by Trent Evans
Only me. It will only ever be me.
He squeezed it out and made her kiss his fingers again, something else he took an unaccountable delight in. She flashed him a gentle smile when she did so.
And then he washed her body, her unbelievable body. He had always been obsessed with Diandra’s body, though he had always taken great pains to avoid badgering her about that fact. He never wanted her to think that he was some randy twelve-year-old boy.
But the truth was, there was never a moment he wouldn’t want to touch her.
Yet, he rarely did.
It was if now, with D, he could do what he had always wanted to do. And he touched her everywhere greedily, a possessiveness to it that was borderline obsession.
He took extra time with her big breasts, pulling and twisting on the nipples until they stood out hard, her breathing rendered into almost panting. They flushed a bright pink as he worked them over and over again. Unable to resist, he brought her to the edge of the tub and bent down to lick and suck each of those nipples in turn. He would come back to those though. Oh yes, he would most definitely come back to these.
He pinched and rolled those nipples still as he washed the rest of her body, tweaking each one hard as he scrubbed her cunt. He plunged one finger, then two, inside her, thrusting languidly, the gesture more statement than having any particular purpose.
The touch said: this is mine. This pussy, I own it. I’ll touch it whenever and wherever I want.
He held the lips of her sex apart, taking a moment to stare at her displayed vulnerability, salivating at the sight of her clit just peeking out from under her hood. It was prominent, gleaming, almost red, already engorged for some reason. He used his thumbs to friction it on both sides, then touched just the tip with his tongue.
She drew in a sharp breath.
“That’s all you get for now, bad girl,” he said, looking up at her. “More later. If you’re good.”
He didn’t know where this was coming from, but it made his cock even harder. His own breath was coming in rasps now, so aroused was he by touching her, by handling her body. He caressed the smooth muscles of her legs, tracing the hollows of her collarbones with his fingertips, drawing a hand up and down the long trough of her spine, kneading and hefting the round weight of her buttocks, those perfect cheeks.
This was perhaps the part of Diandra he was the most obsessed with. Yes, he’d spend time there too.
Soon, very soon.
He made her bend forward, ordering her in a murmured voice to draw her own cheeks apart. She did so, fingers trembling — and then he washed her there too. The perfect dusky whorl of her anus beckoned everything, tongues, fingers, cocks.
Instead, he simply kissed it, and she shuddered.
“So beautiful,” he said against her flesh.
And then he was done. Wrapping her in a huge towel, he picked her up again, took her to his bed. Using the soft towel to dry her hair gently, he held her, unsure as to exactly why he did it.
It was dangerous, what he was doing.
It risked her getting close. But in that quiet, intimate moment, it was what he wanted. And when it came to D, he would always get what he wanted.
He cradled her in his arms until her breathing slowed, the regular shallow movements of her chest the hallmark of sleep taking over. Her mouth was slightly open, her perfect teeth just hinted at beyond the plump, pink loveliness of those lips.
Slowly sliding out from beneath her, he laid her down, wrapped the blankets about her, drew a lock of hair away from her eyes.
Then kissed her ear.
“Sleep.”
* * *
He tried to eat, but really what he was doing was stabbing at his food, pushing it around his plate, his mind on anything but his dinner.
In the silence of the crew module, he couldn’t help but ignore the fidgeting from the corner, the dark part of the room where he’d put D. He’d bound her wrists and her ankles beforehand, of course, allowing her not a single stitch of clothing. He’d pulled the ankle hobble tight, forcing her to take tiny, mincing steps, the chains at her feet allowing no more. He’d bound her wrists tightly behind her at the small of her back.
Then he’d banished her to that corner for no other reason than that he could.
He loved the way she had blushed scarlet at his order, those long, luscious lashes fluttering. But rather than protest, she’d simply murmured in that silky, smooth voice, “Yes, sir.”
That round, luscious bottom shook and jiggled as she shuffled her way to her appointment with shame.
Her embarrassment aroused him with an unsettling intensity. He wasn’t sure he could identify exactly why, but there was no need to explain the hardness of his cock, his elevated heartbeat, his total and complete inability to keep his eyes off of that trembling bottom waiting there in the corner for what he might do to it next. He considered fucking her, but that was too simple, too obvious. He was here to enjoy himself, and if he was going to, well, he didn’t need to settle for simple, and obvious, and boring.
No, he could try other things, different options. Indulge himself.
The origin of the idea was unknown, but suddenly, he had alighted on sending her to the corner and making her wait. Force her to think about what he might do to her next. Would the programming they had given her allow her to experience such complex human emotions as fear, and anxiety, and anticipation — and even a twisted sense of lust? There was no way to answer that either, but what he couldn’t help but notice was the scent of her as he bound her wrists fast. The smell of her sex was spicy and strong, even though he had washed her very recently.
Amazingly, her cunt seemed to be wet simply at the prospect of what he’d promised her. Even he didn’t know where that road might lead. Yet, she was apparently aroused at what he might do to her next. How was that possible?
Stop overthinking, Martin.
He shoved his tray to the center of his table, the insistent hardness of his cock overruling his need to stave off his hunger pains. His desire was for something else entirely.
“Come over here,” he growled. He loved the way her shoulders jerked at the gruffness of his voice, at the terse way he’d spoken to her. It wasn’t so much that he liked scaring her, but he did enjoy keeping her off balance. The idea that she would worry, and anticipate, and fret over what he had planned for her — or didn’t have planned for her — appealed to him on a visceral level. It was the unknown that added that certain something. It was a little sadistic, something that could be seen as borderline evil, but… this was Diandra.
What did it matter if he indulged these darker urges, these parts of his psyche he couldn’t attempt to understand, much less explain?
He was out there alone on the galactic rim, with nothing but an artificial person to keep him company, to remind him of why he was here, why he made this sacrifice.
And why it was so good to be alive.
Artificial though she was, D spoke to something within him. Something uniquely... human.
Bidding her to stand before him, he looked her up and down, making sure she saw him do it. He dragged the tips of his fingers through the curls adorning her mound, loving the silky feel of her hair against his fingers. She had an attractive sex, the lips plump, close-seamed. And yet, the inner labia clearly peeked out, the bright pink hue, so delicate, so enticing it made his mouth water just to look at them.
For a split second, he regretted the fact that her wrists were bound behind her, for he would have loved to order her to spread her cunt wide for him to gaze upon. There would be plenty of time for that later though.
This time, he did it for her, loving the softness, the heat of her core, splaying those smooth, moist lips wide, the scent suddenly stronger in the room, his mouth practically watering with it. She watched him closely as he opened her, taking his time to look at her, her helpless femininity bared before him. He loved the vulnerability, luxuriating in the fact he could touch her in any way, at any time, knowin
g she wouldn’t — couldn’t — object.
Not human. Remember?
He slapped her hip. “Turn around, bitch.”
She obeyed instantly, but not before he saw the burst of color in her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was the degrading words, or the fact she knew what was likely to come next.
In the end, he didn’t care. He hoped it was both, loving her embarrassment.
Sadistic, indeed.
At length, he traced every inch of those round, soft buttocks, caressing them with his palms, lifting each one upon the back of his hand, letting the luscious flesh drop, entranced by the way it moved. Her softness, the pale skin, the glorious curves called out to the wild, dangerous animal within him, to do his worst, to take what was his, to stake his claim. Forcing his hand between her soft thighs, he cupped the heat of her sex in his palm, his other hand clasping her hip.
“Bend over. More! I want those tits swinging below you.”
She obeyed his orders, the crease of her buttocks easing open slightly at the degrading position. Easing the tips of his fingers between her bottom cheeks, he circled the tight ring of her anus, the smooth, incredibly soft skin there — something he never ceased to marvel at. She jerked each time he tapped that opening with the tip of his finger, as if she couldn’t help but react to his touch, knowing she was very nervous indeed about what he might have in mind for that particular entrance to her body.
He took hold of each of her buttocks, forced them apart, drawing close, loving the humid scent he found at her ass, the mouth-watering musk of her cunt. Then, simply because he could, he licked her slowly, starting at her perineum, laving the flat of his tongue up and over her asshole. She made a soft murmur as he did it and he drowned in the clean, forbidden taste of her, loving the feel of her against his tongue.
So, he did it again.
He finished by kissing the inner slopes of each buttock tenderly, but no less possessively.
“So beautiful,” he murmured.
Not human. It’s a toy. It’s a thing, Martin.
Still, there was no doubt that it sparked possessive feelings within him, strong, territorial needs to make a statement about whose possession she really was.
She was his. In all ways.
Forever. His.
He smacked her ass, then pinched her buttock between thumb and forefinger, shaking it. “Over my lap.”
He didn’t bother helping her, taking cruel enjoyment in the way she had to struggle to balance, the smooth skin of her belly laid across his legs. He’d only allowed himself brief deck shorts and a t-shirt, keeping the temperature warm in the crew module. He wouldn’t need to be on station for another six hours yet.
Plenty of time to enjoy his new toy.
Finally, she was where he wanted her, her head low, ass uppermost, her pride in tatters — if she’d been programmed with any. He hoped she had, for it made the subjugation of her that much more arousing.
What is wrong with you? You’re turning into a sick son of a bitch.
Maybe it was true, but again, on the galactic rim, what was sick? What was human variation? More to the point — did the answer really matter, out there, in the dark depths of space?
He stroked her ass, ensuring she knew what he was looking at, signaling to her that he enjoyed what he felt, what he saw.
“I’m going to punish you.”
“Sir, I… why?”
He waited a second before answering. “I don’t know why. Because you’re beautiful, and you’re vulnerable, and you’re helpless? Whatever the real reason, it’s going to make my cock hard. Are there any other reasons really that matter?”
“N–no, sir.”
“Good girl.” He patted her ass. “I’m going to punish you until the tears are streaming down your cheeks. And then I’m going to punish you some more. The only thing you have to worry about is doing as you’re told. Stay in place, and be a good girl.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was already trembling.
He felt like a monster saying the words, but they were nonetheless deeply arousing. This couldn’t be him, but it was.
How many times had he fantasized about this? All those nights laying awake in bed, his cock hard, his fist pumping, his mind spinning, whirling, diving deep into those dark waters of his imagination, of the Martin he would never let anyone else see.
Not even his own wife.
But at least there, on Charon 90 — at that moment — he could let that Martin out. Perhaps it would be a one-time exorcising of those demons, purging them from his system, from his soul.
And what if it isn’t, Martin?
What if it was just opening Pandora’s Box? What if he couldn’t control what he become afterward?
There was no answer for that vexing question either.
But it wasn’t going to stop him.
Clasping her left buttock in his hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Ready?”
He intended to proceed no matter how she answered.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, her body stilling over his lap.
He waited a heartbeat, then two. Raising his hand, he smacked her ass once, twice, a third time, going slowly, methodically. The spanks weren’t harsh, but they weren’t light taps either. He smacked the left side until it flushed, then the right, ensuring it matched the hue of its twin.
Back and forth he went, over and over, until both of her cheeks were a deep uniform pink, here and there, faint ghostly shapes of fingers, of handprints already visible. She was already trembling when he rested his hand, but she’d made little sound otherwise. The knuckles of her hands were white where she’d grasped her own forearms.
Taking hold of her arms, he caressed them, giving her a comforting touch they both knew was false, the calm before the storminess commenced once more.
He was here to hurt her bottom, to give her pain. And they both knew that.
Curious, he scissored his fingers down between her legs, coaxing her thighs apart gently. To her credit, she obeyed as much as the bonds at her ankles would allow. He slipped one finger, then two, deep into the heat of her sex, thrusting languidly within. He listened for any sound, but all he could hear was her quick — but not frantic — breathing.
Her core was fiery, silky smooth, the heat of her body stunning him, the intensity matching the spicy note of her arousal as he slipped free. A long string of the shaming proof of her wantonness extended from the tip of his finger, then, finally stretched too far, that wetness broke, draping a glistening trail along her inner thigh.
“Oh, you may be scared,” he murmured. “But part of you is greedy. Very greedy, indeed.”
He cupped her ass with his hand. “Well, greedy girl, you’re about to get what you want.”
Smacking her hard then, he went back and forth, alternating between each side, upper, middle, then lower across her bottom. Her ass began to writhe as he continued, his hand stinging, the tips of his fingers tingling. He had lost count of how many spanks he’d given her. In truth, he had intended to stop only when she was sobbing, her ass a pleasing shade of scarlet.
Her color deepened to a solid red within minutes, and she was openly yelping and moaning as he continued spanking her. His cock had come up hard against her as he kept punishing that round, beautiful ass, wondering why he’d never done the same with his wife, unsure if she would ever would allow him to do such a thing.
He had thought of it constantly, of course, dreamt of it, but he’d never had the courage to so much as joke about disciplining her, fearing his sweet Diandra would be horrified. He worried she might wonder what sort of man she had really married, what kind of monster she laid in bed with.
That monster was out now.
But luckily, it wasn’t Diandra finding herself subject to it. It was only D, the girl who looked like his wife, but wasn’t.
He could tell her everything he wanted to tell Diandra, and it wouldn’t matter.
Leaning over her, he clutched the scalding heat of her punished ass in
his hand, playing with the hair at her ear, his voice a mere whisper. “I remember the first time I saw you at the Fleet dinner. You remember it, don’t you? You were so young, so beautiful, so innocent. I was fresh out of the Corps, and somehow, you talked to me. Somehow, you were interested in me. And, oh, how I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to force you to your knees, make you take out my cock, make you suck it, take it deep into your throat until the tears welled in your eyes. I wanted to slap your face, call you a whore, my slut, my slave. That first night, I wanted you. I had to have you. I knew you would eventually be my wife. And yet, I knew I could never be to you what you wanted, what you thought I was. But that was good enough for me, Diandra. That was good enough for me. Because either way, I got to have you. But, oh, the things I wanted to do to you. All the things I still want to do to you. If only you knew.”
It was absurd, of course, speaking to her as if she was his wife. But as she laid over his lap, her bottom glowing a fiery, angry red, his cock a throbbing, aching bar of need against her hip, it made a sort of crazy sense. The words were as much an exorcism of his dark, twisted needs as the spanking of her ass was.
D was openly trembling now, her breath coming fast, the smooth muscles of her thighs trembling, shaking. “Sir, I–”
“Be quiet. Not a fucking word.” She cried out as he smacked her ass hard, the sharp sound echoing off the bulkheads of the crew module. “You understand me? Not a word from you.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice quavering.
He was horrified at his tone, at how callously he was treating her. And yet, his cock was as hard as it had ever been in his entire life at the subjugation of this sweet, wonderful thing... who looked just like his wife.
Did he want this to be his wife? Would he have the courage to say to her what he just had? To expose the raw lust that he still held for her, its overwhelming power, the dangerous, animalistic nature of it just as urgent and profound as it was that very first night he’d set eyes on her.
That moment when he knew he would make her his.
When he hoped one day to make that woman his wife.
But he didn’t have to worry about that, because this wasn’t his wife. This was a ghost, a pale facsimile of the wonderful woman who’d taken his hand in marriage, the woman whom he had spent his years with — and whom he hoped to spend all the rest of his years with.