by Trent Evans
Contents
Title Page
About This Book
Also By Trent Evans
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Other Books by Trent Evans
From The Author
The Yielding of Rose
Trent Evans
About This Book
Being abducted by an 8 foot tall alien was either the worst thing to ever happen to young Rose… or it was her one last chance at finding forever…
Rose had always dreamed of finding the “one.” But she’d never dreamed he’d find her — and promptly spirit her away from everything she’d ever known. Alone, adrift, and seemingly lost, the young woman had exchanged a life of youthful rebelliousness, for a life of strict, trained obedience, painful consequences, and the dark depths of pleasure unlike she’d ever imagined. But there was a small problem: she hadn’t chosen that exchange. The muscled, glowering, male from another planet had chosen it for her — whether she wanted it or not.
The dazzling redheaded beauty with the spitfire personality and the dramatic curves to match was a danger to Lieutenant Kosha, an officer of the Yaanfahr Survey Corps assigned to observe the emerging human civilization on the planet Terra. But the female in question wasn’t any sort of physical danger — it was because the alluring human female was irresistible. Especially this one. Though he’d risen fast in the ranks by following the rules, by excelling at his job, the power of Rose’s beauty called to him to do something else entirely. To break those rules — and to break her utterly to his will.
Lieutenant Kosha entertained more than ambitions for the Admiralty of the Yaanfahr navy. No he entertained far… darker desires too. And those desires would be realized courtesy of the little buxom beauty stowed securely away in the hold of his ship. He’d always wanted a well-trained, well-disciplined creature he could call his own. Rose’s luscious body would fit the bill quite nicely indeed, the canvas upon which he would paint the realization of his most deep-seated, twisted fantasies.
Did he dare take her for himself? Train her, mold her, and transform her into the perfect human pet? Or would crossing that line change more than the voluptuous human captive? What if it changed his heart as well?
Publisher's Warning: This dark science fiction steamy romance is intended for mature readers. 18 and over only!
This novel contains the following themes or activities: pervasive M/s, capture fantasy, intense and explicit sex, spanking, anal play, pet play, humiliation, objectification, TPE, and other acts of (very) unequal power dynamics. If any of these might be offensive to you, please do not buy or read this book.
Word Count: 96,418 words
* * * *
If you'd like to be notified of new Trent Evans books, sign up here for his New Release e-mail alerts.
No Spam — just new books!
Also By Trent Evans
Published by Shadow Moon Press
What She’s Looking For
Captive, Mine
(with Natasha Knight)
The Chronicles of Muurland Series:
The Fall of Lady Westwood
The Dominion Trust Series:
Becoming Theirs
Her Troika
Expecting Surrender
Quinton’s Crucible
The Valley of Surrender Series:
Maintenance Night
Maintenance Week
Lacey’s Surrender
Falon’s Captivity
Terran Captives Series:
Taking The Human
The Yielding of Rose
Dark Deliverance Series:
A Message of Love
Published By Stormy Night Publications
The Doctor and The Naughty Girl
What The Doctor Ordered (Box set)
Copyright © 2017 by Trent Evans
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Rachel A Olson at No Sweat Graphics
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and as such, any similarity to existing persons, places, or events must be considered purely coincidental.
This book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.
For mature readers only.
Published in the United States by Shadow Moon Press, Washington
First Electronic Edition: Aug 2017
Prologue
Tomorrow, his pet human would be used by another male.
He would watch it — all of it — and he would enjoy it.
But tonight was for her Master.
His last night when she truly was only for him, his very own island of utterly subjugated female, her body craving his lash as much as her mind yearned for his caresses. He’d always make sure she had plenty of both, no matter what might come in the morning.
The sight of her naked, cruelly bound body never failed to quicken his heartbeat, and harden his cock. He found her as he often did, the little female curled up in her cage, the polished steel bars both an alluring signal of her debased status in his household, and a frustrating impediment to his visual enjoyment of her luscious form.
Standing over her, he watched the sweet creature for a long while, the auto-filter of the floor-to-ceiling glass darkening as the afternoon sun angle flattened, until only a sliver of its golden brilliance peaked over the craggy mountains west of the teeming city, its dazzling lights glittering in the valley below. The Three Sisters would be aloft soon, looming huge in the night sky, the welcome nocturnal company of every soul on Yaanfahr.
She stirred, as if knowing her Master was nearby. And waiting.
He’d exactingly trained her, through her agony and tears and hoarse, pleading cries, to never, ever, make her owner wait.
Pale blue eyes, framed by the thick black straps, peered up at him, the delicate brow furrowed in fear or concern. The soft, pink lips worked around the thick rubber bit gag, the corners of her mouth glistening with collected saliva.
He didn’t need to give her a verbal order — she could see it in his eyes now, what he wanted, what he demanded of his little pet human.
She knelt up, her form tight, still, just as he’d trained her, the heavy, round breasts quivering, the skin gleaming with oil.
Kosha walked around the cage, and her head swiveled to follow, his pet maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. He allowed himself to drink in her constrained, nude form at his leisure.
He’d coated her dramatic curves in the soft, fragrant oil before sending her into her little prison. Occasionally — as today — her attentive, but exacting Master would find fault with her comportment, with even the small
est break in form, and she’d have well-laced buttocks to go along with her freshly massaged and gleaming flesh. The oil rendered the swollen marks left behind by his whip into purpling welts.
Kosha would trace those emblems of pain with his fingers and tongue later, then paint them with thick, sticky ropes of an entirely different liquid tribute.
He might even remove her paw-gloves for her, and make his pet massage it into her own skin, a soothing balm for her punished flesh, if not her dignity.
“Are you my good girl?”
Her dazzling red hair, caught up in a neat ponytail, bobbed as she nodded vigorously.
She stiffened as he reached back to palm the welts, the oil slick and warm against his skin.
“Then why did you force me to give you these? Do you wish to displease me, slave?”
Her eyes went wide as she shook her head, even more frantically.
As he’d rubbed the oil into her skin, he’d brought up the holo showing her exercise session earlier that day, the images hovering in the air above and behind his increasingly anxious slave girl. He’d kneaded her plump buttocks for her as he softly admonished her for not trying harder during her required exercises, loving the way his gentle remonstrations made her blush, hiding her head in her arms.
He took great delight in viewing these accounts, reliving the eroticism, enjoying her blushing shame —and her reluctant arousal — all over again. He found he took deep pleasure in everything about his little spitfire human. Not long after bringing her back from Terra, he’d taken detailed holos of every millimeter of his reluctant pet’s body, and made her file openly accessible to any of those select few Yaanfahris fortunate enough to own humans.
His cock never failed to come up as he remembered how many times her files had been accessed since then. Her big breasts, with their long, pale pink nipples and broad, smooth areolas were particular favorites among those who viewed her files. In particular, the full-length motion file that captured one of her extended sessions of breast punishment still garnered immense numbers of views.
But as he’d slowly transformed her, from shivering, weeping slave girl, to wanton, primitive, deeply sexualized — and just as deeply debased — human pet, the views of her files had exploded. Soon, he’d had requests for viewings, showings, even offers of huge sums for a night with her.
Though Kosha very much enjoyed showing her off, and indeed was quite generous in that regard, none had yet used her.
Many had seen her sashay her naked body before them, display for their pleasure all of her that made her sexual and feminine and human. He’d even let more than a few feel of her soft, vulnerable curves. Other fingers had smeared her tears across her cheek, tasting the salt of her woe upon their tongues, savoring her surrender, her complete and total submission.
Still, he’d allowed none to use her.
Until tomorrow morning.
Then it would all change, and the next step would begin in her journey to truly understanding what it meant to be her Master’s pet human.
“Ah, so much to look forward to, isn’t there? This was just a general reminder to obey and submit as you’ve been trained.” He smiled down at her, and the bright ponytail bobbed again, the girl returning his grin as much as the thick bit secured between her teeth allowed. “You are my good girl after all, aren’t you?”
Her cheeks flushed a faint pink, but she had the good sense to nod.
“Let’s get you out of that cage and you can show me just how grateful you are to have a Master who takes such good care of you.”
Plucking her out of the enclosure as if she weighed nothing at all, he took her over to the broad couch that afforded the best view of the city far below. Depositing her on the broad ottoman, he twirled a finger. “Turn around, pet. Let’s see that big bottom of yours.”
Blushing an even deeper red, she obeyed, dropping her head to the leather as she knew he expected, the position rounding and exaggerating the breadth of her already wide hips, her buttocks yawning apart to expose the wetness of her cleft, the dark, adorable whorl of the anus. Her lush thighs trembled slightly as she waited upon his attentions.
Her plump outer lips were plump, swollen, and he thought for the hundredth time, that they would look fetching indeed pierced with a few heavy gauge golden posts. He might even adorn the delicate bright pink of the inner lips with more hoops of gold. The effect would be dazzling, though it would be quite the painful trial for his slave girl when the time came.
Perhaps someday.
Another larger hoop could be pierced quite deeply into the clitoral hood, and he’d choose a vertical orientation to ensure the metal frictioned her delightfully prominent clitoris, her arousal left on a slow boil any time she moved. The effect would be dramatic indeed, he had no doubt, for he’d seen accounts of other slaves who’d had it done.
Something else for the future.
“Does that bottom hurt?”
The movement of her head against her folded arms confirmed it.
“You’ll remember those sore buttocks of yours next time you think to slack in your fitness regime, will you not, sweet girl?”
Another nod, accompanied by a soft whimper of shame.
“Good. That’s very good.”
He touched one of the purple welts, and she hissed.
“Now, these… these are quite tender indeed.”
The girl groaned softly as he worked her well-lashed buttocks between his hands, loving the way her sounds became even more frantic each time he gently squeezed a swollen weal.
Finally, he’d had enough, the snap of his fingers causing his pet to wheel about on her ottoman and drop to the floor between his spread legs. He made her wait as he slowly pulled his hard penis from his pants, the broad head angry and red. She watched it avidly as he stroked his shaft, taking his time, secure in the knowledge that he had all the time in the world.
Loosening the gag enough to allow him to pry it from between her teeth, it fell to her chest with a wet slap, her chin soaked with her saliva, her cheeks blushing scarlet as she looked upon his fist pumping his cock.
He throbbed at the sight of her licking her moist, pink lips. He could hold out no longer, taking firm hold of her ponytail and drawing her forward. He slapped her swollen, gag-abraded lips with the heavy head of his penis.
“Get to work.”
He watched the sun finally set as his pet sucked hard, her lips and tongue working upon him with a feverish devotion, the sounds of her obedient oral servicing the perfect musical accompaniment to the beautiful sight of the Three Sisters rising in the deep violet of the evening sky.
Chapter 1
At least the bench was unoccupied.
Rose pulled the hand-me-down drab green slicker further down over her head, the rain, icy and soaking, coming down even harder as she sat upon the weathered wood. Her jeans were long since soaked on her walk to the river’s edge from the Redbridge station. Sitting on the dripping bench couldn’t make things any worse.
It was the strangest little sitting area, tucked in at the base of the bank of the slack River Roding, the gentle slope there affording one at least a hint of privacy. The corner of Roysten Gardens was nearby, but at this hour, there was nobody ever around. Just the way she liked it.
She was down to her last few pounds. To this day, despite living in the UK for several months, she still refused to call them quid. It had never sounded right, and not just because she was an American. Calling dollars “greenbacks” or the like never worked for her either, so she felt she was at least being an equal opportunity snob.
She looked around, checking for bobbies. They were rare in these parts, another point in the location’s favor, and the driving rain wasn’t likely to encourage them to scout out the banks of the Roding either.
For the thousandth time, she marveled bitterly at how a young orphan girl from Spokane, Washington had found herself on a dreary park bench in an even drearier section of Greater London.
Freshly aged out
of the foster system at eighteen, and deciding to take up her friend Shana’s offer to tag along with her on an extended summer trip to the UK with her father hadn’t been the smartest decision Rose had ever made. Anything seemed preferable to staying in the Purgatory of where she’d been.
Now, Shana was long gone thanks to their final — and worst — fight. Drugs. They’d warped Shana, and after a few months, Rose didn’t even recognize her former friend. Shana though had been her last lifeline in the UK, and ever since, Rose had been riding couches, bumming a spare room in the flats of people she met at the clubs, or “rough sleeping” it as the Brits liked to refer to sleeping in the great wide open.
She’d spent a night or two on the very bench now freezing her ass to miserable numbness.
The fucking drugs where the worst thing about London in 1996. The music was the best part. She voraciously consumed the latter, reveling in it, while watching friend after friend, acquaintance after acquaintance, fall victim to the former.
Rose was determined not to let it victimize her too.
Why do you even care anymore? You’re out of options.
It was the siren song, the lilting, seductive whisper, urging her to give in to it, to banish, if only for a few dazed hours, the hopelessness she was fighting a losing battle against.
Atlantis, the club up in Epping she favored — that was the worst. Though the security was at least adequate, the place was awash in dealers, and more than a few shifty sorts seeking to prey on innocence, stupidity, or both.
Though she’d learned to dodge the more dangerous ones, she still seemed to attract more than her fair share. Her formerly buxom figure withered into heroine chic waifness, garish red hair, and more freckles than there were stars in the universe, she shouldn’t have attracted any male attention, but even in the low, ill-lit Jungle-infused thump of Atlantis, the American loser still wasn’t immune from having to deal with the assholes.