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Humans are well known to have the flight, fight, freeze response. This one has an additional mode: chaos.
She is not quiet as she runs. This is not a true effort at escape. She is laughing at the top of her lungs, using precious oxygen that could be deployed in the futile effort to outrun me to express her disrespectful mirth.
I have never wanted to discipline anybody as badly as I want to discipline her. My palms itch with the need to make contact with her impertinent flesh. I want to make her sore. I want to make her sorry. I want to make her cry contrite tears.
At some point in this chase, and I cannot be entirely sure when, my irritation becomes anticipation. I can do with this human as I please. I can indulge my dominant urges on her with complete freedom. She is not suitable for sale in her current condition, and she would absolutely never meet my selection requirements for training under normal circumstances. She’s fair game for whatever I choose to do with her. I’m not even going to log her into the inventory.
I might even let her run a little. Tire herself out. She has been sick for a long time. Static for a long time. Whatever muscle tone and fitness she might have had before has abandoned her.
So I let her go.
I let her deplete her limited resources, and I ensure that when I do scoop her up, she is panting and barely able to smile, let alone laugh.
There are specific ways to carry a human in order to make them feel safe and secure. I wrap an arm around her midsection and she cartwheels around in her struggles, ending up with her head toward the ground.
This seems to delight her far more than I intended it to. But that does not matter. My grip is secure, and she is recaptured for the moment.
This human needs so much taming. I do not have the time, and yet I find myself taking it anyway. Perhaps it is because I cannot resist a challenge. Or maybe it is simply that there is nobody else to take care of her. I consider, briefly, the fact that there are soldiers on board, but I have a feeling she would cause chaos in their ranks. Also, the idea of one of those human males laying hands on her makes my stomach turn, but there is no reason for me to feel that way, so I ignore that portion of my reaction I carry her off to my room, where further discipline awaits.
3A COLLAR
My room contains a great many prototypes for pet products. Most of them I have never had any chance to use on a long term basis, not being interested in pets themselves. Humans are a means to an end, a profit stream we have been using to build our family’s fortune after Wrathelder’s strike on my father. I’ve never kept one, and still intend to never keep one. But I can toy with this one for a time.
Several of my more interesting inventions have never had the opportunity to be tested. Arkan considers them too harsh for the soft tempered humans we tend to take as pets, and I agree. I suppose I have been developing tools for a more badly behaved human all along. I have a faint sense of wonder as to why, but then the human takes the chance to try to bite me and I stop questioning my motives and actions. Instead, I focus on dealing with the problem.
“Stop that. Now.”
She has fastened her dull teeth on a particularly scaled portion of my thigh. Our anatomy allows us to resist attacks from much more fearsome creatures than she, so it does no damage, but the impudence cannot be tolerated.
I land a firm slap to her bottom, catching thick, round cheeks with the flat of my palm. It is the most satisfying thing I can do to her. Every time my palm lands, I feel a certain thrill running through the cold core of me. My indifference to humans is turning into something with more heat and charge. In picking the good and the compliant, I may have denied myself the joy of taming the disobedient.
I hear her grunt upside down, the sound coming from somewhere near my knees. In this position, I am barely holding her like an adult woman. I am holding her like a spoiled little animal, which is precisely what she is. She deserves to be spanked. She needs to be disciplined. Thoroughly.
As I carry her into my room, I strip her down. It is easy enough to pull the pants from her body, transferring my grip to the bare skin of her shapely legs. There is no point keeping her clothed. She needs to be naked and exposed. I need to see the effect I am having on her skin. She is tender and she is soft and though I must punish her, I do not wish to damage her. I am responsible, and I will continue to be so, even when handling this unplanned human who is not a pet but will have to be treated as one.
Setting her down the right way up, I grip the hem of her shirt and pull the garment up and over her head. Her hands scramble in the aftermath of the stripping, seeking to cover various sensitive portions of her anatomy. The thick dark hair at the apex of her thighs leaves little to be observed, but she hides it anyway. Her other arm sweeps around her body to cover her nipples. I know from past human captures that human females tend to be sensitive about them, as if having those two buds seen by masculine eyes is a deep shame.
I want to play with her shame. I want to see her cheeks flush as brightly on her face as they do on her bottom. I want her to squirm in front of me and submit to me with all the reluctance in the world. I feel my cock engorging both at the sight of her and the thought of how precious that hard-won submission will be once I have it.
“Give me my fucking clothes back!”
“No,” I growl, my voice low and deep. I sit down on a chair and pull her forward, over my lap yet again. She cannot keep her hands covering her intimate areas now, nor can she stop me from spanking the pink curve of her ass. There is a particular beauty to the way her reddened bottom curves to her thigh. It draws my palm, and I strike that spot, listening to the satisfying sound of my skin on hers, and the resulting yelp of a human who has already taken some small amount of punishment and yet deserves more.
“If you wish to avoid punishment, you first need to avoid misbehavior,” I lecture her. “Biting me will always make you more sore than it does me.”
“Asshole,” she growls, even as my palm paints her ass harder and faster, spanking her firmly as she wriggles and curses and tries to fight against the discipline she so desperately needs and deserves.
“You bit first, human,” I remind her. “And you knew punishment would follow. What is happening to you is what you asked for, and it is what you will get each and every time you act out. I am accustomed to disciplining more well-behaved humans, but you will be tamed and trained as well as any other by the time I am done with you.”
She responds to this set of revelations with a series of curses that do nothing to shorten her punishment. It is not going to be easy to convince her to behave. It will not be a short-term project in any sense.
I spank her until her curses turn to cries, her flesh taking on a deep red, well-punished hue. Every slap is another reminder that her submission is not optional when it comes to me. If she will not give it willingly, it will be taken from her and the price for her disobedience will be paid in pain.
“You’re a monster! You’re cruel! You’re sick!” She complains throughout, though the accusations and labels become significantly less clear as she starts to sob. I speak most human languages fluently. The language of tears is both much more clear and absolutely impossible to understand.
Locking her in place over my lap with one leg over the back of her thighs, I reach for the instrument I had in mind when I brought her in here. In some respects, it is as simple as can be. It might be mistaken for nothing more than a collar.
It is a complex device made in an ornate design that will cover most of her throat, and it has a few tricks to it that traditional collars do not. It contains a tracking beacon, which is not uncommon for higher end collar setups, and a few other functions of my own design. It is actually quite useful to have a wayward human to try some of my more intense disciplinary designs upon.
