by Various
She thought about that a moment. It explained even more why the WF hadn’t put her in the brig for the rest of her life. She’d actually done them a favor. No matter. It didn’t change the terrible things she’d put this man through.
She studied him, recalling his pride and arrogance. He’d been unbelievably handsome then. He was even better looking now. His face reminded her of pictures she’d seen of Native Americans from Earth—high brow, wide cheekbones, a strong, slightly hooked nose. A fairly new scar creased his chin, slashed across his jaw.
Desire for him coiled, hot and needy, deep inside her. Not now. Dear Goddess, not now! She squeezed her thighs, unable to press them as close as she wanted because of 45
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the restraints, well aware of the thick fluid warming her pussy, dampening the coverlet beneath her.
No. She didn’t want this, couldn’t want…this. Her question sounded breathy, hopeful even to her own ears when she asked him, “What are you going to do to me?”
She wouldn’t fight him. She owed him compliance. She…
Oh, hell and Goddess be damned! You want him. Admit it. You’ve wanted him for the past two years.
“You’ll find out when it happens.” His voice, though deep and gravelly, remained soft and even, the words spoken with very little inflection. A slight tick in his left eye was the only sign of any emotion, any sense of feeling. “I’ve had over two years to think about revenge. Two years of remembering.”
Remembering. Were they both so warped by their memories? Bry composed herself, meeting his eyes without expression. They might have been carrying on a conversation over tea. “I had two years, as well. Janie died two years before I captured you.” Bry looked away. She kept seeing him, tied against the bulkhead, his huge cock outthrust, his face twisted in agony. Her composure crumbled. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you…”
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. What matters is that I take back what is mine.
What you stole from me.”
Once more she noticed the tic in his eye. Nerves? Why would he be nervous? It didn’t make sense. What he said didn’t make sense. “I stole nothing. I didn’t take anything of yours.”
He knelt down next to the bunk, mere inches from her face and placed his hands on her, one at her shoulder, the other resting on her thigh so that his fingers barely touched the tawny curls on her mons. His dark eyes flashed and his strong jaw clenched tightly.
She felt his breath lift the scattered tendrils of the hair at her nape and sensed the raw emotion he’d been hiding so well. His deep voice rasped in a very personal, harsh whisper, the words meant for Bry and no other.
“Oh yes you did, my dear Captain McKenzie. You stole something very important.
You have taken my manhood, and I want it back.”
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Chapter 4
Stolen his manhood?
Bry fought her first reaction, to stare at his crotch and see if he meant what she thought he meant. Instead, she concentrated on his touch. As if of their own volition, his long fingers lightly moved over her sensitive flesh. Gentle strokes across her shoulder, the occasional foray to her inner thigh. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was staring off into the distance with a thoughtful gleam in his eye, as if he recalled the hours of torture she’d put him through.
“Do you have any idea what it is like for a man to remain aroused for hours on end?” He looked at her then, his coffee colored eyes narrowed with intensity, his harsh whisper tickling her senses. The tic in his left lid quickened. His fingers never slowed their rhythmic caress of her skin. She felt tiny prickles of pleasure following each stroke.
Pleasure heightened by a frisson of fear.
“Imagine, if you will, silently begging for the release that never comes? It starts as a pain in the groin, an ache in the testicles that increases with each moment. Your cock is hard, harder than it’s ever been and you want to thrust it deep into a hot, wet welcoming place. You want to keep thrusting and screwing until you come, until that pain and ache and pressure explode in the most exquisite pain of all, a pleasure that encompasses all of you, your body. Your mind. Your soul.”
Tears prickled behind her eyelids at the gentleness of his touch, the painful reality of his words. “Will you ever forgive me?” The harsh sound of his voice, the knowledge of what she had done, burned deeper with each lazy sweep of his fingers. Without conscious thought, she arched into his caress.
He pulled his hand away. Folded his fingers tightly into his palm and pressed it against his thigh. He stared at her, his eyes dark as obsidian.
“At some point during the fifteen hours you held me, I lost touch with myself.
Where I should have hated you, I somehow bonded to you. The anger I felt was turned inward. I found myself questioning my own sanity, questioning my assignment. Had I hurt those young women or had I actually helped them? It was all wrapped up in you, in your touch that brought me so close, promising but never allowing completion.”
He glanced at the silver watch on his left wrist. “I began timing when you regained consciousness exactly twenty-three minutes ago. You are mine, to do with as I please, 47
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for the next fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes. I will not kill you. I will not do anything that will cause you injury, nor will I use drugs to enhance your sensations.”
He looked at her, his dark eyes like empty pools beneath his thick lashes. “I will, however, use implements. Tools to heighten your experience, to magnify both your pleasure and your pain. To remind you of the fifteen hours I spent in your care.”
He paused, then stood beside the bed, looming over her. “The one area where our experiences will differ is that, at some point during this time, I will find release within your body.”
He turned away, but Bry was almost sure of his soft whisper, not meant for her ears.
“Maybe then, I’ll find myself.”
She watched, aware of a sense of almost total detachment, as he opened a closet and removed a soft leather bag. There were items inside, some things she recognized, others unfamiliar. He held a pair of clamps up in front of her. They were metallic, attached to each other by a light electrical wire and what appeared to be a battery pack.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, he leaned over and suckled her left nipple into his mouth, biting gently with sharp teeth against the turgid flesh until it rose into a taut peak. She arched her back and moaned, shocked by her body’s immediate response to his touch.
He carefully placed one of the clamps on her nipple. She felt a sharp pain that eased into a dull ache.
He repeated the process on her other nipple, clamping it firmly, checking the wires, then slowly turning a small dial. Bry gasped as a sharp jolt of electricity burned through her nipple and left it tingling. It was followed by a continuous series of shocks, alternating one breast, then the other. Her nipples tightened beneath the clamps. She felt the shocks all the way to her pussy. The man studied a monitor on the battery pack and adjusted the current lower.
She was still concentrating on the sensation, trying to decide if it actually hurt or merely stimulated, when she felt him touch between her legs.
She was already slick and wet. His fingers opened her, slipping in and out for a few exquisite strokes before inserting something large, cold and smooth inside her. She was still adjusting to the size when she felt another sharp jolt. She choked back a cry. Her hips arched off the bed. Without a word, he once again adjusted the current.
The shocks no longer hurt. They were so mild she barely felt them, but she narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation. What in the name of the Goddess was he going to do next?
His fingers moved over her body. More wires, more current, the electrical shocks all occurring in a linear fashion, one after the other. Left breast, right breast, pussy. He fashioned the next clamp directly to her clitoris, and that bit of flesh joined the others, all connected by the
cycle of tiny sparks of current.
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His large fingers probed her ass, and she clenched her jaw, remembering the baton she’d raped him with. There was no other way to describe what she’d done. The shame she felt overwhelmed any fear she might have of him, of what he intended.
She deserved this. Deserved whatever he might do to her. Relaxing the muscles around her anus, she concentrated on the sense of fullness as something cold and smooth slipped inside her.
Another link joined the cycle of electrical shocks. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensation. Her body tingled, each nerve and fiber sensitized by the mild current.
He no longer touched her. Bry sensed that he had moved. She opened her eyes just in time to see him with his hand on the door. “I hope you enjoy your evening.” He glanced to his right, at something mounted on the ceiling. It looked like a camera of some sort. “That’s so I don’t miss anything,” he said. “I’ll be back later.”
He stared at her a moment, his brows knit in a thoughtful frown, then walked back across the room. He picked up a black silk scarf that was lying over a chair and quickly blindfolded Bry, locking her away from the light. She felt his lips on her, felt his tongue testing the seam she quickly parted for him. Hot and sleek, he plundered her mouth, tangled his tongue with hers, stroked the sensitive flesh at the roof of her mouth. He drew her tongue between his lips, suckling her hard and fast, filling her mind with his scent, his taste, his heat.
Then he was gone. Lips still parted, Bry felt suddenly, unexplainably bereft at the sound of the door closing, the sense of his absence. It felt as if he’d taken the very substance of the air with him, leaving Bry alone with her body, this body that felt so detached and foreign to her.
The current continued, unchanging, a steady rhythm of shocks coursing lightly along its chosen path. Her nipples remained taut and pointed, her vaginal muscles tightly clamped around the cylinder inside her as if they anticipated each tiny shock.
She was just as aware of the fullness in her ass reminding her of the object inside. Her clitoris reacted with each tiny charge, barely responding to the current.
If this is torture…?
Her nose itched. She wanted to scratch it, but of course her hands were still bound.
Unchanging, the current continued its rhythmic course. Time passed. Her skin began to tingle, the sensation subtle at first, but growing as the minutes slowly crawled by.
The tingling, crawling sensations grew stronger, the subtle tremors over her body more intense. Her womb contracted with each pulse of current, her breasts felt swollen, the warm gush of liquid from between her legs soaking the bed covering beneath her.
She tried to hold her body still, tried to ignore the rhythm of the current, but soon her hips writhed with each passing jolt, lifting in anticipation of the orgasm that hovered just beyond.
She tried not to think of the sensations coursing through her body, thought instead of the camera just over the bed and wondered if he watched her. She tried to picture 49
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him, sitting in his captain’s chair on the bridge, staring at a small monitor, probably beating off as her naked body twisted and shuddered in his bed.
The image should have disgusted her. Instead, she imagined his big fist encircling his swollen cock, the long fingers wrapped tightly along its length, stroking slowly from base to plum-colored head as his passion built.
It was so wrong! Her fingers should be on him, her hands stroking his thick length, slipping over the satiny tip, bringing the first drops of fluid to her lips. She groaned, awash in his taste, his scent, his touch. The tiny shocks practically buzzed through her body and she arched her hips in a desperate plea for release. Goddess, but she needed him. Needed that cock buried deep inside, needed to feel him stretching her, filling her until she couldn’t take anymore. She was ready, so damned ready for him.
Her pussy clenched tightly, almost frantically around the metal cylinder. Her nerves stretched taut as piano wire—the pressure of orgasm denied was a scream without sound, trapped in a body no longer her own.
He hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d make her pay.
Practically sobbing in frustration, Bry pictured him as he’d been two years ago, then replaced that image with the beautiful man who held her now. Who was he? She’d known him as the Barbarian, a man who never existed. Still, he’d been part of her thoughts, her fantasies, her nightmares and daydreams for the past two years.
She moaned, forcing her thoughts into other patterns, trying to ignore the increasingly sexual sensations, the need for a climax that hovered beyond her reach.
Moaning again, she twisted her hips, fully aware of the futility of begging, of pleading with him.
She had done this and more to the Barbarian. He had a score to settle, one she couldn’t, in good faith, deny him. Did he want her to plead? Was he hoping she would beg?
He hadn’t begged. He’d only said he was sorry. Sorry for what? For Janie? For those other girls? How long had he searched for her? Bry hadn’t told him who she was, but still he’d found her.
Of course. Legal would have told him. They would have offered him the chance to press charges, let him know who the idiot was who had captured and tortured him.
Bry’d been out of the service now for almost two years. She wondered how he’d tracked her down to Argon 9. It was such a miserable little outpost, but it had been the perfect place to spend her time in Purgatory following her resignation from Fleet. She deserved nothing better than this Goddess forsaken planet.
Nothing more or less than whatever he planned for her.
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Chapter 5
Jake watched his captive on the small monitor near his chair on the bridge, feeling each writhing twist and turn of her body, experiencing the same sexual need that must now be burning in her gut. It killed him to hurt her, but he knew, deep within his own tortured soul, she’d never be free without suffering for her mistake.
When had his need for revenge become a desire to heal, both Bryony and himself?
He’d followed her for the past two years, sometimes literally following her in the shadows, more often relying on Marty’s reports, as they both watched Bry’s slow descent into hopelessness. Thank goodness for Marty’s last, in-depth visit. It hadn’t been purely an accident that his sister had been assigned to ex-captain Bryony McKenzie’s case.
When Marty’d contacted him last week, though, he realized immediately he had to act on the fantasy that had sustained him for the past two years. He had no idea his captor had been snared by the same desire as he had, no idea her life had been destroyed every bit as much as his own by her torture of an innocent man.
What goes around, comes around.
He had suffered and paid. So had she, but neither of them had been able to fulfill the secret desires created on that lonely outpost two years ago. He must make her suffer again, this time with the knowledge she was paying her debt to him, personally, finding forgiveness for the unforgivable acts she’d committed against him.
Absentmindedly, Jake stroked his erect cock through the light fabric of his skinsuit.
The bastard was hard more often than not, a fact not lost on the women he’d slept with shortly after his torture. It had taken a very talented whore to convince him what he’d already feared—he could get an erection and sustain it until exhaustion forced him to sleep or he wore his partner out, but he couldn’t come. The beautiful young captain’s torture had stolen his humanity and forever denied him the ultimate pleasure of climax.
The next few hours would prove whether or not his theory was correct. Bry McKenzie held the key. If he couldn’t find release within her body, he would be forced to accept that nothing more could help him.
* * * * *
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Lost in her darkness, consumed by a desperately overwhelming, seemingly endless need fo
r sexual release, Bry knew the moment he entered the room. She’d given up hours ago. Her mind had become a dark world of fearful imaginings—she knew he would leave her here, let her writhe and twist in carnal agony well beyond the time he claimed she owed him. Could she expect sympathy? Should she? Over-sensitized, over-stimulated, her body reacted to his presence with a tangible shudder that rippled across her flesh.
He touched her breast with his fingers. She bit back a scream and arched her back.
“Your fifteen hours are over.” His deep voice washed over her. Suddenly, the tantalizing current stopped and she collapsed back on the mattress, gasping for each breath. She felt him removing the clamps and probes, leaving her body a throbbing, humming mass of sensation.
He untied her blindfold, then, surprisingly, the restraints holding her hands and feet. She hadn’t expected him to release her, had in fact expected some even more devious torture. She lay there a moment, whimpering softly, caught in the final tremors and shuddering spasms that had wracked her body. Finally, still trembling and weak, she sat up and rubbed her ankles.
“You may use the facilities. I’ll know if you touch yourself, if you try to find your own relief. Leave the door open.”
Bry suddenly realized just how much she had to pee. Her full bladder protested every movement, overwhelmed even the powerful, all-consuming need for sexual release. The open door to the head couldn’t stop her. She finished her business, washed her hands in the small lavatory, then walked cautiously back into the room.
His skinsuit was open to the waist. His boots sat beside the bed. He nodded at her, jerking his head in the direction of the bed. She sat on the edge, her skin almost rippling with the lasting sensations from the current passing through her body. She watched him as he slowly undressed.
His body was beautiful. Powerful and strong, the dark hair on his chest following a narrow pattern over taut abs to spread out at his groin. His cock was as erect and hard as it had been when she held him captive. She practically salivated, imagining that hard flesh in her mouth, following the length of him, drawing his balls between her lips and suckling each egg shaped organ into her mouth.