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Her throat was tight. Her face hot, palms sweaty. Her instinct was to endure whatever he had planned by mirroring his stoicism. Perhaps punctuated with a cheeky barb here and there.
But her defiance got the better of her. At least, she wanted to believe it was defiance, and not desire, that made her reply, “Does it?” in a flippant tone.
“It does,” he replied. “Tell me, Quaia. Do you feel yourself to be aroused?”
The question warmed and melted her insides. She knew, as well as he did, that the results of the drone’s scan did not lie. She also knew he already knew the answer. Making her say it was just another way of dominating her.
And she, in turn, wanted to provoke more of it. Why else would she say, “Being so clever, you’re obviously aware of the connection between pain and oxytocin release. If I appear aroused to your computer, I’d suggest that you smacking my ass with that thing probably had something to do with it, yeah.”?
Her eyes widened in disbelief at what she’d said. It was like someone else had been directing her voice.
As well as her own submissive position and abject humiliation, she could see the captain from many angles. Her chest felt cool and emptied as his features changed in response to her answer. Amusement flickered on his lips and in his eyes before a cool focus hardened his features. The rod in the mirror moved, and so when the crack of the object against her skin rang in her ears, she was already anticipating it.
Clenching for it. Heat—real heat—flashed across her entire rear where the rod struck her. She heard a stifled yelp escape her throat. Sharp pain sizzled along the line of the rod, replaced by heat again, and then spread out.
Much in the same way her own longing had done, the warmth reached deep between her legs and joined the ache already pulsing there. She shuddered as she felt her womanhood get warm and liquefy, her juices snaking in a thin river down one inner thigh.
She became suddenly more aware of how lewdly her legs were splayed apart. Her naked, unprotected core felt dangerously vulnerable and entirely at the mercy of this large alien’s whim.
She saw his reflection in the mirror ahead. Her flesh trembled even as she willed it not to when he moved, but he was only leaning forward. Her bottom still shrieked at her in pain, but it was pleasurable, itching for more.
He leaned over her, his nostrils flaring just above her neck, and drew in a deep breath, surprising her. Disappointing her, even. She craved more.
“The drone is helpful for recording and documenting these proceedings, certainly. I have no need for its insights into the matter. I can smell your excitement.” He stood back up, and the rod whistled through the air and connected with the soft flesh just under her gluteal crease.
There was a new and delicious sensation that came with this—this place was even more sensitive. It was a place where she was vulnerable to tickling, where her flesh was weak and soft. Where she longed to be stroked.
Now that Torian set it on fire, it made tears well up in her eyes and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from screaming. But the pain was wrapped up in a pleasure so intense she felt like she needed to shake it away from herself.
Her body shook from head to toe, and she bent forward slightly at the waist, doing her best to endure the pain without a grimace. She caught Torian’s eye in the mirror, and the image was blurred by the tears that had erupted in her eyes.
He held her gaze for a long while before turning and walking back to his desk. He reached under it and pulled out two oblong shapes, whitish in color. He walked back to where she was standing and set them on the floor in between her feet. “Step into those,” he ordered.
She looked down at the blobs that appeared to be silicone. They were roughly the shape of her feet but had no holes to step into. “I don’t…”
“Trust me,” he said quietly.
The two quiet words filled her with an eerie calm. She raised her right foot and pressed it down against one of the shapes. The blob shifted, surrounding her foot and closing around it until it was snugly in place. She did the same with her left foot and was soon standing straight, naked except for the two cozy slippers.
“Lift,” Torian said.
“Lift? I…” She nearly lost her balance as the backs of the shape-shifting shoes started to rise. She was forced to lean against the table as they pushed her heels up, causing her back to arch and her chest to thrust out even further. Her heels were soon three or four inches higher than her toes, straining her hamstrings. She looked at her reflection in the mirror; this had caused her feminine curves to become even more pronounced.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now stand up straight.”
Pulling her hands off the table made her wobble. She’d seen many a noble wearing these ridiculously shaped shoes but had never set foot in a pair herself. She preferred heavy boots with steel toes for working in the hangar.
“Good. Now walk to the desk, please,” Torian ordered.
Unsteady at first, she turned, feeling like she was about to topple over at any moment. It took a few steps, but she eventually found her balance and teetered over to the desk. A glance in the mirror revealed Torian following her with his eyes. And two bright red slashes across her skin, the sight of which delivered another electrifying thrill that went directly to her pussy and heightened the ache.
She barely reached the desk without tumbling. She knew she should feel indignant and humiliated, but there was a part of her that was enjoying the spectacle. The stare of Torian on her body, the promise of more humiliation to come.
His eyes seemed to be drawn, hungrily, to the marks he had left on her bottom. When he spoke, his voice was distracted, clinical; it was as if he was reciting words while his thoughts went to another place.
“Reach into the second drawer from the top. Pull out the implement, please.”
She reached into the drawer, trembling. Obeying the orders of a man, while teetering in nonsense shoes. The real, true humiliation of enjoying this made the back of her neck hot.
