She turned the other way and saw what he’d been doing. Piled in the middle of the small living space, and on the table, were boxes and cartons, all the emergency supplies from the lifeboat. And then she had an idea.
* * *
Thirty minutes and two burned fingers later, she pulled a bowl out of the cooker, inhaling with pleasure. Memories of her mother making almost the same dish welled up. She put the bowl on the counter and leaned her head against the cabinets as she struggled not to cry.
She heard movement from behind. She hastily dried her eyes and grabbed the edge of the bowl with her burned fingers. She yelped and dropped it back to the counter. Before she could turn around, two copper-colored, heavily muscled arms appeared over her head, and a large body pinned her in place.
“What are you doing, little girl, and how did you hurt yourself?” His voice purred softly in her ear.
She turned around hastily and looked up. He was close, so close, and damn, he smelled good. “It’s nothing. Um, I thought I’d make something to eat, and I burned my fingers a little bit.” She held out the digits, seeing with dismay the blisters forming on the tips. He took her tiny hand into his giant paw, examining the burns as gentle as a mother with a baby. The change in his demeanor was unsettling.
“Does it hurt?”
She looked at him in confusion. “You didn’t seem to care if it hurt when you spanked me.”
“That was supposed to hurt. This is different. Wait here.” He let go of her hand and moved away, and the space around her felt empty. He was back in a moment with a tube in his hand. He took her wrist and tugged her firmly toward the table. When he sat down he was eye to eye with her again, but she found herself so shy she stared at the floor. He spread some of the cream on her fingers, easing the pain immediately, and then wrapped a bandage around both of them. Ordering her to sit, he dished up the food into two bowls and when he sat down across from her, he looked at the bowl in front of him.
“All right, what is this supposed to be?”
She smiled shyly. “It’s called spaghetti Bolognese.” She chuckled. “Except the noodles are usually white, not brown, and the sauce is made with something called tomatoes, which are red, though these green sava fruits taste almost the same. And then there’s the fake meat you served yesterday, too. So it’s brown and green instead of white and red. But it tastes pretty similar.”
He brought a large forkful to his mouth. He chewed and considered, and finally swallowed. “Not bad.”
She beamed with pride as he finished the bowl.
“Thank you. This is the first time anyone has cooked for me in a while. My brother used to be the cook...” His voice trailed off and he stared into the empty bowl. She stayed silent, hoping he’d talk more. But he cleared his voice and looked up.
“Tell me about you. Before you came, and after.” His voice was quiet.
Now it was her turn to stare in her unfinished bowl. How to share what her life had meant to her and what had been ripped away? She inhaled. “I was living with my parents and my sister while I was in college.” It seemed like a lifetime ago. “I was coming out of a gym, which is a place to get exercise, when a storm blew up out of nowhere. There was a bolt of lightning nearby, and then the air next to me opened up. A large arm reached through the rip and grabbed me, and I fell through the hole.” She paused and ran her fingers through her hair, leaning her elbow on the table.
“What happened then?” he asked.
“You really want to know? It isn’t a very nice picture of Anterrin society.”
He cleared his throat. “I have no lofty ideas about Anterrin society.” He stared at the table but didn’t elaborate. “Please, continue.”
“There were other women there, too, when I arrived. At first, we didn’t understand that we weren’t even on Earth any more, and way in the future, too. And then they inserted the translator chips into us, and told us where we were, and why, and that we’d never be going home again.” Her voice faltered. “It was my sister’s birthday. Mom was making her a cake, and we’d planned a barbecue outside. But I never came home, and they’ll never know what happened to me...” She closed her eyes to keep the tears from leaking out, and was startled when his large hand closed over hers.
“I ended up in a public nectar house. ‘Strict rules and standards,’ we were told. Maximum of four hours a day, no more than four orgasms an hour, good food, no illegal supplements. Bullshit. It was nine or ten hours a day, sitting upright on little platforms sticking out from the wall, knees pulled so far apart I couldn’t walk the first week, and bound to anchors on the wall on each side of us. They stuck those damned little vibrating things on our clits to force orgasms out of us every few minutes. Anterrin men lined up, eager to suck and lick and bite, mad if we didn’t produce as much as they thought we should, mad if we were so worn out we couldn’t come within two or three minutes, and always trying to get away with something if they thought no one was looking.
“And my owner would get furious if we took too long to come. We had a quota, you see. Six orgasms an hour, every hour, and whippings on our pussies for each orgasm we missed. And then the next day, we’d be so sore that every tongue felt like sandpaper.” She stopped to breathe. “And the supplements he made us drink to flavor our nectar were not the legal, approved ones. They made some of the girls so sick they couldn’t work. Those girls didn’t stay long. I don’t know what happened to them.”
He gripped her hand so hard it almost hurt.
“I know some women are in better places, and it’s not so bad for them. And I know some land in worse. I shouldn’t complain.”
“It’s not a competition. You have the right to claim your own misery.”
She nodded. “I know.”
She picked at her food in silence.
“Eat. You’re too thin.” His voice had become stern again.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat anyway.”
She threw down her fork and stood up. “No. I’ll eat later.” She carried her bowl to the counter.
“Keelie, that was not a request.”
She ignored him as she dumped the remains into the waste receptacle.
“And we do not waste food out here where we can’t get any more. Come here.”
She moved around to the table and approached him. He took her wrists and pulled her between his legs. This time she stared into his eyes, the irises so blue they reminded her of a summer sky back home. Right now they were in an oval, halfway between the slits they became in bright light and the perfectly round irises they became in the dark. This was the closest she’d ever been, and she found herself studying them with curiosity.
“Why were you crying earlier?” he asked. “Was it the spanking?”
She chewed over her words. “Before you started, I was really scared and angry you were going to hit me, just like all the other men here. And then it felt so good when you stroked my skin, but I knew you were going to claim your right to my nectar. And then... you complimented me, and then you told me it was my pussy, and you wouldn’t touch it until I asked you to. I didn’t have any idea what to say.” Her cheeks felt hot and red. “When you started spanking me, it hurt, a lot. I’ve never been very good at holding still, or being quiet, and that usually gets me more punishment. But instead of getting angry, you just held me tighter. And then it was done. You asked me if I understood why I was spanked, and reminded me who was in charge on this ship and your orders had to be obeyed—oh!” Her eyes flew up to his.
“Yes?” he queried, a small grin on his face, the first she’d seen.
“I just disobeyed you again,” she said softly.
“Mmm hmm.”
“Are you going to spank me again?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Her heart fluttered, and there might have been a little tiny ache between her legs, something so foreign to her after hundreds of forced orgasms that she wasn’t sure what it meant. He grabbed something out of a drawer, and
her heart sank when she saw it was a wide wooden spoon. He turned her sideways and pressed her back lightly, and she bent over his tree trunk legs without resistance.
Like the last time, he stroked her back, and she relaxed. When his hand was replaced by the coolness of the spoon, she tensed in anticipation. He chuckled.
“Why are you here?” His tone became all business.
“I disobeyed you again, sir.”
“That’s right. Each time I have to punish you it gets a little harder. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“There are some rules. You will not kick up, you will not try to twist away, and you will keep your cheeks soft, not tense, to show that you accept the pain of this punishment.”
“I don’t think I can do that!”
“I’ll help you. I’m going to smack you five times. Stay still and soft for those five. You can grab my leg if you need to.”
She grabbed one leg and held on for dear life. She felt the spoon lift off of her skin, and tried not to get tense—
The spoon smacked down across the softest part of both cheeks. It stung, but not too horrible. She clenched reflexively after the smack, then unclenched and waited. He smacked her again. A little more sting, but she took some deep breaths and held still. Then three in quick succession. She grabbed his leg, don’t tense up, don’t tense up, don’t tense up, and managed to stay still.
“Good. Very good.” He stroked her cheeks again, and she sighed at the blissful feeling. She thought she heard another chuckle from above.
“Now the next five. They’re going to be faster, and sting more, but you’re not going to clench. You can grab my leg, but keep those cheeks soft and those legs still.”
The spoon smacked down again, still on the pillow of her cheeks, and then four more times in rapid succession. She squealed, but didn’t move.
“Good.” He rubbed again. “Someday I’d love to train you to take a punishment completely silent, so that I can decide when you’ve been punished enough by the redness of your ass, not the noises you make.”
She let out a quiet moan. She was pretty sure the bulge under her thigh twitched too. She hardly had time to register what had happened when he smacked her three more times on the same spot. She barely bit back a shriek.
“How many more?” she asked, trying to steel herself for what was coming.
“A question like that will get you spanked between the legs if you ever ask it again. And the answer will always be: until I feel like stopping.”
She whimpered. She felt the spoon lift up, and she gripped his leg hard, as he started up again—five smacks, rest, five smacks—until her butt once more felt like it was on fire. She abandoned her thin thread of control and started pleading and struggling. He merely gripped her tighter and kept going, not pausing, until she was sobbing out her apologies and promising never to disobey again.
At last it stopped.
“Shh...” he whispered as he stroked her back. “It’s over now. You did fine. And I know you’ll remember this lesson.”
“Yes, sir,” she hiccupped.
There was nothing angry in his tone. There was only gentle touching now. She was so confused by her reactions and his, and it only made her weep harder. She didn’t know if he understood, but he gently turned her over and sat her on his knees, and held her against his chest without saying anything.
Eventually the crying stopped.
“You did good. We’ll work on it.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I’m never going to do anything wrong ever again to be there.”
He started to say something, then stopped, and instead helped her to stand. She looked down at his thighs and to her horror realized there was a huge wet spot right over the bulge on his trousers. She’d leaked nectar during the spanking?
He followed her gaze and chuckled.
She was horrified. She turned and ran into the ‘fresher and slammed the door. She stripped off the shirt and turned on the shower and soaped and rinsed until there was no lubrication anywhere between her legs. Her humiliation was total and she vowed to stay in the shower for the rest of her life.
Chapter Four
As he heard the shower start, Siridin finished clearing the table and putting away the extra food. He’d enjoyed the spanking a little too much. When she’d declared she’d never do anything wrong again, he almost told her that he’d spank her anyway, just to hear her cries and feel her wiggles on his lap. Her physical response had surprised him. He’d been skeptical that someone who’d been forced to produce nectar day after day would get aroused by anything, much less a spanking. She probably didn’t understand it herself. And speaking of surprising responses—he glanced at the boner between his legs. It had responded to a woman for the first time in...
Well, for a long time, it seemed.
He liked her. But she was a temporary detour, not part of his plan.
What plan? And if she’s a detour, why did you say you’d like to train her to stay silent? That you would work with her on it?
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He’d started talking to himself at some point since Talar had died, probably because he wasn’t used to being alone.
Anyhow, he still wasn’t sure what to do with her. Right now, they were trying to get away from Dstorian space so the Crostis couldn’t track them. He’d made three more jumps and hoped his trail was sufficiently covered, but he needed to stay aware for a while longer.
As he made himself a strong cup of mara, his thoughts drifted back to how much he missed Talar. They’d talked for years about what kind of wife they’d like to find when they were financially settled.
Keelie is exactly like the woman we talked about. The voice in his thoughts interrupted again before he pushed it firmly away. No, Keelie was human. Not anything like the tall, slender Anterrin women they’d always thought about. He swore he heard a sigh behind him and whirled around, but no one was there. The reality was, no Anterrin woman was going to be interested in half a mating, with only one man.
Keelie isn’t Anterrin! This time he knew he heard a sigh.
* * *
She was taking too damn long in the shower and she was going to run him out of water. All right, he couldn’t really run out—everything was recycled over and over, but that was beside the point.
Or maybe he was looking for a reason to spank her?
Why was this fugitive nectar slave occupying so much of his thoughts? He had no idea what to do with her. He wasn’t the right person to try to help her. He couldn’t take her back to Anteros. He couldn’t keep her.
Why not?
Because, dammit! Hell, he hadn’t even been able to protect his brother, the one person he loved more than anyone in life, his other half, the calm antidote to his fiery outbursts.
If he hadn’t gone into that public house, curious to see what all the fuss over nectar slaves was about, he would have been at his brother’s side that evening. If he hadn’t been more than a little drunk on nectar when he left, he might have sensed the danger when Talar came across one of the king’s personal guards beating a nectar slave to death. By the time Siridin had wandered drunkenly around the corner, Talar was already on the ground, with one of the king’s men standing over him, still pointing his blaster. The slave was in a heap off to the side. Siridin had acted without thinking, and a moment later, his brother’s murderer was also dead.
A capital offense.
Siridin had grabbed Talar’s lifeless body and staggered home. He didn’t have to be sober to know the trouble he was in. He gathered up the few personal possessions not already on the ship, and carried his brother all the way to the landing field. He requested permission to leave, chewing his fingers until it was granted, which meant he hadn’t been tied to the crime yet. And then he’d left the beautiful planet he’d always called home, knowing he could never come back.
Nectar slaves were at the root of all his grief. But this one, here on his ship, was attractin
g him like a magnet, and he didn’t know why, or how to stop it.
Keelie emerged from the shower and scooted around the corner without looking at him. He could see the blush of her cheeks, so much paler than women of his own species. She darted into the room and shut the door.
He needed something else besides mara. The light green bottle next to his bed held the promise of oblivion. But before he could answer that siren call, a beep let him know it was time to make another jump. He headed forward to the darkness of the cockpit. It took a while to make this jump and check out his position to be sure, and by the time he was done, his earlier nap seemed far away. He needed some real sleep.
But he couldn’t let his guest wander about while he slept. That had been a mistake, though he had enjoyed the food she’d made. And the chance to spank her.
He knocked on the door and slid it open, intending to tell her he was going to lock her in for a while. She was asleep again, mumbling something. He crept closer out of curiosity, and the mumbling became cries of anguish as she struggled through a nightmare. Before he knew what he was doing, he scooped her up and held her close. He’d lied to her about her smell. It was intoxicating. His dick jumped in his pants, longing to be let out.
He considered sliding into the bed next to her, but the sterility of the room bothered him. Refusing to think too much about his decision, he turned with his soft bundle and walked back over to his cabin. He dimmed the lights most of the way, then lay down on the bed, never letting go of her. She’d grown quiet as soon as he’d scooped her up, and she didn’t wake as he pulled the covers off the floor, up over both of them.
Lately, he hated sleeping. Too many memories and regrets flew around inside his head as he tried to lie still. But tonight, all that was in his head was her face and her scent, and that was just fine with him.
* * *
She woke with a start, confused. When she realized where she was, she almost screeched. How the hell did she end up in his bed, in his arms?
And then she realized she was nestled at his side, the same way she’d been in the dreams. Strong copper-colored arms wrapped around from behind, giving her a sense of security.
Alien Alphas: Twenty-Three Naughty Sci-Fi Romance Novellas Page 117