The Space Marshal's Captive

by Jaye Peaches

  The flight deck was the uppermost part of the ship and possessed a panoramic window. Underneath it was a bank of consoles and positioned before the central section was the commander’s chair. The marshal was semi-sprawled on the generous seat, fingers drumming on the armrests and legs stretched out before him. Neither tense nor relaxed, he seemed to be fired up, almost impatient, staring out to space, watching the pitted spheres of the asteroids spin and occasionally collide with each other. The Titan dodged and weaved its way through the field. The ship’s stabilizers were in good working order—she didn’t feel the ship bank or swerve. She’d done an excellent job of overhauling the system.

  Mason spun the chair around and looked at her, catching her by surprise. He pierced her with his beady eyes. She’d hesitated too long. Swiftly, she dropped to her knees, head bowed and hands tucked behind her back.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. “Come here,” he added softly.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She stood between his legs, hands still clasped behind, eyes down.

  “You’ve been such a good girl. Three days and no punishments.”

  Three days ago, she’d overslept again—Mason had gone to deal with the asteroids and their usual morning routine had been disrupted. When he returned, she was still in bed. His punishment was as novel as her innovated methods of repairing faulty systems. Throughout breakfast, she’d knelt, naked, by his chair and he’d spoon-fed her. His reasoning had been simple—if he wanted him to treat her like a child who needed kicking out of bed, then he’d extend that treatment to feeding her.

  “I’m happy to nurture you, Jade,” he’d told her, “to look after you, but that doesn’t give you the excuse to be a lazy indulgent child who snaps at me when I tell you to get up.”

  She might have been a little smart-ass with her response and it had cost her. The punishment had been utterly humiliating. It also left her atrociously wet and doe-eyed. He’d somehow managed to both spoil her by spooning food into her mouth and make her feel ashamed all at the same time.

  On the flight deck, she was starting to squirm, knowing something wasn’t quite right.

  Mason wasn’t smiling back.

  “And now you’ve blown it,” he continued, clucking his tongue. He pointed at the screen behind her and she peered over her shoulder. It was displaying his quarters, a still shot, one he must have captured. On the floor were her discarded clothes from the previous day. She chucked them there as a reminder to press them. Unlike the food processor, the clothes press worked fine and there was no reason for her lack of diligence.

  “Whoops,” she whispered.

  “Quite,” he said sardonically.

  “I’ll never be tidy,” she admitted.

  “So damn hard, isn’t it? Bending over, picking something up, folding it, putting it away. Must be draining, all that effort.” The sarcasm dripped off his tongue and she nearly laughed, but decided it wasn’t going to do her any favors.

  “I guess I’m not here to admire the view then.” She rocked on her toes, waiting.

  “Obviously you’ve not taking this particular expectation seriously. Contrary to my weak attack of humor, I do take tidiness seriously. It’s not about what you want, Jade. It doesn’t matter to me if you choose to live like that, but I don’t do clutter, and it is my wishes that you should be thinking about. It all comes back to compatibility.”

  She mouthed the last word along with him. Big mistake; the moment she ridiculed him, she’d taken her punishment up a notch.

  “So be it. You’ll suck my cock, then ride it until I come. You will not orgasm. If you do, I shall punish your ass with a hard spanking.”

  “Wh—” She snapped shut her mouth before the last syllable slipped out.

  Suck his delicious cock. Feel the texture slide along her tongue. Sit astride and ride him, grinding her pelvis down. Let him drive her to the point of combustion and not come! Impossible. Why couldn’t he just spank her and make her cry, not that he had since the day of her capture, but crying appeared contrite, whereas holding an orgasm would force her to beg. Perhaps that was what he wanted? His cock had bulged, forming a tent in his pants. The visual cue was encouraging—he couldn’t hide his lust and in the heat of it, perhaps he would forget his command and let her come.

  “Undress,” he ordered, using a tone of voice that was always lucrative when it came to the immediacy of her response. She stripped and diligently folded her clothes, following the line of the seams with the flat of her hand until Mason cleared his throat.

  “You’ve made your point, Jade.”

  She detected the growl beneath the surface. Best not push her luck.

  The air temperature across the ship was consistent and pleasant. However, having removed her clothing, she perceived a cool edge to the flow of air circulating the room or maybe her own body had ramped up in temperature. Either way, she felt flustered by her abrupt nudity. She should be used to it by now, what with Mason’s request for her to be naked in his quarters, but she wasn’t, not when he prompted her to do it without warning.

  She smoothed her hand over her belly and tiptoed over to Mason. He’d spread his legs, maintaining his elegant slouch and uncovered his prominent erection. She sank onto her knees, crossed her arms behind her back, leaned forward and opened her mouth.

  Mason moaned, expelling air in one long exhale. He rested his head back on the magnificent chair and stroked her hair while she bobbed up and down, until she’d coated his shaft. Her lips sealed around the base of his cock, she sucked hard enough to make her cheeks ache. He fisted a lock of hair and her scalp tingled. When she repeated the suck, he knotted his fingers through her hair and tugged harder until she released him in order to gasp for air.

  “Rise up, sweetheart, and mount me.”

  Sliding her legs on either side of his thighs, she hovered astride, angled her hips and lowered herself, seeking out his rounded glans, slotting it between her swollen lips. He felt thicker than ever or maybe she was tighter; either way, the fit was snug and the friction wonderful. Once her bottom touched his thighs, she paused, savoring the pinching sensation, then the give as she stretched to accommodate his girth. She jutted her breasts forward, arched her back, and rested her hands on his knees.

  The sparkle in his eyes intensified as she bucked and rode his rod, frantically trying to avoid his cock hitting her sweet spot. She huffed while she fought the arousal and failed to crush it. Noisily, she moaned, probably too loudly. It was then that he started to roll her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, tweaking them until they hurt. She panted, tussling with the need to come and annoyed by his interference—couldn’t he see that she was struggling? He grasped her ass cheeks and hitched her up higher. She was in danger of losing contact with his cock. Alarmed, she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

  Feeling his strength beneath her fingers was tantalizing. She started to pick at his shirt, hoping to expose his skin, touch it with her fingertips and enjoy the smoothness of his bare chest.

  “Hands behind your back,” he ordered and reached into his shirt pocket. The restraining bands on her wrists snapped together, binding her. The ankle ones had gone—he’d removed them as a reward a few days after they first fucked. Now, she would have to rely on his support to keep her balance and rhythm.

  Binding her didn’t dissuade the rising force of her impending orgasm; instead, it enhanced the fire coursing through her body. The electrifying epicenter was her clitoris.

  Mustn’t come, mustn’t come. Keep moving, changing position, rhythm, anything to prevent the climax.

  If she came, he’d spank her. She imagined herself across his lap on the commander’s chair, the seat of his power. The picture in her mind created a wave of goosebumps erupting across her flesh.

  She came and the suddenness stunned her. She’d not even had a chance to plead with him. He would feel the orgasm along the full length of his buried shaft—a multitude of spasms, strong and conspicuous, accompanied b
y her stifled screech.

  He flexed his hand—his intention was obvious.

  * * *

  Mason lifted her off his cock and aching balls, swung her face down over his knees, and started to spank her ass while the orgasm continued to affect her. Spanked in the middle of an orgasm was not the same as a spanking that built up to an orgasm. Her ass would be sensitized, unwilling to relax and take the spanking. Each noisy wallop left an outline of his hand until they merged into a blur of redness. He alternated between each cheek, rattling off the slaps without pausing.

  He’d promised a punishment and Mason believed in delivering on his word.

  “Ow, ow. I’m sorry. I tried,” she howled.

  “No. You. Did. Not.” He emphasized his statement with firm smacks. “I was watching you.”

  She sniffed. “It’s not fair. You made me come.”

  He answered that accusation with a flurry of smacks. “I sat very still and held you.” He’d kept his hands off her as much as possible, he’d not kissed her or enticed her. She humped him, not the other way around.

  She squirmed, but with her wrists still bound there was little to do but hold position. “You twisted my nipples.”

  More slaps echoed around the room. “To get you to focus on something other than your pussy.” He halted and circled her bottom with sweeps of his palm. “A little pain in another place can distract. It wasn’t my intention to trick you. I bound you, because your itchy little fingers were desperate to touch me. I guess it didn’t help.”

  She lifted her head, showed him the tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know how to do this. Please help me.”

  Mason sighed, the kind of exhale that meant relief, not disappointment. He hated seeing her cry. It wasn’t ever his intention to leave her emotionally weakened or fragile, only contrite and thoughtful. He eased her up, returning her to her original position. She perched her sore behind on his lap. He whisked aside the rogue locks of her hair framing her pretty face and ran his forefinger along the outline of her cheek and chin.

  “Don’t think of your orgasm, think of mine,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do. Make me come. That’s what I want you to do. When you shift your focus onto my needs, you’ll deflect your own.” He traced the lower lip of her fuckable mouth and she parted her lips, revealing her brilliantly white teeth. He tapped the lip. “When you sucked my cock, you had it. I so wanted to come. Try again. This time, let me guide you, not the other way around.”

  He released her arms with a click of the button. “Put them on my shoulders and feel the rhythm.” His cock easily filled her drenched pussy as she lowered herself into place, aided by the supportive grip of her waist.

  When she stroked his cock with the walls of her vagina, she chafed his sensitive glans and when she clenched around him, he felt the squeeze, the tightness he needed.

  “Good girl,” he whispered. “Slowly build, don’t rush. When I pant, I’m close.”

  She nodded and stared into his eyes. The tears had gone and in their place, she glowed. Her hot body radiated more than heat. She was on fire. Her breasts bounced right before his eyes, a perfect accompaniment to her increasingly energetic bobbing.

  It didn’t take long for him to feel the urge, the need was overwhelming.

  “Please, please,” she whimpered. “I feel your heat—”

  “Come now, quickly.” He held his breath as he pumped a load of hot cum deep inside her contracting pussy.

  Both of their orgasms were long. Mason savored it by hugging her to his chest, allowing her racing heartbeats to mingle with his own. He kissed her head and murmured into her ear, “Well done.”

  His cock waned, slipped out of her pussy, and he bundled her into his arms and held her as she appeared to doze. Occasionally, he reached out to make a course adjustment, especially when an asteroid hurtled a little too close for comfort.

  After an hour or so, she stirred and shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “No. Sleepy. Was it your intention to stupefy me?” She grinned and he mirrored the expression. She always unearthed a moment of humor, something to lighten the tension; it was one of her loveliest qualities. He’d forgotten how important wit and playfulness could be in a good relationship.

  “Maybe. Get dressed. You do seem cold.” He frowned. “The air con better be working.”

  She slipped on her pants. “I checked it two days ago and it was working fine. I’ll look again.”

  “Tomorrow. Go to bed.” Days ago that particular command would have been greeted with a scowl. Not today.

  Jade yawned. “You’ll join me, sir?”

  “Soon. The asteroid field is thinning out. I can trust the nav system to do its job and avoid a collision.”

  By the door, she turned. “I do understand. My orgasms are yours, sir.”

  “Thank you for giving them to me. I shall endeavor to make them the best you’ve ever had.”

  With her gone, he returned to deal with another matter—catching Nyle Curtis. The man was unique—a cyborg with a flesh and bone torso and scar-riddled head, but the rest of him was artificial: robotic powered limbs. Those mechanical attachments made him strong, too strong to fight hand to hand. Fast also, he could outrun most things on two or four feet. His brain might not be the smartest, but he ruled over his criminal empire using the combination of might and fear. Mason needed another approach for bringing the beast down.

  Chapter Eight

  Nights didn’t exist in space, but with the blanket of blackness, it always felt like nighttime. The Universal Space Day, as defined by the omnipresent Federation regulations, ended with a rest period of eight hours. Some days it felt too short, other days, too long. Jade hated the way the Novador Federation dictated when to sleep.

  “Are you awake?” Jade asked.

  “Sorry,” Mason replied. “I didn’t mean to keep you up. I’m thinking.”

  He’d been tossing about on the bed and it wasn’t the first time he’d woken her during a rest period. The last few days he’d slept fitfully.

  “Would you like me to help you in some way, sir?” She skated her hand down his bare chest, following the lines of his ribs and stomach muscles, then the bands of his groin. He captured her wrist just before she touched his penis.

  “No, thank you.” With her hand still trapped, he rested it on his chest. His heart thrummed gently beneath his breastbone—a regular, calming pulse. Whatever was keeping him awake wasn’t driven by excitement or anxiety, but something else.

  “Thinking?” she queried. “Is it Curtis? What’s so special about him?”

  “Lights!” Mason commanded and the darkness slowly transformed into a brightness.

  Jade blinked and shaded her bleary eyes with her arm. Mason’s eyes were wide open and alert. She slid onto her side to face him. There was no trace of his love-drenched eyes, the ones she adored; instead there were shadows underneath them.

  “You said he was dangerous,” she probed, hoping he might share what was on his mind.

  “Very. He’s not typical. Although, the most wanted criminals aren’t typical.” Mason paused. “You see, he’s a cyborg.”

  She shot up in bed. “Part robot, part humanoid? Really, wow!”

  “I thought that might interest you, given your studies.” He hooked his arms behind his head and stared up at her. “It was your thesis?” Mason had full access to her records; there was little he didn’t know about her when it came to her education.

  “Medical prosthetics and cybernetics, yes. It was part of my bioengineering studies. I gain a distinction. So Curtis must have been injured and—”

  “No, not injured. He deliberately had his limbs removed and replaced with artificial ones.”

  Jade’s jaw dropped. “He had them amputated? Fuck, that’s horrible. Why?”

  Mason snorted in mutual disgust. “He’s a horrible person. To make him stronger, quicker. His torso and brain are intact, and
he relies on that artificial brawn to overpower his opponents. He’s impossible to take down because those limbs are re-enforced to prevent penetration of any kind of weaponry.”

  “Really? That must have cost him heaps.” She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be half man, half machine. The research she had done was for those with irreversible injuries and grants were hard to find when the universe was focused on war, not peace.

  “Money, for Curtis, isn’t an issue. He just steals it and if necessary, kills people in the process. I need to get him. He’s immoral, despicable.”

  “Can’t you, I don’t know, behead him with a sword?” Was Curtis invincible?

  “Kill him? That’s not my job. I’m a marshal, not an executioner. Where’s the justice? His victims won’t see him held accountable. I’d rather know he is rotting in the prison hulk, Demon Hell, than suffer a swift execution. Death would be too kind given the prison’s reputation. Anyway, I doubt I’d get near to him with a sword or axe, he’s got eyes in the back of his head. Literally—extra eyes.” He grimaced, mirroring her own repulsion.

  What hadn’t repulsed her was Mason’s devotion to justice. He wasn’t a sponsored vigilante like the bounty hunters he despised. They operated on a dead or alive contract. Her bedfellow, the man she’d come to admire and love, was steeped in moral conviction. She’d been short-sighted when she’d believed all federal officers were villains.

  Jade lay next to him, recollecting anything she could think of about cyborgs. “He must have batteries, but those would be behind the armor… mmm.”

  “Thinking?” he chortled. “Me, too.”

  “So, that leaves the cybernetics. How does he control those limbs?”

  Mason shrugged. “Not my line of work.”