marco’s desk. “Sir?”

  “This capsule is to go out in tomorrow’s transporter to planet sixty-two.” He waved the cylinder at Puto. “Ensure that whoever takes possession of it for the journey knows it is to go directly to Commissioner Hadro.”

  “Hadro?”

  “He’s a friend of mine. He knows to expect it.”

  Puto took the capsule and snapped his heels. “Anything else?”

  “Everything is in place for tomorrow?”

  “It’s all arranged, sir.”

  After Marco had dismissed Puto, he stood for a while looking out the window of his office. The dots of the prisoners’ heads moved about the compound. The place would be bursting at the seams soon if more kept arriving. He’d read the report from Dr. Han, who cared not for the logistics of running a prison, but his precious alien studies. What he’d demanded again was access to Freya. Marco had turned him down again, stating it wasn’t necessary. The alien health division had all the data they needed. Putting Freya through a battery of humiliating examinations wouldn’t alter a thing. If the empire was to be saved, it had to act on what it already knew, instead of waiting for another solution to present itself.

  Dr. Han unfortunately had a stubborn streak. According to the latest report, he intended to contact his superiors and demand the governor cooperated.

  Marco leaned on the solid force field. He’d intercepted the report and deleted the request for intervention from the communication package. Han had crossed the boundary of permissible behavior with his studies. Marco wished he had the evidence to throw the doctor off the planet.

  How long he could go on protecting Freya, he didn’t know. At some point, he would be moved on, not this solar cycle or the next, but eventually he would be selected for another post. Then, Marco would have to face a future without her.

  His usually sturdy shoulders slumped against the false glass. A passion burnt inside him and it failed to extinguish itself even when he thought he’d been sated by Freya’s attentiveness and improving sexual skills. The need for her was immense, the fear of losing her unbearable. Freya would tell him it was love. Ever since he’d punished her, during his recent visits, she’d hinted at her feelings, whispering in his ear, and he’d tried to steer away from confessing what he knew was true and no longer could be denied.

  Tomorrow, when the second sun dipped lower and the heat of Tagra diminished slightly, he planned a different day for her. He’d some good news to impart and above all else, he needed a couple of days away from his post and the opportunity to be alone with Freya.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Out of the window of the speeder, Freya could see the golden landscape stretch out until it met the blue sky of the horizon. Occasionally, an outcrop of rocks and canyons punctuated the desert. Marco hadn’t revealed their destination; he wanted it to be a surprise.

  “It looks like there was water on the surface.” She pointed out the erosion on the rocks.

  Marco tapped the intercom and spoke to the pilot. “Circle a vent, will you?”

  “Yes, sir,” the pilot replied.

  The speeder lurched to one and altered its course.

  “Just a little diversion, since you’re curious.” Marco scanned the dunes, then gestured to a distant black spot. “There.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Under the surface, deep down, are vast underground lakes, which are sheltered from the heat. When we colonized the planet, we opened up holes, drilled down into these water-filled caverns, and dispersed oxygenating plants and microbes. The sun shines through these holes and the light—”

  “Helps produce the oxygen.” She nodded. “So this is how you keep the air suitable for breathing?”

  “Amongst other things. It’s one of a battery of technologies employed.”

  The vent was about a half a mile in diameter, allowing sufficient light in, but not too much heat to cause evaporation. The speeder circled the rim and it reminded Freya of a volcano.

  Marco spoke to the pilot again. “Put us back on course.”

  “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “For showing me that. I’d wondered if there was water somewhere on this planet.”

  “It’s there, but insufficient to sustain a large population. It would destabilize the thin layer of the surface to drill too many vents.”

  What else did Marco know about how life was sustained on desolate planets? Her mission had discovered nothing and she considered herself a failure. In her letter to her parents, she made no mention of Marco, or her life as his jenjin. As she wrote the letter, she’d struggled to hold back the tears. An emotion akin to grief consumed her. The tears had splashed on the paper and she’d dare not wipe them away in case she smudged the ink.

  Gellis, who’d arrived to bathe Freya, had asked her what she was doing. When she’d explained about the paper and her plan to try to communicate with her parents, it had given Freya another idea. She’d handed Gellis a spare sheet and the ink pen. “Write to Jophran. Tell him your news. You can both read and write?”

  The maid had fingered the paper and nodded. “Yes, in Vendian, since we come from different planets. But what would I do with a letter? I can’t deliver it.”

  Freya hadn’t an answer to that problem, but she encouraged Gellis to write anyway. “It helps. It’s helped me.”

  “You’ve been crying,” Gellis had noticed.

  “It needed to happen. I have to move on. Nobody is coming to rescue me.” Freya hated even saying the words. What could her parents do but mourn her as if she’d died.

  Gellis had taken the paper, and later in the day, she returned the pen.

  “Give me the letter,” Freya had said. “I’ll try to get it to him.”

  The maid hesitated before handing over the folded sheet and waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no matter if you don’t. I’m not hopeful.”

  Tucking the letter into a drawer, Freya thought differently. It was important. Hope mattered.

  That had been a few days ago, and now here she was and about to enjoy some time with Marco, but where?

  The speeder dipped lower and turning, the view changed. Instead of the undulating dunes there was a wall of rock rising high, much higher than the one over the valley where the prisoners lived. The shadows cast stretched across the sands. Drifting close, she spied a structure tucked away near the overhanging cliff.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Marco smiled. “It’s the governor’s retreat. A special location where neither sun can reach, so it remains cool and pleasant. One of the previous governors constructed a tent with luxurious fittings and comforts. That, my little Earthling, is where we will spend today and tonight. Alone.”

  He leaned toward her and kissed her lips. An evocative kiss that transmitted more than a brief desire, she felt the urgency. What awaited her would be much more than a simple caress of lips.

  After the speeder landed, Marco helped her out and she wandered around the substantial exterior while he disappeared inside to check that his specific arrangements were in place. She wasn’t allowed to enter the tent until he called for her. The air was cooler, less dusty, and lacked humidity. The tent was more than temporary structure and made from something that resembled canvas, but when she touched it, it seemed thicker and rigid.

  “It’s made from a memory material.” Marco beckoned her over to the entrance. “Once unfolded, it snaps into fixed shape. The interior is fresher, but not too cool.” He signaled to the pilot and the disk of the speeder began to spin again, indicating it was about to rise and depart.

  Freya reached out and clasped Marco’s hand. “Come in,” he said.

  Colorful drapes hung a
round the interior, camouflaging the tent’s walls. She’d expected something primitive, lacking in refinement, and she was wrong. The carpet beneath her feet was plush and the heel of her shoes sunk into it. She kicked them off and wriggled her toes in the soft pile. A curtain divided the interior of the tent and it separated a sleeping and bathing area from a general purpose space. Although, given the presence of the loveseat and the plentiful supply of stools and cushions, she assumed the arena had only one true purpose.

  There was no shortage of food and drink. Somebody had supplied the tent and the varied offerings were laid out on tables or inside cooler cabinets. Marco stood behind her and the closed the flap of the tent. The light dimmed slightly but not to the extent artificial lights were necessary.

  He draped his arms around her, lifting her bosom with his forearm, while he traveled the contours of her waist and hip line with his fingertips. Kissing the back of her neck, he rocked against her. Already his protruding erection was as hard as steel. She nestled into his embrace and tilted her head to one side, enabling him to trail kisses around her throat.

  “In here, you’ll be naked at all times.” He plucked at the seam of her dress and hitched it up so that it lifted above her knees. Modesty had been necessary on the flight, but not any longer.

  “I’ll be naked at all times, sir,” she repeated softly. She slipped out of his clutches and, slowly and gracefully, she let the dress fall down, unveiling her smooth skin. She tossed her hair about and smiled. “Do I please you?”

  “Oh, sweetness,” he murmured, stepping toward her with his prominent erection showing through his pants. She mirrored his movements by edging backwards. “You do.”

  The heel of her foot caught one of the cushions. Bending her knees, she carefully lowered her bottom. Once down, she leaned back on her elbows and parted her legs slightly.

  Marco stood over her and his height cast a long shadow. Freya admired how he carried his large frame with an athletic ease. His eyes burnt brightly beneath the dark lines of his eyebrows. When they sparkled like that, she recognized the passion was about to burst out of him. Buoyed by his enthusiasm, she rode a surge of lust-induced adrenaline and put aside any trepidation she might have at meeting his needs over the next few hours.

  He crouched down and grasped each ankle, separating them further and giving him the perfect view of her pussy and the shaven folds of her sex. Her breathing quickened as he crawled over, keeping his weight off her until his chin leveled with hers. Other than his boots, he’d not removed any clothing. The metallic trim of his black uniform glimmered and she hooked her arms around his back and drew him closer.

  With a low moan, he ground his covered cock against her pubis, and she arched her back, lifting her hips higher to meet him. The warmth of his body cruised closer, and she gasped as his skin skated against her erect nipples, tickling them with his proximity. She shut her eyes.

  “Mine,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re mine.”

  “Yes,” she hissed, lingering on the last sound as he nipped her earlobe.

  “You’ve changed me, Freya. An everlasting change. I’m unable to fight it any longer.”

  “I feel it, too, Marco.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

  “I know now what you need from me. I can’t hide behind my rank, my kind, my dominance. I love you, Freya Caspari.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she clutched the back of his shirt. “I love you, too.”

  She’d said it. The relief of hearing him admit to what must be an alien concept was tremendous. “Thank you,” she mouthed in English.

  “Now that you know, I want you to understand I still expect your obedience and respect. Agreed?”

  She nodded.

  He clucked his tongue and rocked his hardness against her one more time. “Freya?”

  She grinned. “I agree, sir.”

  To her surprise, he lifted himself up and back onto his feet. He uncovered his cock and the swollen glans glistened with pre-cum.

  “Kneel and show me how much you’ve learned.” He held the shaft in his fist and ready to place it between her lips.

  For a couple of seconds, nerves almost overwhelmed her. She’d had many lessons on the technique in the last weeks using an artificial phallus, but none of them had required practicing on a fully erect penis. Freya crept forward on all fours. She stuck out her tongue as she approached and licked the ridge on the underside of the cock, tasting the trace of his leakage.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Open your mouth wide.”

  She knelt, tucking her hands behind her back, and rose higher, until she had the height to lower her mouth around his upright cock. When he coiled his fingers in the loose strands of her hair, he tipped her head back and slid his erection deeper. She used all those techniques the overseers suggested to overcome her natural reflexes. They worked. He thrust, gently at first, down her throat, then withdrew the head to rest on the tip of her tongue. When he reentered, he paused, and she sucked, feeling the texture of his skin and the pulse in his veins.

  Marco’s grip tightened and her scalp tingled. The next thrust was faster, then another and she had to snatch her breaths between them. When he stilled, it was her turn to work her tongue and lips, keeping him on the brink of coming.

  As her jaw began to ache and she struggled to consume him, he juddered and a spurt of hot liquid fired down her throat. She swallowed the fountain. Just. He maintained his erection as she expected.

  “Stay there,” he told her.

  She curled up on the floor as he moved about the tent, setting up something. She felt warm and fuzzy. The taste of his cum lingered in her mouth and she circled her tongue around, scooping the flavor up. She liked it.

  When she stirred, propping herself up on an elbow, she gaped at the contraption Marco had constructed between two poles. Like any large tent, it relied on rigid support poles to hold up the apex of the roof. Two of them were situated three or so meters apart. Between them he strung a rope, which in the middle section was covered in a wad of padding. Hanging above it from both poles were looped straps. Freya’s eyes widened with alarm. It was a bondage rig of some kind, she deduced.

  Marco swung the rope and it swayed back and forth. “I think I’ve got it at the right height for you.”

  “Height?” She rose to her knees.

  “You’re going to lean forward onto this.” He flicked the padding. “It should be just where your clitoris touches and the line of your hips.”

  Her stomach churned with apprehension. “Bend over it? I’ll go head first and smack onto the floor.” She assumed he intended to take her from behind. She knotted her eyebrows, unsure whether she wanted to try it out.

  Marco grasped one of the upper straps tied to a pole and showed her the loop. “You’ll have this to support you. They’ll go around each wrist and you hang onto them. The lower rope is slightly elasticated, but not so much that your arms will be forced back.”

  Unconvinced, she eyed the setup with suspicion. “You’re going to tie me between two poles and fuck me,” she surmised.

  “Fucking, yes, tying up, no. Not sensible as we’re alone. You will be able to slip your wrists out. The loops won’t tighten when you pull on them. Come over here.” He gestured to a spot between the two poles right behind the padded region of the rope.

  Freya started to stand when he held up his hand.

  “Freya, in here you crawl toward me, remember your jenjin training.”

  She sank onto her hands and knees and crawled. Marco’s cock, which he’d not tucked back out of sight, rose up as he watched her sway her hips. His apparent enjoyment in seeing her debased wasn’t new, but the pleasure he took from it remained difficult for her to comprehend, especially after what he’d told her shortly after their arrival.

  She should feel utterly humiliated—naked and crawling toward her lover, but she didn’t. Rather the debasement had caused a quickening in her belly, releasing a sensation of nervous butterflies. He’d declare
d his love, something that had come as a shock and at the same time, she’d been delighted by it. When she’d consented to being his jenjin, she’d dreamed of the day he might open up to her and admit the strength of his feelings toward her. Where that love would take them in the long term was unknown. However, for now, it would take her into the realms of exotic sex.

  He helped her to her feet and positioned her up against the rope. He’d been right in his estimate. As she leaned forward, letting the horizontal roping support her pelvis, the texture of the padded cover caught her pubic region perfectly. Marco looped each of the support straps around her wrists, but as promised, he refrained from tightening them. She gripped the thongs in white-knuckled fists and with his hand gently nudging her between the shoulder blades, she tipped forward and bent.

  She expected her arms to be dragged too far back, but just as she reached the brink of discomfort, the rope snapped rigid, then bounced her backwards slightly.

  “See. The elastic properties will help you swing.”

  She practiced the movement—bending, lowering her shoulders, then with a subtle snap, she swung in the opposite direction. Each time, her elbows locked at the peak of tension while her breasts swayed in time to the motion.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “No.” She ran the tip of her tongue around her dry lips. “Please, may I have a drink?”

  “Of course.” He left her poised, semi-bent and fetched a glass of icy water. As he held it to her lips, she sipped a few mouthfuls, and then nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  “If it gets too much for you, remember how to stop me?”

  “Yes. Fire rabbit.”

  “I’m going to enjoy watching that little rabbit dance around your back as I fuck you hard.” He placed the glass on the table and circled around her. Standing behind her, he used one finger to trace her spine from her neck downward. A swarm of goosebumps followed the line he made. As he reached the furrow of her bottom cleft, he probed between her cheeks while at the same time, he nudged her feet further apart. It meant lowering her bottom further, straining her shoulders, and as a consequence, her clitoris pressed firmly against the soft fabric.