The Alien's Captive (8 page)

He brushed away a tear. “There will be other chances,” he said. “But you must learn to obey, little Phaedra. Until you learn to control yourself, you will only take release when I allow it.”

He raised himself up, and Phaedra looked away, relieved that at least the lesson was over. But to her horror, she realized it was not. The leonine head of her master was now working itself between her legs, even as she tried to draw her pussy away from the seeking mouth that found and captured it.

Phaedra’s body jolted as she found herself helpless once again to a man whose tongue was as adept as his fingers. The tip of it alternately flicked and swirled around her clit. The stubble of his chin was rough where it grazed her thighs. His hands were under her, squeezing her tender bottom in time with the pulsing of her pussy.

“Mmmm…” he murmured against her, and she felt a surge of pleasure, but again, just as she crested, he denied her, leaving her once again in tears.

“Why?” She was sobbing, the ache in her lower regions verging on painful. “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you,” he said. “You lack control. You must learn to control yourself.” He paused. “What do you want?”

She thought of a hundred things: home, freedom, her old life, blue sky, daylight, one moon… but those were all unattainable. There was only one thing she could achieve, if he would only let her. She looked at him. “I want release,” she said.

Bron unsnapped her cuffs and then sat back on his heels. “Then I will give it to you, but you may take it only when I command you. Otherwise, I will deny you for a hundred nights as I’ve done on this one.”

Was he serious? She couldn’t be sure. But the notion of one more night like this was too much to fathom. So she nodded.

“Spread your legs,” he said. Now she obeyed willingly, not caring that she was compliant and exposed. “Touch yourself.”

She stared at him from between her knees. He wanted
her
to do it? To masturbate in front of him? She flushed. Years earlier, she’d had a boyfriend who’d begged her to touch herself while he watched. She’d dumped him. Phaedra was no prude, but saw no appeal in bringing herself off in front of someone else.

“I can’t with you watching,” she said.

But Bron was unmoved. “Soon you will touch yourself with hundreds watching. And then, as now, you will release at your own touch.”

“I can’t,” she said, tears beginning anew.

“You will,” he said. “Because I own you, little human. I own every inch of you, so I own the pussy and the hands that touch it. Your hands are as my hands when I direct them. Put your fingers on your hungry little pearl.”

Your hands are as my hands.
Phaedra slid her fingers between her legs, and with Bron watching, began to do as he directed. She spread her labia as he ordered, with two fingers on each silken nether lip, and used her other hand to stroke up and down on her clit with just the prescribed pressure. With every few strokes he had her push her fingers inside, where she encountered slick heat. He was staring so intently, his huge cock lengthening, and as her hands followed his words she felt her pleasure building again.

“I want to come!”

“Not yet,” he said, and ordered her to breathe to focus on riding her wave, on controlling it, on controlling her pleasure.

“Good, little one, good,” he said when she felt the wave subside and then return with a vengeance when he commanded her to press her pearl with the pad of her fingers, to drive her hips into them.

“You’re so close,” he said. “So close. Hold. Hold… now!”

Never before had an orgasm been so cathartic. Phaedra felt as if she were exploding, and when she looked at Bron, his eyes were locked on hers as if he were inside her, and she felt a connection so strong it scared her. Her hips were bucking into her own hand.

Bron moved over her, his muscular arms framing her. He smiled as he looked down into her flushed face. “Very good, my pet. See, you can control yourself. Even in captivity, you have more control than you know.”

Her eyes widened. She’d thought him cruel, but now she realized that his lesson had not been an exercise in humiliation, but in empowerment.

“Your submission to me is a gift,” he said. “Even here. And what’s more, it is an art, a skill. Do you understand?” She nodded, fascinated as he continued.

“I could have handed you over for training. But they would have only broken you. What I break, my sweet one, I rebuild.” He sank back on his heels, taking her hand. “You did well. I am proud. Very soon, when you scream your release, it will be with my sword inside your sheath.”

Phaedra looked down. His cock, so human except for its phenomenal girth and length, was pointed at her, as if seeking the promised warmth of her pussy. She felt the familiar twinge begin again, but—to her surprise—restrained it.

“Would you like that?” he asked, noting her gaze.

She did not answer. She did not have to. Phaedra knew her look of longing said it all.

Chapter Eight

Control.

Bron was pleased that he’d taught Phaedra some mastery of herself. But he knew she’d never know how close he’d come to losing his own when he’d been face-deep between her legs, his tongue swirling through her intoxicating nectar.

It had taken every fiber of his resolve not to rise up, lift her hips, and sink himself to the hilt in her hot little chamber.

Never had a female driven him so mad. Nor had one intrigued him so.

He’d been furious when she’d spoken out in front of Senator Primus. He immediately recognized the damage, even if she didn’t. It had been several hours since he’d pulled her from the training chamber, but Bron knew the story of the outspoken general’s pet had been recounted a hundred times by now, and likely embellished. Turning on the InfoBoards only confirmed his suspicions.

Daily broadcasts on the elite and their human pets had been a boon for the political class, who kept viewers engaged with the novelty of these beautiful alien slaves. Traoians were hungry for any information on the training and showing of humans, which were often pitted against one another for the amusement of the elite. Today’s training update showed a shot of Bron and Phaedra, followed by an interview with Senator Primus, who pretended to be sympathetic as he embellished on what had happened.

“I was surprised,” he said. “And concerned. General Bron is a leader of men, yet he could not handle an Earth pet who railed at me and then turned on him. It was as if he was afraid of her…” He looked down at his own pet, who dropped her eyes and wrapped her arms around his leg. “It seems these creatures instinctively know when a male is fit to lead… and when one isn’t.”

Bron switched off the board and sighed, running his hand through his short black hair. Phaedra was still sleeping in his bed, where she’d been since he’d ordered her to nap. After a moment, he stood and walked over to the window, gazing out at the plains of Krimea and the mountains beyond.

He’d been a young soldier when he’d fought his first battle, had made his first kill before he’d comprehended the impact of war or even what he was fighting for. Age and experience had sobered the bloodlust ingrained into young fighting Traoians. By the time he’d become general, Bron was determine to balance the fighting instinct of his troops with an appreciation for the cost of war. It was no game, and power seized through force, he had observed, often became too top heavy to sustain.

It was a message lost on politicians like Senator Primus, who had promoted a war culture on Trao X39 even though his time of military service had long passed.

At first, the senate’s arguments for expanding its reach had been sound.

Other civilizations in the galaxy, Primus and others had argued, were warring among themselves. Without Traoian intervention, they’d destroy each other and the resources the Traoians needed in trade. Trao X39’s powerful military could police these disputes, help establish peaceful governments and the Traoians would benefit from this arrangement by availing themselves of resources handed over by whatever side they had backed.

But the regional galactic intervention soon expanded. Conquered civilizations like the Savusians were encouraged to continue their slave trade with the cooperation of Trao X39, and soon live cargo was among the resources the Traoians were importing. But still, the leaders wanted more.

General Bron and other leaders stepped forward, unnerved by the increased risk to troops being sent to more distant planets. He especially objected to the taking of slaves, most of whom were sent to other conquered planets to help mine the resources or—in some cases—pressed into service for the new elite ruling class the Traoians established there.

It had been the Krillinian Wars that had tipped the scale for Bron. The senators had voted for war, but it was unlike any other campaign. The Krillinians were savage, and the Traoians had to call in troops they’d trained on other conquered planets.

It was on the red sands of Krillinian that Bron had nearly lost his life. Long talks with the doctor who saved him gave him a better understanding of the deep galactic resentment the Traoians were garnering. They were making enemies, and Bron knew that even their forced alliances were tenuous. The endless campaigns were costly; the average Traoian was finding life to be harder while the ruling class seemed to prosper. Even technology, like the time portal to Earth—one of several planets they’d been able to travel to using this technique—was being exploited to procure novelty slaves for the ruling class. When Bron argued that the direct procurement of Earth slaves would make the Traoians no better than Savusians, the leaders argued that he was wrong, since it was through trade rather than abduction.

As the military continued to be stretched thin, the rift grew. The concerned minority realized they’d never halt the tide of war by an increasingly arrogant ruling class without a candidate who could speak to the dangers of military expansion.

General Augustus Bron had all the qualifications. Educated, handsome, and respected as a military leader, he was a dream candidate for the opposition—a hero sacrificing his officer status to save his nation as a senator.

Then the human pets arrived, and became a distraction timed for the ruling party’s convenience. The elite snatched them up, paraded them about, and made them available to the press. Attention was fixated on these exotic status symbols, with males who acquired them gaining instant admiration from their peers.

General Bron’s gaze fell on the sleeping form of the pet slumbering on his bed, a pet he’d reluctantly agreed to acquire to shore up his own political fortunes. When he made his pick, he could have chosen a compliant female. But he’d chosen Phaedra, drawn in large part by her fire.

She’d embarrassed him this day, and Bron had taught her a lesson on the very bed where she now lay exhausted from his mastery. But he’d learned something as well. The little human drew his dominance like no other, had magnified it. Desire for her swam hot in his blood, but so did his worry. He realized that training would deepen a bond he now knew was impossible to deny.

A rap on the door tore his attention away. It was Jollin.

“Is there anything you need, general? Should I take the girl back to her quarters?”

Bron looked back at the bed. “No,” he said. “She’ll stay here tonight.”

“Very good, general.”

The door shut and Bron walked to the bed. He was careful as he lowered himself onto the mattress. Lifting the coverlet, he looked down, watching Phaedra’s ribcage rise and fall. He would lay with her, feel her warmth, but first he would attach the leash back to her collar and hook it to the bed. She must not forget she was a slave, he told himself. He must not forget it, either.

Chapter Nine

He trained her privately after that, in his chambers, even as the InfoBoard broadcasts devoted to pets lit up with speculation about why General Bron and his pet were no longer participating in the popular public training sessions. Bron had made three significant policy speeches addressing military overreach, but all anyone seemed to be talking about was his defiant human.

Rumors swirled about their absence from the public arena. “It’s a behind the scenes struggle, according to sources, a struggle the general is losing,” a broadcaster said. “Some say that, unable to control his small but wild pet, the opposition candidate for Senator Primus’ seat is now in a mad scramble to acquire a pet that he can actually control.”

Phaedra, who was allowed to watch the InfoBoards, was surprised at how similar the media and politics on Trao X39 were to media and politics on Earth. Traoians were just as easily manipulated as humans. And she didn’t have to be a political insider to know how her behavior had harmed her master, or who was spreading the rumors about him. Reports like these were always followed by an interview with Senator Primus, whose numbers were rising despite the fact that he was eschewing policy speeches and spending most of his time in the training arena. Dakara was always at the senator’s side when the press was around, meekly and silently staring up at him, often clutching his leg, as if her very existence depended on his approval.

“I do hope that General Bron will return to the arena,” Senator Primus said. “I can appreciate the concern of those who wonder how a man can lead a nation through such perilous times if he can’t even lead a human.”

For Phaedra, the reports were more than salacious entertainment. Bron had not shared everything about his political race, but she had divined enough from the televised appearances of his opponent to know that the general was a better man.

The training was easier for her in private, and in the wake of his lesson. In their chambers, Bron continued to teach Phaedra to control her orgasms, and from this she gained greater control of the rest of her body. Soon she had mastered all nine of the positions, moving fluidly from one to the other.

Ironically, the mastery of her own body coincided with a desire to please her trainer, even if she was still resentful of her captivity. Phaedra realized over time that Bron was not cruel, only strict, and that she had nothing to fear so long as she obeyed him.