Authors: Emily Tilton
Gretchen whispered, “Yes, sir,” and rose from the table to clear the plates away.
He stood there, looking at his naked wife, and he realized that his idea of exchanging those vows with her had made a kind of roiling stew of emotions inside him that he had not expected and which he could not yet control. One of them seemed to drive him to get up behind his girl on the bed, without a word or a caress, and take her, cock in cunt, long and hard until Gretchen sobbed in submissive discomfort and begged him to come inside her. It seemed to drive him to make sure she didn’t enjoy sex with her new master any more than he could help it, and to bind her hands behind her after he fucked her so that she could not touch herself naughtily, and give herself the kind of pleasant feeling that truly belonged not to her but to Martin, because its purpose was to ensure that she have a baby put inside her. No, that part of him thought, that pussy must feel pleasure only in order that the girl submit to her master, and bear him strong children.
Fear
. The realization came as a shock to Martin, who had never, as far as he could remember, been afraid of anything. Truly, aboard Athena no real dangers existed after a child had passed the early days of terror at the unknowns, but when the time came for his extra-station training, which every Athenian young adult, boys and girls together, had to do, going outside in small groups of space-suited elites for the routine maintenance check, Martin had been one of the few young men not to hesitate at all. He hadn’t prided himself on it, because fear didn’t indicate a fault of character, and all his nervous age-mates had of course done the same spacewalk he had done. But he had always nevertheless felt a self-satisfaction about his ability to face reality without the irrational if unavoidable emotion clouding his judgment.
But now he was afraid of the relict girl he had taken as his wife. No, not of her—not at all, really, of her. He knew that if Gretchen went to the relict administration board with a tale of his strange behavior in regard to cohabitation, she could have herself taken away from him and re-auctioned. That didn’t scare him—it didn’t really even bother him.
What scared him was the way he felt two entirely distinct impulses toward her: the impulse to cherish and the impulse to have. He had thought that the two would meld inside him into love, but instead they seemed to be diverging ever wider, and the having impulse, because it seemed to him less complicated, dominated:
over the pillows, girl, so I can fuck you again. So I can show you that your pleasure doesn’t matter.
He remembered something Fred Gramling had said in a briefing for the previous year’s taking—an offhand remark in a conversation about the charms of different girls, and in particular the speakers’ preferences in the color of their girls’ pussies.
“As long as I can be sure she’s not liking it too much when I fuck her, I’ll take pink or brown—or green, for that matter.” The man and woman to whom he said it had chuckled, as if they knew exactly what he meant, but Martin had felt mystified, though even then something in his libido had seemed to resonate with the monstrous idea.
Treat her right.
Subjugate her, and make it absolutely clear to your girl that she belongs to you.
Martin strode to the bed and climbed upon it. Gretchen gave a little gasp of surprise; her face had been turned away, towards the opposite wall, as he had commanded. Why had he commanded it? Because he wanted to
have
her. More, because he wanted to
take
her—to take her away even from herself.
That thought shot through his fevered mind as he put the head of his cock at the entrance to the little cunt that he knew must still be very sore. Gretchen cried out at the feeling, as Martin moved his cock up and down. His girl was not getting wet, yet. That was fine. He got off the bed and took the lube from where he had placed it on his night table, anointed himself with it. He climbed back onto the bed and crouched over the lovely backside, lodged his cock, thrust in hard and entered the velvet sheath made for fucking, instantly beginning to thrust in and out in long, hard strokes as the girl wailed beneath him with the discomfort of the taking.
Holding her hips firmly to keep the wayward bottom still, Martin took his pleasure in the tight little cunt, his feet planted on either side of her knees and his eyes fixed on the surging of his manhood into his girl’s swollen pussy. The tender, cherishing impulse vanished entirely for the long moments in which he felt himself get harder and closer to coming, the more Gretchen sobbed and the clearer it became that this fucking represented an act of pure mastery, which would teach the girl her place in the social order of Martin’s home: wife or not, he owned her, and he would decide what her cunt was good for.
Frenzied at the dominant thought, he pulled out of her pussy and presented his cock to the little pink ring of her anus. He pushed firmly, and Gretchen cried out, her bottom tightening against him. Martin leaned back, still holding her left hip in his left hand, and spanked her hard, three times, on her prim, taut bottom-cheeks, as she yelped in surprise and pain. Still in silence, he got the lube, and brought it to the disobedient backside to teach the girl the lesson she needed to learn.
He poured lube onto his fingers, and presented them to the little aperture. Brooking no delay, he entered her there with two fingers, as another wail escaped her lips. For a minute or two he worked her bottom hard with his fingers, until he had taught the little muscle there its first lesson in opening to a master’s authority. With his lubed fingers he stroked his cock again, to get it ready to claim his girl-wife’s anus as his own.
Again he crouched astride, and again he pressed at the little ring with the head of his cock.
Then, suddenly, Gretchen gave the same long, low moan she had made on Earth, in the Hall of Taking, and, just as he watched her bottom open to him at last, and felt the terrible pleasure of her tightness there gripping his cock, something seemed to change. The tenderness seemed to rush back in, now that his manhood possessed her in her most private place, the place where she would feel no pleasure unless he allowed it, and where he would make no baby:
his
place, on his new wife’s body.
“Thank you, sir,” Gretchen whispered. “Does my bottom feel good?”
But the
having
part was still there, and he did not answer but rather pushed deeper inside the little anus. “Hush, now, girl,” he said, “and keep your backside nice and still for me to fuck.”
“Yes, sir,” Gretchen said into the sheets. “Thank you, sir.”
And then the fear, because the tenderness welled up, too, and he realized that he wanted his wife to love him, and feared that if he had her the way he wanted—if he
fucked
her the way he wanted—she could not love him.
The realization came to him in a flash, as he looked down at his cock engulfed in the lovely backside of his girl-wife, and felt how delicious it was to fuck her this way, and heard in his mind again the words he had just spoken:
hush, now, girl, and keep your backside nice and still for me to fuck
.
Feeling nearly mad with the sheer sensation of anal sex with his lovely eighteen-year-old, Martin marshalled his thoughts at last under the command of his raging erection, and began to fuck the little bottom, ensuring its stillness and obedience with his hands once again on Gretchen’s hips. The little sobs of her discomfort began again, but Martin simply fucked on, deeper and deeper, watching in rapture as his cock came and went in the place nature had not designed for it and, by an effort of mental will, pushing away the very idea of it mattering whether Gretchen loved him.
Then, just as Martin knew he would come very soon inside his girl’s bottom, a strange thing happened. His attention, so firmly fixed till then on the surging of his cock in and out of her anus, was drawn suddenly to the way her little hands were clenching and unclenching, as she gasped out her submissive little cries, and then, in a convulsive way he knew she must not be able to control, or perhaps even be aware of, they reached back, and the right one touched her master’s leg, as the left one failed to find anything and grasped at the air.
Martin did not know why that simple touch moved him so, unless it was because it seemed to show that Gretchen wanted to feel his mastering presence not just in her private parts but with her fingers. The sensation itself was so light and simple, above all in comparison to the lewd sensation of his cock, and of his balls as they came up against her little pussy, that it seemed paradoxical, how it touched off his orgasm, making him hold her bottom firmly in his hands as his loins jerked in their irregular climactic rhythm, and he growled out his pleasure in the spurting of his seed upon the infertile soil of his girl-wife’s rump.
Gently he pulled out, trying to puzzle out what the little gesture meant to him, and to her, who had made it, touching him without permission, but clearly also without intention, in that strangely intimate way. At that mental effort, the tenderness suddenly rushed back in, and he gave an involuntary little gasp as he contemplated what he had done, and the way he had fucked the girl he had, by his own devices, married, promising to love her and to cherish her, only a few hours before.
He pulled the pillows out from under Gretchen’s hips, trying not to see the
having
sight of his seed trickling out of her anus. He gently rolled her onto her side and climbed into bed, so that they were facing one another. She looked into his face, and now he succumbed to his anxiety.
“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked.
Gretchen’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir?” she said, but it was a question rather than an affirmation.
I’ve ruined it,
he suddenly thought.
I had a chance, and I’ve ruined it. She’s afraid of me now.
His mind ran in circles, trying to find a way out; some way to make it clear that she need not fear him.
But shouldn’t she fear him, after what he had just done? The way he had hurt her?
No, there was no way out. He could not be the tender husband, because the powerful, having husband would always be there, waiting.
Well, plenty of wives in history have feared their husbands rather than loving them. So be it.
“Did I hurt your bottom?” He made his voice sound callous, so that his wife would know he didn’t really care.
But I do really care.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Good,” Martin said. “That was your first lesson in opening to me. I hope you learned it well. If you’re a good girl, it will get easier.”
“Yes, sir.” Her eyes left his face and traveled downward. The
having
part of him felt a little thrill of arousal to know that she was looking at his cock.
“Go get a soapy washcloth. You’ll clean my cock now.”
She looked back up into his eyes, startled.
“You got it dirty, Gretchen, and you must clean it. Then you will suck it.”
As she got out of bed to obey him, the same confusion came onto her face that had been there after he had taken her maidenhead, and had then turned cruel, just as he had turned cruel now.
If you must fear me, fear me. So be it. I am your master, and I don’t need your love: I need only your obedience, and the uses and pleasures your body can afford me.
Gretchen left the room, and with her went all of Martin’s resolve to rule her with an iron rod. He knew, watching her departing back, her departing bottom with the little trickle of semen now on the back of her left thigh, that he must not show her that cruel side of his nature again. No, he would be tender, and he would cherish her, from now on.
When she returned with the washcloth, her eyes downcast, Martin said, “I’m sorry, my dear. I’m being unjust.” He stood, and gently took the washcloth from her. She looked up into his eyes, biting her lower lip, clearly very confused. “You may go back to your room,” he said. He kissed her on her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you very much for your submission tonight.”
“But… sir? May I not sleep with you, in your bed?”
The temptation felt huge, but Martin knew that his
having
side would come out, and he would be cruel to her again. He would wake her in the night and fuck her—make her suck his cock, make her take him in her ass again. And he knew now that he must not let that happen: he had taken her as his wife, and even if that was a foolish decision, he must honor its meaning.
“No, my dear,” he said. “You must get your rest.”
Chapter Seventeen
Beth saw Gretchen, in Poseidon Park, before Gretchen saw her. Though she felt a little self-conscious about the butt-plug harness she had to wear as part of her anal training, she ran over to where Gretchen sat on a bench, looking up at the branches of the oak tree under which the bench stood.
“Gretchen!” she said.
Gretchen’s face, which had been so contemplative, broke into a smile as she saw Beth. “Beth!” Her eyes went to Beth’s harness. “What…”
“It’s my training harness,” Beth said glumly, sitting down beside her on the bench.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess,” Gretchen said. “I mean, who would have thought I’d be walking around naked… and… you know.”
“Bare?” Beth whispered.
Gretchen nodded.
“It’s definitely taken a few weeks to get used to,” Beth said.
“Especially the part where the elites can inspect you whenever they want. My master has this neighbor who likes to make me wet whenever he sees me in the hall. He makes me bend over and touch my toes, and then… well, you can guess.”
Beth wondered if she heard in Gretchen’s voice a note not only of mortification but of something more positive—a little pride, even.
“We get a lot of that at the club,” Beth said. “Elites—or at least the ones who are members of the Maenad Club—seem to really like to make us feel like they’re in charge.”
“What is it like?” Gretchen asked, fascinated. “At the club, I mean?”