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“Let’s do that part. Let’s do that right now.”
She stands up and opens her arms, not in a gesture that invites a hug, but in one that challenges me to do something. It is a very strange expression, one that invites damage of a kind she would not survive. This human is banking on my self-control, and she does not know me well enough to do that.
I extend a hand, which with my fingers spread, covers the entirety of her chest, and nudge her gently back into the chair.
“Sit down,” I growl at her.
“I thought you were going to make me scream and cry for mercy.”
“I am. But I don’t have to touch you to do that. I can tell you what the next years of your life are going to look like if you don’t give me what I want. You will be taken from this room, and you will be put into one of the interior cells. There is no natural light there, but you will adjust to the lower lighting that comes from the occasional torch or perhaps if nature blesses you, fireworm so you’ll be able to see time as it slips away from you.
You’ve lived a life among the stars, but I promise you, you will never see their glow again. You will end your days underground, far from adventure, with nothing in the way of excitement. You will not plunder anything. You will not cause chaos. You will not enjoy the company of others. You will sit and you will exist until there’s nothing but existence left. Until the hours turn into years, and you cannot tell the difference. Until you wither, and until finally, nothing is left but what was.”
She has been listening as I speak, her pretty human eyes locked on mine. They are so perfectly round, both her pupils and the green hue around the exterior of them. They give her a slightly innocent appearance, or a perpetual expression of surprise. I don’t think she’s either surprised or innocent. In fact, the corners of her lips are turning up as I finish speaking, almost as if I have amused her.
“I don’t believe you.”
That sentence takes me aback, though perhaps it shouldn’t. She is going to be difficult to discipline. Perhaps impossible. But I’ve dealt with much larger, much more intense, much more dangerous creatures than this one. She’s just a human. Just a small female human. I can handle her.
Why is she smiling?
She opens her mouth and begins her retort — and what a retort it is.
“I stole your bike. I know you like flashy things. I know you are a creature of status and of display. You want to own me just like you owned that bike. And that means you want others to see me. You want me out and about. I’m no good to you languishing in a dungeon getting old. You’ve capturedSullivan O’Shannassay: scourge of the skies. You’ve stripped me down and you’ve found all my little tools and toys. I don’t believe, for a second, that I will ever see the inside of one of your dungeons.”
She pauses for a brief moment, her eyes flashing with rebellion and excitement as she uses the energy from her little speech to further gas herself up, riding high even in captivity.
“And you know what, Thorn? I usually wouldn’t point this out, because it’s the sort of thing that’s very useful for me to know, and for you to have no idea I know. But the little scenario you just tried to scare me with? That’s not my greatest fear. That’s yours. Good to know, thanks for the very detailed description. I’m sure that’ll be handy one day.”
She sits back, smirking broadly, as smug now as she was when I first found her in the remains of the Ground Bar. She should be trembling before me, begging for mercy and lenience, but for some reason best known to her own twisted human psychology, truly seems to be enjoying this predicament.
Talking to her does nothing. You cannot argue her into submission. You cannot intimidate her with words. Maybe whipping her deserving little ass will have a greater effect. And if that doesn’t work, she has three very tender places I can thoroughly dominate, and I intend to do so.
Having just pushed her back down into a seated position, I now reach out, grab the front of her shift in a big fist of fabric, and draw her toward me. In my hands she is as helpless as a ragdoll. I feel her weight, a solid but ultimately handleable amount of heft. I will tame each and every ounce of her.
I take the seat she just vacated, and I pull her over my lap. Taking the hem of her dress in my hands, I tear it from the hem all the way up to the nape, exposing every delicious, creamy curve of her human form. She utters a little gasp as she feels herself bared in this primal way, indicating that she’s not entirely immune to my actions after all.
As she comes into view, I find my energy shifting slightly. I started to dominate her out of a deep need to control this wild little thing, but now seeing her naked, I am feeling a host of other impulses. She really is a beautiful thing to behold. She’s so soft. Every inch of her is a precious little piece of art. When I touch her, I feel her warmth. There is a fire in this creature, a small inferno that never abates and does not exist inside me. We are cold-blooded creatures. We rely on the big burning balls in the sky to keep us alive. But this girl, all she needs is food and light and air, and she is able to burn inside and out. I want to press her against me in all her naked glory. I want to feel her heat pressed against me, and I want to feel it wrapped around me. I want to be deep inside her. I want to know what every part of her feels like when I am inside her.
Sullivan
His rough hand runs over my back and ass with surprising gentleness. I really thought he was going to beat the absolute hell out of me, but he is caressing me, which is almost worse. I feel myself start to squirm over his big, strong lap, his hard thighs pressing intermittently against very sensitive and now very exposed parts of my anatomy. He’s wearing what must pass for leather pants on this world. They’re not smooth skin, they have a certain grain and texture to them that I feel rubbing roughly against me. I’m used to being covered by my suit. I very rarely take it off, with the exception of showering. I certainly have not been grinding against any alien men lately, no matter what I told him. There’s no way I’d admit that it has been a long spell since I’ve had any intimacy.
“You’re such a soft little thing physically,” he murmurs. “And such a tough little thing psychologically. What will it take to break you, I wonder?”
His hand lifts away for a moment, then returns with a swift, sharp, stinging smack that jolts my hips against his thigh and makes my clit grind against the ridges of his pants. I let out an involuntary gasp and hear his chuckled reply. He will relish each and every little sign of weakness he gets from me. I can use that to my advantage.
Again he spanks me, and again I feel the sting and the heat and the shame flash through me. This creature has a strange effect on me.
I want to moan, and I let myself moan. I know I’m getting wet.
“Soaked,” he growls, and somehow the hot flash of embarrassment still rushes through me, even though I planned for that to happen.
“I know what you like,” he says. “I know you like to be chased. I know you like to be caught. And I know you like to be punished. That’s why you’re such a badly behaved little thing, isn’t it?”
With every word, his palm whacks me hard and my clit grinds against his thigh, and my pussy clenches tight, wanting something I know he’s going to give me. I ache for him.
“I knew you weren’t going to be easy to handle,” he continues. “I came prepared with my own set of tricks.”
