by K S Augustin
She shook her head.
It was improbable, but not unheard of. Tangus had lots of contact with people who had suffered trauma after a life-or-death event. He knew it did strange things to the mind. Pressuring her was probably the worst thing he could do at this stage.
“So you crash-landed on Helson V? Not a very good choice, I’d say.”
“No,” she agreed.
“Well, if you don’t have a name, I suppose I’ll have to give you one.”
“Give me …?”
“What else would I call you? ‘You there’? ‘Woman’? ‘Personal slave’ has a nice ring to it, but I don’t think it would be very useful outside these quarters.”
Of course. Lest she forget exactly what her circumstances were, she should bear in mind that this man had paid money, a lot of money, for her.
“How does Asha sound?”
Asha? She rolled it around her mind a few times. Asha. It wasn’t a bad name, soft, soothing. She supposed it would do until her own memory returned. She nodded but said nothing, and Tangus looked satisfied.
“Good. Asha it is.”
She returned to her meal, finishing it before finally voicing the question that had been haunting her. “What do you want with me?”
He, too, laid down his dining utensils, taking his time to fill their glasses with a light wine before answering.
“Considering how we spent the afternoon, I thought that would be obvious.”
“You said ‘slave’ before. Is that what I am to you?”
Again, it wasn’t the words but the tone in her voice that set him on edge. As if she was somehow superior to him, and she knew it.
“When a man pays good money for a piece of flesh and then commands it to pleasure him, more people than not would say that’s a slave.”
She turned her face away but not before he saw a flash of anger cross her features. He was surprised to find himself amused.
“Finish your wine,” he instructed softly, a sudden vision overtaking his other senses.
“I don’t think ….”
“I said, finish your wine.”
Asha already knew that tone of voice. With trembling fingers, she lifted the glass and emptied it, sending the liquid’s light bubbles coursing down her throat.
“Shall we attempt a dessert?” he suggested, tugging her to her feet and pushing her back. She retreated, step by step, until she felt the wall at her back. But he still kept advancing, skimming the sides of her body with his hands, cupping her buttocks, pressing himself against her.
“You need to understand one thing, Asha,” he whispered harshly. “I bought you, and now I own you. Whatever I tell you to do, you do, willingly and obediently. Do you understand?”
She felt his hardness grind against her, and by the Gods, she wanted him again. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Until I’m through with you. Until I’ve taught you every trick to pleasure me. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“We continue your lesson,” he ground out. “No hands.” And he pulled her back to the bumpy platform. Only instead of pushing her down onto its firm surface, he instructed her to kneel while he secured her hands above her. Then, after stripping off his pants and kneeling on the platform himself, he took her head between his hands and kissed her.
There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was a sign of conquest, of domination, making sure she completely understood exactly how helpless she was. His hot tongue thrust into her, and his hands held her immobile while he explored every inch of her mouth. When he withdrew, both of them were breathing heavily.
His hands moved down to her breasts in deliberate movements, and he watched her face as he stroked the erect nipples with his palms, tracing a circular pattern.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, his dark eyes glittering in the semi-darkness.
She couldn’t help herself as she pushed against him. “Yes.”
“Would you like more?” He caught the nubs between his fingers, squeezing them.
“Oh yes,” she shuddered. Of her own volition, her legs parted, sending out their own message to him.
He bent his head and took one nipple in his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth. She cried out and her body jerked a response. Then he did the same with the other nipple. When he used one hand to stroke the inside of her thighs, he wasn’t surprised to find them moist with her own lubrication. Virgin she might have been just a few short hours ago, but she had also quickly developed into a highly-powered sex-machine. And for the moment at least, she was entirely his.
He unfurled himself onto the platform, slipping between her open knees, his cock purple and rigid. Then, slowly, savoring every moment, he brought her down on him.
It was wonderful. The heat from her pussy enveloped him in stages, sheathing him in tight, hot elastic until he was buried inside her to the hilt. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him as he felt her pulse against his length. Truly, he could spend the rest of his life in this position, with this woman, and not regret a moment of it. Already he could feel himself starting to spasm, a masculine counterpoint to her movements.
With another groan, he lifted her slightly away, then brought her down on him again, watching as her breasts bounced with the movement, wishing he had four hands: two to guide the erotic thrusting and another two to fondle those firm golden globes. The mere thought of it was enough to send him over an already precarious edge, his own hips lifting off the platform while he plunged deep within her and cried out in pleasure. With thrust after thrust, he gripped tightly at her waist while he emptied himself, throwing his head back in primeval pleasure.
When the spasms died away, he took a shuddering breath and relaxed his muscles. During his orgasm, his hands had moved down to her hips, gripping them tightly. He relaxed them, too, moving them around so they could stroke the cheeks of her buttocks, then he looked at her, swaying above him. Her breath was still tortured from exertion, and a sheen of perspiration covered her body. With her arms restrained above her, he had time to appreciate the slim, muscular lines of her body with its tonal gold shadows stroking her arms and breasts. Whoever Asha really was, she obviously took great care maintaining her body.
With one hand, he stroked the underside of her left breast. Magnificent. Even moments after his release, he wanted her again.
He was tempted to keep her in this position, to go to sleep while still inside her so the vision of her body stretched out above him, the feel of her legs straddling him, was the last thing he saw and felt before he slept and the first thing he woke up to. He had figured out enough of the workings in the room to know that the Strike’s past owner, unfortunately now deceased, was more of a connoisseur than a brute in his sexual dealings. The filaments could keep their victims in position for days, allowing them limited movement after a time, but reapplying the configured tension when their programmed master made the appropriate movement and sound. At the most she would be mildly discomfited, more annoyed than physically harmed.
Tempting ....
With a sigh, he lifted her and slid off the platform, stretching to release her wrists from the filament’s thick supple cuff.
“You may want to clean up,” he suggested, watching as she rubbed her wrists, although he noted that there wasn’t a mark on that clear skin of hers. “Then get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He paused to pick up his discarded pants and the tray and left her without a backward glance.
Chapter Three
The vision of her was the first thought that entered Tangus’ head when he woke the next morning. Perhaps he had dreamed it all, an extended carnal fantasy created by a mind denied sexual release for--by the Creator--years!
He glanced at the door. No, that was no dream. She was really in the next chamber. His very own sex slave. His revenge on the self-righteous Fusion. Something pulled at him and he rose and took a step toward the door. He had had a good night’s sleep, the first in months. What better way to celebr
ate than to engulf himself in her hot wet core again? He could imagine her still emerging from sleep, soft and pliant, while he ravaged her body ruthlessly, licking and nibbling at her with his tongue, forcing his fingers into her, emptying himself into that luscious mouth while she whimpered and struggled beneath him. He would teach her to look at him with those large amber eyes while he came, to cry out his name and beg him to take her in every way possible, to fondle and pleasure him while the perspiration formed on her body and trickled down between her breasts....
“Enough!” Tangus slammed a hand against the wall, using the sudden pain to help rein in his thoughts.
There was a panel which displayed what was happening in the chamber next door. Tangus was determined not to use it. Stiffly, using every ounce of self-control he had, he ignored the blank screen set into the wall and moved to the bathroom cubicle.
“Shower, needle, cold,” he directed and withstood the icy needles with gritted teeth.
This was no way for a commander to behave. He had already disregarded his duties with alarming alacrity the day before, and he was determined it wasn’t going to happen again. He stopped the shower, dried, then stepped out and began dressing with deliberate care.
The Fleet--his Fleet--deserved more than their leader rutting like an animal in heat. And just because they were on their way home didn’t mean they were completely safe.
He entered the bridge moments later, his dark hair slicked back, his expression as forbidding as it ever was. Of course Daurent was already there, but he rose quickly from the command chair the moment he spotted his superior.
“Progress,” Tangus barked.
“Status green,” Daurent reported, but there was a hint of a smile on his youthful face. “All supplies stored and, ah, purchases tested.”
In all truth, Tangus couldn’t begrudge his second-in-command a small joke, but he wasn’t going to let it get any further either.
“What does our seed inventory look like?”
Daurent’s lips drooped. “Ninety-three percent germination failure. We’re working on it.”
“Damn.”
Once, an eternity ago, Tangus was merely a Seti commander, a much-decorated war veteran leading the glorious Second Fleet. All he had to do was outthink his enemy and keep his men alive. But that was an eternity ago. In this new reality of scraping and running, keeping his men alive demanded more than battle acumen. He had to feed and clothe them, provide shelter and morale. He had to give them hope, and that was one battle he knew he was losing. And there did not seem to be one damned thing he could do about it.
He jabbed the intercom. “Cook, send a light breakfast to the room next to my quarters, access panel only.” He clicked off the switch. “Daurent, to my ready room.” The two officers moved to the small cabin that doubled as the bridge crew’s meeting room.
“Is all our seed stock useless then?” Tangus asked bluntly when the door hissed shut behind them.
“I wouldn’t call it a complete failure,” Daurent countered. “A seven percent success rate is still better than our average. If the analysis from xenobiology is correct, there’s a chance we’ll harvest enough grain to feed perhaps the entire population in eight month’s time.”
That should have heartened Tangus but the ‘population’ Daurent referred to numbered in only the thousands, a last pitiful remnant of a once-proud species. And the statement was bounded by so many qualifiers, Tangus knew his deputy was merely trying to boost his spirits.
He sighed and sat on the edge of the conference table. “What about the detection technologies we bought? Any good?”
“They’re not fully compatible with Seti matrixes. I’ve had a bit of a play with them, and they seem to work, but I won’t know for sure until they’re fully installed and I’ve had a chance to tune them.”
There was a loaded pause.
“How’s our passenger?” Daurent asked, a little too casually.
“Passenger? We don’t have--oh. You mean Asha.”
“She has a Seti name?”
“No, no of course not. She can’t remember her real name.”
“So you gave her one?”
“Something like that.” Tangus shifted.
“Why?” Daurent seemed clearly puzzled. “Why not just call her ‘hey you’? Or ‘breeder’? Or,” he continued carefully, “have you changed your mind about that?”
Tangus pushed himself from the table. “I haven’t changed my mind about anything. And you’re starting to take dangerous liberties, Daurent.” His look would have quelled any other, but the two men had been through enough together for Daurent to see beneath the rebuke.
“She looks too innocent, Tangus, to be used like this.”
“You would have us shower our murderers with flower petals,” Tangus retorted, using a line from a classic Seti poem.
Daurent’s pale eyes followed the commander as he paced. “I lost family too, you know.”
That stopped the taller male in his tracks. “And that’s why I must do this. While the Lasc Prein destroyed our planet, the Fusion stood by and did nothing. We have no women, no children, no world left to us. All we have left to cling to is our vengeance and our thirst for justice.”
“Vengeance? On innocents? Is this what the Seti are reduced to?”
“Justice through survival, Daurent. Everything has a plan. We examine her physiology and compatibility to breed. If compatible, we set her up as a breeder, one of many to help increase our race again. If not, maybe we can still use her womb. As a last resort, she can help establish the new Seti world. Nothing goes to waste.”
“And you think you can do this? Use her, then discard her when you’re done?”
“Do you deny me this?” the older man countered in a cold voice.
Daurent shook his head.
“Tangus, I know more than anybody else what you sacrificed to save even so few of us. I, and everyone else in the Fleet, owe you our lives. You know that I don’t begrudge you a thing, least of all a few days of pleasure. And why not? She is certainly comely, and you’ve denied yourself for more months than I can count. But you’re not as strong as you think. The Lasc Prein destroyed much, but they couldn’t destroy your heart, Tangus. Please. Don’t do something you’ll regret later.”
“This is for us, Daurent,” he said softly.
But Daurent remained unconvinced. “If you say so.”
* * * *
She ached where she didn’t even know she had muscles. After Tangus left, Asha moved slowly to the shower-pan and hesitantly ordered a warm, soothing shower. She tried to clean between her legs but the flesh was tender and swollen. Eventually she gave up, dried herself and limped to the bed, collapsing on top of it.
So much had happened that she could barely take it in.
If only she could remember more than five days of her life. Who was she? What had caused the ship she was on to crash on Helson V? Was she running away from something? Or towards it? And what did her subsequent ‘purchase’ mean?
The thought of being sold at Hell’s Market inevitably led to her captor, her owner.
Tangus.
With those broad shoulders, slim hips, and towering height, he was the epitome of masculinity, one that seemed strangely fascinating to her. Asha’s brow furrowed. Why should that be? Why this breathless awe whenever she looked at him? Why this irrepressible urge to mate with him? Surely she had seen men before?
Maybe not. Maybe there were no men in her previous life ... no, that wasn’t right. She had a feeling she was very comfortable around both females and males, but like a wisp of smoke, further guidance from that insight eluded her mental grasp.
So she knew men but was a virgin. Which meant she wasn’t bonded to anyone. But, with what happened between her and Tangus, did that mean she was bonded now?
Just thinking of his naked form made her groan, and despite her discomfort, she could feel her groin start to throb again.
He had shown no mercy to her virginal state when
he had her strapped into position the first time. He had roughly brought her to a shuddering climax before rutting her from behind, and she felt herself stretched more than she thought possible, the friction of his hard penis rubbing against her--inside her--despite the juices that drenched her tight pubic curls and eased his access.
She should have been shocked and outraged by such carnal behavior, but, she could admit to herself in the darkness, she was not. There was something about the way he touched her, the way he moved, that tugged at her heart. She should be hating him for taking such a precious possession from her, but instead, all she could do was hunger for the next time.
Three times he had taken her, and despite her aches, all she could do was hope for a fourth.
No memory, and now helpless to the man who owned her.
She was doomed indeed.
* * * *
Tangus stalked back to his quarters, trying hard not to think. He had spent half the day peering over his crew’s collective shoulders, desperately searching for some kind of long-term distraction, but it didn’t work. He had trained his crew too well.
Now, on their circuitous route back to home base, all that remained were standard shifts and protocols, more long-range scanning than anything else. During times like this, he usually stood the crew down, allowing them to relax, knowing there was more hard work ahead of them when they reached their moon refuge.
Normally, he, too, spent some time reading or playing cards with some of the other officers. Until now. On this trip, he had a distraction he hadn’t had before.
Though loath to show it, Daurent’s words had hit home, and he was determined to prove his adjutant wrong. He had no heart left. That had been destroyed along with his planet, the void now filled with a cold fist of icy revenge.
Daurent thought him incapable of using then discarding a beautiful woman. He would prove him wrong. And when she was secured in one of the breeder’s quarters, swollen with the child of another soldier of the Fleet, Tangus would be able to laugh in Daurent’s face. But until that time, he had full run of that delectable golden body, and he intended to make full use of it before they made moon fall.