by Trent Evans
She was on a different planet now. Where could she possibly go? But that need to struggle, that need to resist, the instinctive drive to hold out hope that she had some control over her fate — that was what drove her.
It gave her strength, and helped her ignore the thoughts that increasingly invaded her consciousness, whether awake or asleep; the thoughts of what would happen next, of what that doctor’s exam was preparing her for.
Rose knew very well why they’d probed both her vagina and her anus, the thought making her shiver. She knew what men wanted. She knew what this man wanted, especially.
He’s not a man.
It was true, of course, but that didn’t matter anymore. He still had the needs of a man. And definitely the body of a man.
Dear God, did he.
She’d tried not to look, tried not to see the muscles, the huge, veined muscles everywhere, the incredible strength of his body, the power that exuded from him in everything he did, in every smooth movement of his surprisingly graceful body.
She shouldn’t have reacted to that. She should have been afraid of that — and in a way she was.
But part of her was something else entirely when it came to thoughts of her captor’s physique.
She presumed it was those same thoughts that flashed across her mind as that probe pressed inside her body, that had her pussy dripping, her nipples aching, her breath coming in quick pants, all those same reactions that she’d had when he was examining her. And humiliatingly, these were the same reactions she’d had when he was putting her through her paces, forcing her to display every part of her body to him in the exact way he demanded.
Somehow the fact that she couldn’t speak made it that much more arduous, amplifying her shame, and yet focusing her mind on listening to him, on obeying as quickly as she could. All she could go on were his expressions, the tone of his voice, his gestures.
She knew what he was doing: he was training her.
And at that moment, as she laid upon her pad, her exhausted muscles trembling, her mind a confused storm of thoughts, it dawned her on what he was truly up to.
This was how one trained a pet.
* * *
For many days, the training was the same — positioning, punishment, feeding, rest, more training, more punishment. For hours and hours, he would stay with her, working her, until she obeyed every command, every subtle gesture, every murmured word.
She still didn’t know all the meanings yet, or all the subtleties of his language, but she understood enough now. She knew that obeying him as quickly and as completely as she could was always better than the alternative.
Yes, no matter how hard she tried, her ass would still be aching and red and stinging at the end of the day. But it could be so much worse if she failed. She made it her mission never to fail him no matter what, regardless of how mortifying it was. She might blush and look away when she saw his arousal between his legs, swelling, growing, but she knew that her debasement, her humiliation only excited him more.
She lost track of how many days this went on. It could have been weeks, months. Until subtle changes started appearing. At first, it was barely perceptible, and she would berate herself for imagining it — but eventually she knew it wasn’t a trick of her mind.
Perhaps it was a longer period spent walking around her, gazing at her nakedness, drinking in her obedience. Perhaps he was extra gentle when he cleaned her face after she’d taken her meal, smiling at her despite the fierce, hot blush at her face, lifting her chin until she looked at him straight in the eyes, made her see how pleased he was with her, despite her debasement.
Because of her debasement.
Then one day after she’d finished her training, as she lay exhausted and sweaty on her pad, waiting for her evening meal to begin, he walked into the room.
Except this time, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The only thing covering his body was a pair of trousers. They weren’t even that substantial, more like leggings really — but they displayed every huge striated muscle in mouth-watering bas relief.
He strode around the room, sweeping his hand over the windows, ensuring every single one of them was fully open, displaying the waning evening light to great advantage. The inexorable coming of night.
He walked around her, gazing at her the entire time, not saying a thing. She watched him at first, then looked away, but when she did, he crouched before her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. He gave her a slow shake of his head and she could feel the heat of her blush flood up her neck to her face. She nodded slowly, humiliated, like a chastened dog.
That’s what you are now, Rose. You know this. He’s made you into a dog, a pet, a plaything.
She knew that now; her mind finally accepting what her body had long ago known was the truth. And that truth was... she would do whatever he told her to do.
If he told her to bark like a dog and hop on one leg and roll over on her back, she had little doubt that she would — as much as she would hate it. Because he’d trained her to obey without thinking, to comply, to please.
Most of all, to please.
She hated how much she liked seeing his smile, how much that swelling cock between his thighs made her heart do flip-flops, her nipples tingle, her face blush. She couldn’t watch it for long, always looking away, terrified at it, and yet, fascinated by it.
Yet this was a change. And the first major change she’d seen in days, in weeks. What did it mean?
You know what it means, Rose. It’s almost time.
Shockingly, he rose up, standing before her, his legs spread. Then he took out that cock.
The size of it made her mouth drop open and she looked away again, unable to believe how large it was, the veins crawling up the shaft, the huge, purple-red head, the way the tip glistened with his moisture. His smell was strong, but clean. Very male. She’d never seen a real cock naked before. She’d seen plenty of pictures of them, of course, but it was hardly the same thing.
She’d never smelled a man before though either. And it made her mouth water.
That knowledge only shamed her more. And still, with her shame, it didn’t suppress her fascination, her eagerness to see what he would do next, to see what he would make her do next.
She was shocked at her thoughts, angry at herself for being so weak. She didn’t want to see his cock, did she? She feared she knew the answer, and she wasn’t prepared to admit it to herself. Not yet anyway.
He stooped down, his penis bobbing in front of him, and took hold of her chin roughly, forcing her once more to look into his eyes. He wanted her to watch him.
So she did.
Thankfully, he didn’t make her look at his cock, at that huge truncheon, that weapon that she knew he wanted to use upon her.
That she knew he would use on her, eventually.
The thought filled her with equal parts eagerness and terror. Then he stroked himself as he watched her, and didn’t say a word. Simply staring at her, impassive, he had an almost kind look in his eyes as his huge, veined fist stroked up and down his cock until it was pointing up toward his belly, the length of it taking her breath away.
She knew there was no way that would ever fit. How could it possibly? She shook her head, but knew enough to keep her eyes on his, not daring to disobey him now. Her heart was pounding in her throat, a rushing sound loud in her ears, her mouth dry. Yet her nipples — those traitorous nipples — were hard as stone, betraying her again. He looked at them too as he stroked himself, up, down, relentlessly, a sly smile creasing his lips.
She didn’t know how long he did it, but she found herself expectant, waiting. What would happen? She knew how penises worked. She knew about semen. She knew what happened to make a woman pregnant. She wasn’t ignorant. Virgin, she may be; stupid, she definitely was not.
But still, she always wondered what it looked like, how it worked. Would she find out today?
And then at that very moment, he tucked his c
ock back inside those leggings, the hard bulge playing down one thigh, the moisture at his tip already leaving an enlarging dark, wet spot in the fabric. He dropped to a crouch before her again, and it took Herculean effort to avoid looking down at that penis bulging behind the thin fabric of his leggings. He grinned at her then — a rapacious, triumphant, victorious grin — then he touched her face, his thumb tracing the line of her lips, those same lips that trembled under his touch.
Then he left her.
She tried not to watch him go, the compact, powerful buttocks moving in the tight leggings that displayed them oh so well. But she failed in that too. She could obey his orders, but she could never obey her own mind’s eye pleading with her not to look at him, not to see him in that way.
There was danger in perceiving him as that sexual male animal, that same one that had her nipples hard, her pussy dripping, her heart pounding in her chest, and her mind reeling.
He’d trained her well, indeed. Now the only question was when he would make her his.
Chapter 11
He made sure to deepen the routine. He wanted her in that place, in her mind where all she could think about was him, her next session with him, her next minute with him.
Only him.
At the end of each training session, he placed her on her knees before him, the lights low, his knees spread wide, his cock in his hand. He stroked it slowly, made her watch it. He forced her to stare as he touched himself, making her draw closer and closer each time until she was inches away. Watching her watch him made it even better.
He knew it was time.
Kosha wanted the sight of his cock to be the last image in her mind each night she nodded off to sleep. He wanted that image to be in her mind as she dreamt at night, woke up bathed in sweat, knowing that was her future.
But there was one more step.
One evening, after she’d assumed her last position, he clipped the leash to her collar. It was a change in her routine, and each time her eyes would widen, the color draining from her beautiful face, rendering that storm of freckles on her face and chest even more beautiful, those pale blue eyes sparkling with her trepidation.
Then he led her away, except this time, he didn’t lead her to her pad. He snapped his fingers and she sprang off the floor instantly onto his bed despite the height. He loved the way her buttocks moved and wobbled as she scrambled up the side of the bed. And there she knelt, ass upon her heels, her hands clasped to her thighs, her arms trembling. She looked left then right, then dared to sneak a glance up at him. She looked away at his grin, knowing she’d been caught in her little disobedience. She’d have to be punished for that later.
But now was not the time.
Still as he made her wait, she pushed her luck more, her gaze flicked to him occasionally, as if his captive were trying to divine his intent, his meaning.
Her strength and little defiances only increased his savoring of what was to come.
Taking mercy on her, he turned the translator back on with a tap to his collarbone. She needed to know this time what was coming.
“I want you on your back on the bed, arms and legs outstretched as far as you can reach.”
She seemed shocked that she could understand his speech, her mouth dropping open, the pink tongue playing at those beautiful, white teeth. Then she snapped her mouth shut, knowing her other rule — speech was prohibited unless he gave her express permission.
And he’d given her no such thing.
He watched her as she complied with his orders, long, disciplined practice rendering her movements graceful, almost feline, her breasts and buttocks rippling and swaying in a way that was mesmerizing as she took position. He’d taught her how to move to best display her body, her soft, pleasing curves, her sleek muscles, her feminine form — all the things he took great pleasure in drinking in at length.
That wild bright, red hair was all about her face, cascading down her back, spread across her shoulders.
For a long moment, he simply stood at the side of the bed, looking upon her, at the whiteness of the mattress beneath her contrasted against the deep brown of her freckles, the pattern of them spreading across her shoulders and down into the deep cleavage of her breasts, disappearing there. More of them were splashed across the bridge of her nose, dusting her cheeks, only accentuating the bright blue of her eyes, her incomparable beauty, her innocence.
The innocence he was about to take.
And yet, as he looked upon her, the hardness of those long, prominent nipples, the scent of her cunt, told another story. It was the strength of this female, the plain, unmistakable rousing of the female animal, of her deeply sexual being blossoming, becoming the Rose that she really was destined to be.
The smell of her was accompanied by a surprising amount of moisture at the slit of her sex. It was bright and glistening, a thick bead of it threatening to drip down her cleft. He knew if he set his hand over her mound, he would feel her wanton, frustrated heat.
Those lush, soft thighs quivered now, as if she could feel where his gaze coursed over her, where she knew much more than simply his attention was about to be focused.
But he wanted to keep her off balance, keep her guessing. That only added to his fun.
He retrieved the restraints from one of the wall cabinets flanking each side of the head of his bed. It had taken a while for him to find a set that would fit a human; such commerce was not exactly... legal. But find it he had.
Securing her wrists, he drew them extra tight toward either corner, such that the slender, smooth muscles of her arms were taut. He drew a finger down the inside of her wrist across the elbow, tickling the slim biceps, ending in the humid warmth of her underarm. He pressed the backs on his fingers to her rib cage and she hissed, her breasts moving as she tensed.
“Be still,” he murmured.
He thought about gagging her, but he wanted to hear her this time, loving those sweet sounds of her surrender, her giving up and giving in, letting him have that victory of losing control to the man who held her captive.
Easing a palm down her chest between her breasts, one stiff nipple grazed across his wrist. He stopped to pinch each one deeply until she hissed, her eyes tight. He used his thumb to stroke round and round the base of each one until they were standing up hard, red, and throbbing. He wanted to taste them, to suck them, to rub the head of his cock across those nipples, to leave his wetness dripping from those impudent tips. But there wasn’t time for that.
There would be so much opportunity for the exploration of that though. After what was to come.
Down, down, moving his palm across that flat, smooth belly, and then flowing his fingers between those incomparably soft thighs. She tensed them together instinctively as he cupped the heat of her sex. He made a low sound — more a rumbling vibration than anything audible — but she understood, her legs going wide once more. Her breathing was already coming faster, those breasts rising and falling more quickly now.
With one hand, he took hold of one of her thighs, wrenching it from its twin, until those fetching tendons at the junction of her sex stood taut, nervous, quivering like the rest of her.
Her eyes were wide open then as she watched him, looking down between her breasts, his hands claiming her, imprinting his ownership upon her sex in a way more intimate that he’d ever allowed himself before.
It would be more intimate still.
Stroking the line of her wetness at her slit, easing a fingertip through those soft, hot lips, he eased the labia apart, luxuriating in her heat, in the way her liquids were already dripping down.
She was so very responsive.
Then he thrust a single finger inside and she tensed, her hips lifting off the bed, but her legs staying spread wide.
Good girl.
He pushed inside further until he found it, that barrier, that last symbol of the girl she was about to leave behind.
But it wasn’t time for that — quite.
Using two fingers now
, he drew them up, down, over and over between the lips of her sex until her hips began to buck, a strangled whine emanating from between gritted teeth.
With his thumb, he frictioned the hood, slicking it back to fully reveal the already swollen, reddened clit. He circled it for long minutes with his fingers, recharging the tips with more of her moisture, then painting her clit with it until it gleamed, until it stood up hard, swollen, humiliating her with its wantonness, with its need. That need was obvious in every trembling fiber of her body, made all the sweeter by her confusion, by her shame.
It was clear the girl didn’t quite know what to believe — her mind or her aching body — those needs no doubt warring within herself.
It was a battle he knew would have only one outcome.
Her surrender.
Stroking still lower, enjoying the smooth tenderness of her perineum, he caressed that small, tight anus with his fingertips, that opening he fully intended to test and use and conquer too, when the time came. But not now.
Now, was the preamble. Now, was making her understand — if not at the level of her mind, but certainly at the primal level of her body’s need — what was to come.
Back at her clit, he stroked her harder this time, roughly, until she keened at the combination of pain and pleasure. He tweaked her then, looking down into her eyes, her face flushing scarlet, the blush flooding down her neck and across her upper chest.
“Yes,” he said, a rumbling murmur, more to himself than to her.
As he stroked that clit still harder, he took one of her nipples between finger and thumb, squeezing, watching the pain bloom in her eyes as he pinched deeply at the base of the nipple, exactly where he intended to pierce her in the future. He’d choose a heavy ring, one she would always feel, that would keep those bright pink nipples perpetually hard and prominent, make her even more sensitive than he already knew she was.
As far as Kosha was concerned, there was no such thing as too sensitive for a human slave girl. He wanted her always to think about those parts of her body that made her feminine; those nipples, that clit, her ass, her cunt.