by Ashe Barker
Caria expected to be taken back to Phahlen’s quarters, but the corridor that greeted her as the transporter doors opened was unfamiliar. More austere than the deck she knew, this part of the shop was utilitarian and lacked any finer detail. Phahlen remained in the transporter when the two guards stepped out.
“Go with them,” he instructed.
“But, sir, I—”
“Go. With. Them.” He enunciated each word, almost spitting the command at her.
“This way, miss.” The closer of the two guards tapped her on the elbow and gestured for her to accompany him. “You don’t want any more trouble, do you?”
“No, I… please, Phahlen, I’m sorry.” Caria turned to Phahlen, terrified. What did he intend to do? Why was he handing her over to his men? “I didn’t think, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Please—”
Her captor gave a curt nod to his crewman and the guard took hold of her elbow to tug her from the transporter. The man wasn’t rough, but he was determined and much stronger than her. Caria had no choice but to go. The transporter door closed behind her, leaving her alone with the guards.
“This way,” the guard repeated, and started down the corridor. Caria followed, her head whirling.
One guard led, the other marched at her rear. They turned left, then right, which brought them to a series of small cells set into the ship’s bulwarks. This must be the brig of the Empyrean. These were the ‘alternative accommodations’ Phahlen had mentioned to her once. Caria stepped back. Surely he didn’t mean to lock her in here.
The guard who had led the way opened the first cell and gestured her inside. “I’ll release your hands once you’re in, miss, and bring you something to eat.”
Still Caria stood rooted to the spot. “No,” she mouthed. “I can’t.”
“I’m sorry, miss. Commander’s orders.” The guard took hold of her elbow again and marched her into the cell. He stepped back, not yet releasing her hands. “If you behave, I will remove the cuffs. Which is it to be?”
“I’ll behave.” Defeated, desolate, Caria sank onto the bunk behind her as her legs finally gave way. The guard leaned over to deactivate the cuffs and her wrists were free.
“I’ll bring you some food. You can get water from the dispenser.” He pointed to the apparatus mounted on the wall. “You should be warm enough but tell me if you want a blanket.” He straightened and made to leave.
“What… What is to happen to me?”
The guard turned and shrugged. “That is up to the commander. My orders are to make sure you do not get loose on the ship again. Do not worry on that score, miss, you shall be going nowhere.”
* * *
Caria lost track of time. She was fed regularly, and the food was decent enough. The guard did supply a blanket when she asked, and even a pillow. She was escorted to a plain cubicle at the end of the row of cells and ordered to shower. The equipment allowed for a dry cleanse only; there was not the luxury of warm water and fragrant, creamy shampoo here. The guards were courteous enough and she was treated well, she supposed. But no information was forthcoming regarding her future, and she heard nothing from Phahlen.
By the second day she was ready to climb the walls. She pleaded with the guards for a book, or an Obelisk set, but these treats were denied her. She was given to understand that Phahlen’s instructions were that her physical needs were to be met, no more than that.
Caria lay on her bunk, her face to the wall. She had learned to ignore the footsteps in the corridor beyond the small barred door that separated her from the rest of the ship. Even when the steps paused at her door she didn’t turn around. It would be her next meal, and she wasn’t hungry, could muster no appetite whatsoever.
“Leave it by the door, please.” She mumbled her request into her pillow.
“This is not room service. Stand up, girl.” Phahlen’s stern tone rang around her tiny cell. Caria jerked upright to stare at him.
“You… you came. Sir, I—”
“Quiet. I told you to stand.”
“Yes, sir.” She leapt from the bunk to stand before the door. “Please, I’m sorry. Could I—”
“I said, be quiet. I will tell you when you are permitted to speak.”
Even when she first arrived on the Empyrean he had not been so curt, so cold. Caria could detect not a hint of his former warmth in those granite features. She was baffled and unnerved by his harsh stare. She could only assume that his original plan for her was now abandoned and he had something else entirely in mind. Caria closed her mouth and lowered her eyes, and she waited to learn her fate.
“How do you like your new accommodations? I trust my guards have made you welcome.”
“I have been well cared for, thank you, Commander.”
“Too bad you won’t be staying here then. I find I must relocate you, at least temporarily, as I’m not inclined to fuck you here in the brig.”
“Oh. I see. I thought… I mean, I assumed…”
“You have one purpose on board my ship, Caria, one only. If you choose not to remain in my quarters, that is up to you. I am happy to have you brought back here when I am otherwise occupied. But you will conceive, and you will provide me with daughters to contribute to the repopulation of Vahle. However, first we have another matter to settle, that of your punishment for attempting to abscond.”
“Sir?” Caria’s heart sank. She knew what was coming.
“The paddle, I think. Forty strokes. I will deliver them here, in your cell.” He tipped up his chin, his eyes narrowing. “Strip, Caria.”
She couldn’t move. Forty strokes? She would never bear that. It was too much.
Tears blinded her as Phahlen instructed the guards to unlock the cell. She was still rooted to the spot as his large form filled her tiny space.
“You can remove your own clothes or I can have the guards strip you. Your choice, girl.”
“Please, Phahlen. Forty strokes, I can’t… please don’t do this.”
“It will soon be over, and afterwards I think it unlikely that you will repeat that little stunt.”
“I won’t, sir, I swear I won’t.”
“You have until I count to five, then the guards will come in and strip you.”
“Phahlen, sir…”
“One.”
“No, you don’t need to do this. Please.”
“Two.”
She remained where she was, her stricken gaze fixed on his implacable features.
“Three. Four.” He turned to the open door at his rear. “Fi—”
“I’ll do it. I’m doing it, sir.” She had been provided with a plain smock-type top after her first shower, and she dragged that over her head. She wore nothing beneath and her nipples hardened in the cool of the cell.
Phahlen’s gaze dropped to her breasts and she thought she might detect a hint of appreciation there. He always seemed to find her attractive before, so perhaps…
“And the rest,” he said coldly. “Then you can roll your mattress up at the end of your bunk and lie over it.”
She loosened the ties on the loose-fitting pants she had been given and allowed them to drop to the floor. She stepped out of them and turned to pull the single sheet from her bunk. The narrow mattress was thin enough to roll up fairly readily, and made a solid bulk to bear her weight. She arranged it at the foot of the bunk and glanced back at Phahlen.
He lifted the corner of one lip in a sardonic parody of a smile. “You look unhappy, Caria. Anyone would think you weren’t looking forward to your paddling.”
His deliberate, calculated cruelty ignited a spark of her usual bitter resentment. “And anyone would think you’re a mean bastard, sir. Just do what you have to and get this over with.” She flung herself over the rolled-up mattress and clenched her teeth.
“Lieutenant, a paddle please. Size seven, medium weight. And I shall need cuffs for her wrists and ankles.”
“Will you be wanting a gag, sir?”
She threw a frantic glance
his way. Surely he wouldn’t…
Phahlen shook his head at the crewman positioned in the doorway. “I want to know I’m getting through to her, making my point. If the sound bothers you, I suggest you wait out of earshot.”
“It will not be a problem, Commander.” The man hurried off to collect the required items.
Phahlen approached her and laid his palm across her naked buttock. Caria shivered.
“Are you cold?” he enquired, his tone neutral.
“You know I’m not cold. Why don’t you just do it. Do it.” Her voice rose, she fought back sobs, whether of fear or fury she couldn’t readily say and in any case he wouldn’t ask. He would just hurt her, because he could and because in his opinion she deserved it.
“So impatient, little human. We must work on that. Ah, Lieutenant, thank you.” He turned to take the implements from the crewman. “So, it seems we need not keep you waiting any longer, Caria. Shall we start?”
Chapter Nine
She was shaking. Perhaps she was right and forty strokes was excessive. He hadn’t had cause to punish his little human for a while, and the most he had ever meted out was a few hard spankings and six strokes with the strap. Still, this was a serious offence and she needed to learn that the consequences would be severe. He shuddered at the thought that she might actually have managed to launch that escape pod and he dreaded to think where she might have ended up if they’d been unable to recover it.
This punishment was well overdue, but he’d been so livid with her that he hadn’t wanted to touch her until now. It was never a good idea to administer discipline whilst angry and Phahlen knew better than to try. It had taken him all these days to regain sufficient control and perspective to trust himself with his disobedient little prisoner.
Her skin beneath his palm was soft, quivering. He knew she was afraid; he could smell it and despite his lingering annoyance with her, he found the aroma distasteful.
Why the fuck couldn’t she have just stayed put in his quarters? There would have been no need for all this.
“You are right, forty is a lot and I have no desire to break the skin.” He caressed her curves in silent appreciation. “So if I think there is a danger of that happening, I will stop and we shall complete the punishment at a later date when your bottom has recovered a little.”
“I don’t want… I mean, I just want it over with. Now.”
“Then let’s hope your skin is tougher than it looks. Put your hands behind your back, Caria.”
“I won’t move, I promise.”
“And we both know that to be a promise you will not be able to keep. I do not want any accidents. Your hands, Caria. Now.”
She presented her slender hands in the small of her back and he secured them with the cuffs provided by the lieutenant. Then he crouched behind her to fasten her ankles to the legs of the bunk. He used straps already built into the bunk itself to wrap around her shoulders and prevent her from standing upright. Satisfied that she was properly secured, he picked up the paddle and tested its weight in his hands. It was middle grade, made of Lyverian birch if he wasn’t mistaken, a heavy enough wood to deliver the stern discipline he required, but light enough that she should be able to handle it. Just about. He would soon know.
“Ready?”
“Fuck you.”
“I guess you are, then.” He moved into position and laid the smooth timber plane against her buttock. “Make as much noise as you like, it does not bother me and I gather my men are in agreement as well.”
Her face was turned toward him and her lips moved. He thought she mouthed the words ‘I hate you’ but couldn’t be sure. If she did not already, she soon would.
Caria gasped when the first stroke landed across her right buttock, but she managed not to make a sound. Phahlen followed it up with two more rapid slaps, one to each cheek. On the fourth stroke she yelped. He paused, gave her a few moments to collect herself, then he pressed on. Four more strokes, sharp and hard, and her bottom was already glowing a delightful shade of pink. Tears streamed across her cheeks but she was managing to contain her cries somehow. Pride, he supposed, and grim determination.
There was much to admire in this diminutive Earthling, and he had to admit she took a paddling well.
He reached ten strokes and stopped.
“How are you doing, Caria?”
“Fine. Just fucking fine. Sir.”
Right then, time to increase the intensity. Up to now he had been fairly easy on her, but he intended to make a lasting impression. Phahlen shifted his stance a little and dropped four more hard whacks across her lower curves. For the first time, he heard Caria scream.
He paused to check. The skin on her buttocks was bright crimson now and hot to the touch. She whimpered as he rested his palm on her punished bottom but there was no sign the skin might become injured. She could take a lot more yet.
“Do you want to take a break? I will not untie you, but you may have a few minutes if you like.”
At first there was no response. He crouched beside her and pushed her dishevelled blond curls from her face. “Caria, do you need a short break? A drink of water perhaps?”
“Water. Thank you.” She sounded considerably more contrite now, he noted. The paddle was having the desired effect.
He took a small bottle of cool water from the dispenser and brought it to the bunk. She stared at him, her face streaked with tears as he unsnapped the top and held it to her lips. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologise to her, to tell her he hated doing this but she left him no choice. He bit back the hypocritical words. He had a choice, there was always a choice, and he’d selected this path. He was locked on course now and intended to see it through.
“More water?”
She shook her head. “How many so far?”
“Fourteen.”
Her features crumpled. “I thought it was more. Not even halfway.”
“You are doing well. I know it hurts, it is supposed to, but there is no sign of any damage. You can continue.”
She blinked back more tears, then nodded, seemingly resigned to what she couldn’t change. Phahlen put the bottle of water aside and picked up his paddle again.
Caria was increasingly vocal through the next six strokes, but quieted once he passed twenty. He knew he had not reduced the intensity; perhaps she was learning to manage the pain. He was aware that humans could produce endorphins to help them to cope but after twenty-five strokes he checked all the same.
Caria’s eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. She cried out when he checked the skin of her bottom, which burned under his touch.
“Look at me, girl.”
Her eyelashes fluttered but her eyelids remained closed.
“Caria, look at me.”
She cracked her eyes open a fraction, just enough to afford him a glimpse of the blue beneath. “Is it done? I want to go home. You said you’d take me home after…”
“Home?” Did she mean Earth?
“Your quarters. I want to go home. Please, sir…”
Something shifted deep inside him. She deserved to be punished, and she had been, both here in this cell and yesterday in that escape pod. He had not missed those moments of blind panic as she emerged from the capsule, then she had spent a whole day locked up by herself, which he knew she would hate, and she had endured twenty-five strokes with the paddle. More would be unnecessary and cruel. He told himself that this was justice, not weakness, but whatever, he knew that she had had enough.
“Yes, we are finished. I shall take you home now.”
If he had not known better, he could have sworn she smiled.
Phahlen unshackled her from the bunk, then wrapped Caria in the sheet from her bed. He lifted her in his arms and marched out of the cell, then carried her along the corridor and back to the transporter. She was silent, and didn’t move. Her breathing was even though and her colour good. Just a few minutes later he entered his quarters with her still cradled in his arms and laid her on t
he bed. She moaned and rolled to her side, and he saw that she was already asleep.
So much for fucking some sense into her. That will have to wait.
He lowered the lighting, pulled an extra sheet over her, and eased himself into the bed behind her.
* * *
“No, stop. Leave me alone, I don’t want—”
Phahlen came awake in an instant. Caria was thrashing around in the bed beside him, her fearful cries echoing around the room.
“Please, it hurts. Let me go, I didn’t do anything… No, no!”
He grabbed her shoulders and gave a little shake. “Caria, it is a dream, no more than that. Wake up.”
Her struggles gathered strength, she fought him in earnest now, her cries louder, more panicked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Let go of me! Let me go…”
He pulled her to him in order to still her flailing fists and feet. As he held her wriggling form tight against his body, he repeated his mantra. “Wake up, little one, you are dreaming. It is okay, you are safe now. I have you. I have you.”
At last the frantic struggles slowed, Caria seemed to be calming and Phahlen dared to slacken his hold on her. He leaned away then tipped up her chin to meet her tear-filled gaze. “Caria?”
“Sir? I… I didn’t mean to… Did I hit you?”
His mouth lifted in a smile. “Once or twice.”
“Please, I didn’t know. I never meant to.” Her voice shook; she was plainly terrified still.
“I realise that. It is okay. You are okay now. It was a bad dream, that’s all.”
“But, I hit you, and you said—”
Oh, fuck. With blinding clarity he saw it. She was afraid of him, of being punished for lashing out at him, even in her sleep when she had no idea what she was doing. He had warned her what would happen if she raised a hand to him again. He kissed her forehead.
“This does not count. Relax, little human. You are safe.”
“Safe? I… oh.” She lowered her gaze, drew in several deep breaths, then tilted her head back again to look up at him. “What happened? I was in a cell, you were punishing me. It hurt, and…” She paused to look around. “Why am I back here? Did we…? I mean, did you—?”