by Corin Cain
Like most Aurelians, Haratar has never found his Fated Mate. Perhaps he still will, one day – but by now, he must be facing the inevitable truth that he’ll probably live out the rest of his centuries and die without ever tasting the greatest thing an Aurelian can experience – the touch of their one, true, destined partner.
The Inspector looks up at us.
"Daccia. Hadrian. Kitos. You look healthy and well. I see you did not use the entire budget I’d assigned. Good work.” He pauses. “You did secure the prisoner, correct?"
"Yes,” Daccia nods. “She’s in the punishment brig."
"The punishment brig? Not the regular prisoner’s quarters? Why? What did she do?"
Daccia snorts bitterly. "She had an implant, Inspector. She knocked out our Orb-Drive. We'll now be spending twenty-five standard days getting back to Colossus."
By a strange twist of fate, the days of Old-Earth and those of Colossus, the Aurelian home world, are similar in length to within just ten minutes. This is why we use it as a measure of time across all Aurelian-governed worlds.
Inspector Haratar considers Daccia's words. He taps his fingers against his desk – the same habit Daccia has picked up from watching him.
“Twenty-five days,” the Inspector muses, “alone with her.” His imperious face hardens. “You can only keep her in the punishment brig for fourteen days – unless she violates some other ordinance.”
“We’re aware of that, sir.”
The Inspector’s eyes narrow.
“You know her weapons, of course."
I stand to my full height. The only man in the world I want to be proud of me is Inspector Haratar. Everyone else in the ranks tends towards stuffy bureaucracy or political maneuvering, tied with inflexible tradition. Inspector Haratar, on the other hand, is a man dedicated to the rule of law. He’s the only man in charge who’d be so blunt and honest as to bring up the risk Allie poses.
The risk of dishonor at her hands.
"You’ve read her file. You know what she did to those Elites. Allie Tabber’s weapon is that sweet cunt between her legs. She'll do everything she can to take control of you…
“…but we’re not weak-willed beasts, sir,” Daccia interrupts. “We will bring her back to you."
Haratar nods. "Good. The triad she fooled deserved to lose everything. They shouldn’t have let their guard down and allowed a con-artist to take their wealth. Their mistake eroded trust in the Aurelian governance, and they had to be made examples of…”
The Inspector takes a deep breath.
“…but – that being said – they were not bad men. She ruined them, and she must be punished.” His eyes narrow. “Good luck on your journey. Give me weekly updates on your status."
Updates weekly?
This means Haratar feels the need to be reassured that we didn't lose control – that we didn’t violate the law and mate with our prisoner.
The Inspector’s doubt in us stings…
…but, given how I’m constantly imagining having that gorgeous little slut bent over my lap, spanking her gorgeous, round ass with my huge hand… Making her beg to suck my cock…
Well, given how my body reacts with involuntary need for her, I can hardly blame the Inspector. This will be a torturous twenty-five days of travel.
Kitos stands. "We will not fail you, Inspector Haratar. She will be brought to you…” He pauses, before reluctantly adding: “…untouched."
"Good. Safe travels, men."
The feed cuts out before we can bid farewell – but that’s typical of Inspector General Haratar. He always was straight to the point – and never too scared to bring up uncomfortable details.
Daccia turns and looks me dead in the eyes. His slate-grey gaze mirrors mine, but his look is hard as stone right now.
"I know your nature, Hadrian,” our leader warns. “You will not snap, do you understand? If you do, I'll cast you out of this ship."
I clench my fists. Daccia might be our leader, but he doesn’t own me.
"We'll see, Daccia,” I growl. “We'll see."
Daccia opens his mouth to retort – but then an icon lights up on the console.
Daccia glances at it, and furrows his brows.
"It's her. She’s requesting communication."
Kitos sighs. "She is allowed it. Even in the punishment brig, she’s allowed one communication per day, minimum – and we’re obligated to answer."
So, she wants to talk with us. I don't know if I should be here to listen. Just looking at that perfect specimen of human femininity will drive me mad with desire…
…and yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting to see her.
10
Allie
The only things in my cell are my stiff bed, the toilet, the intercom button…
…and my wits.
Those even Daccia can’t take from me – or deactivate.
But the intercom is the only way my wits are going to be useful in this cage.
I know this much. I’ve failed to use their bodies against them... so far…
So now, I must use their pride. Aurelians are many things – but sex and honor are their most exploitable facets.
What I’m planning next is going to fucking hurt. I'll be sore for days, if I even pull this off – but it's my next chance to make them snap.
If they're smart? They'll refuse my plan.
But after that speech Daccia gave me when I was first brought aboard this ship, I’m betting that no matter how smart these Aurelians are – or think they are – their pride will ultimately win out. They’ve made it abundantly clear that I was expected to follow the rules of their law down to the letter…
…that forces them to do the same.
I press the intercom. It beeps once… Twice… Then three times, without an answer.
I tighten my lips. Maybe these Aurelians are smarter than I’d expected. They know that I'm dangerous. They aren't the sort of fools who’d underestimate me. The triad of Elites did that – and Daccia, Kitos and Hadrian will have learned from their mistake.
And yet, as codified in their prisoner transport regulations, I know that even while I’m confined in the punishment brig, I still am allowed one short, pertinent call.
Even Aurelians – a notoriously cold and callous species – view solitary confinement to be a brutal punishment. Strict laws have been implemented to protect prisoners as a result. Even if I’d murdered one of their triad, they’d still be forced to answer my demand for communication.
That’s why the Aurelians pick up on the fourth beep. There’s no visual connection, though – they don’t want to look at me.
"You have thirty seconds to say whatever you need to say," comes the grouchy voice of the Aurelian leader, Daccia. My lips curl. It’s satisfying knowing he must be filled with pent-up need after what he’d witnessed in the med-bay.
Ha! I don't care how much self-control he thinks he has. No Aurelian can see a woman tied up, helpless and naked, and not be on the verge of succumbing to their basest desires.
He might have resisted me so far, but for an Aurelian, desire is like a kettle. The heat and pressure keeps building and building as long as you apply the heat…
…until it explodes.
I am that heat – and I need to strike while kettle is still hot.
"Sir," I murmur to the Aurelians, using a term of submissive respect to further inflame Daccia.
Aurelians crave dominance – so any submission by a human female triggers something deep inside of them. Not just the desire to mate – but the need to protect and cherish. They can’t help it. Aurelians are hardwired that way – and I will twist their brutish minds to suit my own ends.
"Sir," I repeat, "you told me that if I was going to be on your ship, I’d have to follow the rules. You told me that any disobedience would be punished exactly as prescribed by the laws of Aurelian Law Enforcement...” I pause, listening to the silence on the other end of the communication. “So, please,” I beg, “let
me out of this cell. It's inhumane."
There's a longer pause on the line. I can almost see Daccia’s implacable face.
He's not sure what I’m hoping to gain with this request.
"…being in that cell did not prevent you from disabling our Orb-Drive – or trying to escape twice.” Daccia pauses. “I don't trust you, Allie – and that's why we’re keeping you right where you are."
"Please, sir,” I beg, making my voice sound weak. “It's inhumane."
I know Daccia can see right through my act. I know he doesn't think of me as some fragile little human woman – but as a cunning, dangerous criminal. Yet, I can still manipulate his basest instincts.
When an Aurelian hears a human woman crying in distress, it is as though his species is mandated to come to her protection. I know Daccia can’t deny his urge to protect me – just as I can’t help my dark desires to submit to these three fearsomely sexy warriors. I want them – even though they’re planning to throw me in a cell and let me rot for twenty years. I crave their dominance – despite everything…
Hell, I even wish there was a way for me to get it – without losing everything by doing so.
I hear Daccia steel himself. His voice comes through sounding cold and aloof – but I can tell it’s an act. I can tell he’s trying to keep himself analytical and logical.
"The rules,” he states, “prevent inhumane conduct. You have not been shown such conduct.” I can almost hear the strain in his voice as Daccia growls: “You will be fed, watered, and allowed a short communication each day. We will act in accordance with the letter of the law.”
He pauses – as if expecting me to challenge him.
I’ll give that gorgeous bastard no such satisfaction.
He finally speaks again: “If that is all, I’m ending this call."
Gods, I can almost see more by seeing less. The stony, slate-grey eyes of Aurelians give away nothing, but now I’m not blinded by that imperious stare, I hear so much in his voice that I might not have detected before.
Daccia is trying to act the part of the stern leader – but it is an act.
Like every member of his species, Daccia is in a constant war with himself. Aurelians pride themselves on controlling their emotions and being ‘stronger’ than humans. Yet, at the same time, they fight their raging mating instincts constantly, and are slaves to their protective need to claim and own human females.
It’s almost scary, how easy it is to manipulate these powerful warriors when you understand how they’re hardwired.
I lick my lips. Nervousness and adrenaline build up inside me.
Daccia doesn’t realize it – but he's fallen into my trap. He’s admitted that he’ll administer justice exactly as prescribed in the rules and regulations.
"Sir,” I murmur softly, “I can’t bear solitary confinement. I’ll take the other option.”
There is silence from the other end of the intercom.
Ha! You didn’t think I knew about that, did you?
“I’ll take the other option,” I repeat. “As is prescribed for a prisoner in transport. A different type of punishment.” I pause, wetting my lips before I murmur the words: “Corporal punishment."
Seconds pass.
Corporal punishment by an Aurelian is no joke. It runs the gamut from spanking disobedient harem members, to life-threatening slashes with their brutal whips for deserters and cowards. Their species uses pain to punish both their own ranks in the case of disobeying orders, and humans for flaunting rules. More than that – Aurelians run a tight ship.
Finally, Daccia speaks again:
"You don't know what you're asking. Don't make me do this to you."
His voice is hoarse. Suddenly, it hits me. This man doesn't want to harm me – not if at all possible.
In fact, I wonder if Daccia might not actually want to take me to Colossus. I know he’s struggling with his physical desire for me…
…but maybe there’s more.
And that means: Maybe there's another way. Maybe I can explain to Daccia why I stole the money from the triad of Elites – why I tricked them. Maybe he’ll understand why they were disgraced – and how it was all for an ultimately lost cause.
I feel tears well in my eyes. Thank goodness there’s no video feed – that Daccia and the others can’t see my weakness.
But…
If my sister was still here and alive with me, everything would have been worth it.
I steel myself and take a deep breath. I have no regrets. Blood is blood – and I had to do what I did. There’d been no other way – not unless I’d wanted to take on space-pirates and slavers all on my own.
I pause and take another deep breath.
"I know what I'm asking,” I tell Daccia, “and I know – by the law you’ve promised to uphold – you must grant me this request.” I pause. The lack of response is exactly the response I’d been waiting for. “I’ll be out of solitary confinement within the hour,” I tell Daccia.
The intercom suddenly stops flashing.
Daccia ended the call.
Fuck. My plan wasn’t a subtle one – and it had relied on these Aurelians placing their pride and the rule of law above reason...
…maybe these three are smarter than they look.
They must know what I do – that it’s virtually impossible for an Aurelian to punish a human female without getting aroused by it.
I also know that – shameful as it is – my body will react to their dominance, and then they’ll be able to taste my need. My arousal will flood their senses.
They know, as well as I do, that the scent of my arousal will further inflame them…
It will make the three Aurelians lose control – and when they lose control, I win.
They’ll be forced to let me free – since they’ll no longer have any authority to bring me back to Colossus. They’ll have mated with a prisoner – and that is an impropriety that carries severe consequences under law of the Aurelian Empire.
Unless...
Unless they’d maintain their noble pride, and actually turn themselves in.
They’d violate the law – despoil a prisoner – but still deliver her to the Aurelians courts. They’d just also turn themselves in – to stand and face the consequences for their actions.
That’s the danger of gambling with the honor of honorable people – that they live the values they aspire to.
But it's a risk I will have to take. In all honesty, you never know how an Aurelian is going to act. If I manage to seduce Daccia, or even his whole triad, they might realize the consequences of my actions and set me free…
…but there is a chance that they’d be so filled with shame at what they’d done, that all three of them would turn themselves over to the law – and accept hundreds of years inside the Colossus prison in order to redeem themselves.
As I said, though – I have to take that risk. I have to try my plan, even if it looks like it won't work.
So... What's my next move? If they won't follow the rule of law – and deliver the alternative punishment I demanded – there might be something more going on with these aliens. As notorious as they are, Aurelian warriors should be able to resist their basest desires – even when pushed to the brink by someone like me. I’ve seen how close these three towering aliens are to snapping, though. The mental image of Daccia, towering over me while he stroked his massive cock, makes me tremble.
Something is different. These three aliens seem to have a deeper attraction to me than even they understand.
Again, that question appears in my head – the one that’s so absurd I shouldn’t even waste the mental energy considering it…
…but what if I am their Fated Mate?
A shudder runs through me. The Bond between Aurelians and their Fated Mate is the strongest, most irresistible force in the universe. More than that - it’s the only way that the all-male Aurelian race can reproduce. That’s why the Aurelians search the galaxies far and wide for fertile women,
all seeking their own destined mate. It’s why Aurelians gather enormous harems of women, all of whom invariably fail to be their Bonded partner. In the impossibly unlikely event that an Aurelian triad do find their Fated Mate – the one woman the Gods have destined them to be with – the other women of their harem might as well be tables and chairs for all the allure they then have for their Aurelian masters.
In the faint light of my cell, I contemplate the Bond. It is fearful, yes – but it comes with undeniable benefits. On one hand, people claim that it turns women into mindless breeding slaves for their Bonded triad. I believe that. I've seen the holo-vids of the human Queen Jasmine. It appears she’s constantly pregnant – bearing dozens of sons for her trio of Bonded lovers.
And yet, despite being centuries old now, Jasmine still looks twenty-five.
That’s because the Bond greatly extends human life. That’s the sweetest gift of the mysterious connection – and perhaps worth everything else... Perhaps it’s even worth the cost of spending that massively extended lifespan succumbing to the utter dominance of a breeding triad.
The door to my room hisses suddenly open.
I gasp in shock – my heart pounding as Daccia, Hadrian, and Kitos enter to stand in front of me.
The three towering Aurelians aren't wearing their tailored business suits anymore. Instead, each of them is in workout clothes – tight-fitting athletic gear that hugs every sculpted cut their powerful bodies. I can see every defined line of their muscles – not to mention the clearly defined outline of their enormous cocks, bulging obscenely against the thin material of their workout shorts.
I doubt they’re going to the gym, though. These tight-fitting, but comfortable clothes must be what Aurelians typically wear for long interstellar flights...
…or for punishing unruly prisoners.
Perhaps they will be getting a workout after all.
"This way," growls Daccia, his voice strained. He motions with his head, and I follow his directions out of the room.