The Alien's Captive (9 page)

When he was away, she listened, fascinated, to one of his speeches on the InfoBoard and was struck by how his vision mirrored that of her own concerns regarding military overreach on earth. He was a moral leader, she realized, and his opponent was using her public behavior against him.

But there was another reason Phaedra wanted to please Bron. Just the brush of his fingers caused her body to quiver and her pussy to flood with arousal. He drove her wild, playing her body like an instrument as he brought her to the peak and then ordered her to delay her fulfillment, the control in his voice making it so hard. Phaedra was realizing that his dominance excited her, and her fantasies were filled with the promise he had not yet kept—to fill her with his mighty cock.

On the nights he was away and left her alone, she yearned for his touch. On one such night, she returned, freshly perfumed, from a session with Matron Sharad only to be taken to her lonely room. Usually, Bron took her after such a session, driving her to peak after peak of ecstasy as he licked and nibbled her perfumed flesh. His absence left her with an almost painful need.

In her frustration, she’d sought to pleasure herself, only to be frustrated by the little cap only his touch could remove.

He came to her the next morning, and—eager to please—she sank to her knees, arched her back, and spread her legs. The presentation position was not easy to master, and she waited for what she hoped would be a word of praise. But when Bron spoke, his tone was stern.

“You’ve been touching yourself.”

His tone chilled her.

Phaedra looked at Bron from over the top of her body. How did he know? She swallowed hard. “Your soft skin is red by the shield.” He was kneeling to peer at her as he spread her outer labia with his finger.

Her face flushed red as she moved her gaze to the ceiling.

“Why is the shield there, my pet?” he asked. “What have I taught you?”

“That I am to only receive pleasure at your hand,” she said quietly.

“Do you deny you are touching yourself?”

Phaedra was cramping from the position. Her legs were beginning to shake, but still she held it as she answered. “No.”

“Supine position.”

She obeyed, trembling now. She’d heard that tone in his voice before.

Once she was in position, Bron reached down and picked her up. They were in his personal training chamber, where the raised dais where he sat observing her positions loomed over the floor mat she practiced on. But now he was taking her across the room to an L-shaped table that rose from the floor. Phaedra tried not to panic as Bron bent her over it and hooked her wrist cuffs to the ends. There were ankle cuffs on the bottom, and he spread her legs before securing them.

“I expect obedience from you even when we are not together,” he said. “Obedience in every moment.” A panel opened on the side of the table. There were several small, oval probes with flanged ends. Bron withdrew one now, and Phaedra looked back in trepidation.

She winced as he moved it between her legs, then gasped as he ran it up across the cleft of her pussy, stopping when the tip of it reached the pucker of her anus. Phaedra felt the ring of muscles tighten as Bron wordlessly pushed the rounded end of the probe against her bottom hole, then gave a little cry when she realized she could not resist the breach. The probe, roughly the size of a man’s forefinger, caused Phaedra no pain as it slid in, its flanged end holding it snugly in place.

“Since this is your first offense, the sting will only be a Level 2.” He delivered the words like a judicial sentence.

And then Phaedra felt it; at first, the sensation in her bottom felt like a tingle. Then a heat. Then she lurched as the heat turned into a painful prickle.

“Aaaaahhh!” She tried to move away from the sensation, but the table’s shape combined with Bron’s huge hand pressing into the small of her back prevented it. “Take it out!” she cried a moment later, but behind her, Bron was silent.

Phaedra was surprised when he moved his hand and undid the restraints on her wrists and ankles. By now, the sting was intensifying, and Phaedra’s dignity fled as she danced around, her fingers plucking at the flange only to reveal it was melded to her skin. Hot tears coursed down her face as the burning sensation of the plug increased.

Finally, in a gesture of total helplessness, Phaedra sank to the floor, her hands clutching her burning cheeks, and looked up at Bron imploringly.

“Take it out,” she pleaded. “Please. I won’t touch myself again!”

“Rise.” His command boomed through the room and Phaedra leapt to her feet. “I will remove the punishment probe, but only after the rest of your punishment.”

There was more? Phaedra couldn’t fathom any more discomfort, and was visibly shaking when Bron bent her back over the L-shaped table. It was only when she glanced back that she noticed a thin, rectangular object in his hand. It looked like a piece of flimsy plastic, but she could discern its purpose by the size and shape. She whimpered, remembering how she’d misjudged the bite of the innocuous-looking looped implement Bron had punished her with before. As he now laid the flat edge of this implement across the crest of her upturned bottom, Phaedra reflexively clenched her cheeks in anticipation, an act that caused her to howl with pain.

“You must keep your bottom soft and open,” Bron said. “Tightening it will only trigger the punishment probe to increase the irritation inside.” He paused. “Yet another lesson in control.”

Sweat was pouring off of Phaedra’s body now. It took every ounce of resolve to keep from tightening her bottom, and when the implement fell it was just as awful as she had feared it would be. Now her bottom stung both inside and out. A second blow. She sank partway to her knees, for Bron had not restrained her. She did not wait for him to tell her to rise and get back in position. She did it on her own, determined to have the correction over with as soon as possible. But some emerging part was seized by another motive. Phaedra wanted to obey, to show him her compliance, to please him with her submission to this correction. The sting in her bottom, the sting on her buttocks… both seemed to meld with the ache in her pussy that throbbed and throbbed, and her cries of pain were mingled with cries of pleasure as the implement fell on her buttocks three, four, and five times.

“Do not release…” Bron’s words came as a humiliating shock as she realized he’d ended the punishment and was staring between her legs, where just below the plug’s flange, her pussy was engorged and wet despite the pain. With just one look, he’d assessed that she was very close to orgasm from the spanking.

“Oh, no…” She folded her arms and sank her head into the circle they made, ashamed that she’d become so obviously aroused by this dual punishment.

But then he surprised her again, gathering her into his arms.

“There is no shame in this, little pet. I am well pleased that you burn for release under my lash. What others seek to achieve through training, you exhibit naturally. And for that, you will now be rewarded.”

He picked her up then, and laid her on top of the table she’d been bending over. Now Bron spread her legs and plunged a finger into her pussy, working it in and out as his tongue laved her clit. Phaedra found her excitement mounting again, and in the back of her mind it occurred to her how odd this was, for the stinging probe was still in her bottom. But when he raised his head and said the magical words, “Release for me, my pet,” she found herself screaming in ecstasy, her head thrashing back and forth as her hips rose to meet his mouth.

The force of her orgasm was so strong that she passed out. Moments later, when she regained consciousness, Bron had removed the punishment plug and was cradling her in his arms.

“You are ready for the exhibition,” he said. “I know my little pet will make me proud.”

Chapter Ten

“I’m nervous.”

Through the door, both Bron and Phaedra could hear the chants of the crowd impatiently waiting for the public assembly to begin that would mark Phaedra’s debut. After so much speculation, interest was at a fever pitch.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I am here with you. Where does your safety lie, little one?” He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes.

“In your protection.”

“Yes.” He smiled down at her. “And who will you see in there?”

“You and you alone.”

The doorway slid up and Bron looked into the arena. It was, after hours of training, his moment of truth. And hers. He’d used his mastery to teach her control. Would she remember all he had taught her?

The arena’s seating was arranged in one spiraling concentric circle, with the elite sitting in the smallest circle closest to the stadium, with the widening, higher circles designated for those in the working class and the poor. In Traoian assemblies, the more elevated your seating, the lower your rank. Still, the holoboards floating at the upper levels gave the lower class a good—albeit indirect—view of masters and pets entering the arena.

The cheers were deafening, and the Traoians in their special beige assembly robes seemed to undulate in a sea of motion as they pressed forward along the railing to glimpse the procession.

A roar went up when Senator Primus entered with Dakara, who reached the center to drop into a series of fluid positions. Bron looked over at his pet. She seemed so placid, and he could not tell if she was calm or dazed. He only knew that she was beautiful in the crystalline harness that cupped and elevated her breasts, and that her legs and bottom were being shown to their greatest effect by the diaphanous skirt that Matron Sharad had made from a fabric that spun with opaque holographic galaxies.

They were next, and Dakara was just rising when Bron and Phaedra moved to the center of the arena. The crowd was wild at the sight of the opposition candidate and the pet who had been the subject of so much gossip.

Bron had given much thought to this debut, and how to best use the rumors of his difficulties with Phaedra to his advantage. She’d been painted as wild, out of control, resistant. So Bron’s decision to follow Senator Primus and his leashed Dakara with an unleashed Phaedra caused a murmur of speculation from the crowd.

“She’s unbound!” came cries from the stand as Bron walked in, Phaedra obediently walking at his heels. At the center of the ring, he stopped and touched her on the shoulder, and when he did, Phaedra immediately knelt down on her knees and bent over in a backbend, her legs spread and her arms wide to present all of herself to her master.

Another gasp went up. The shields melded to every slave’s clitoris were absent on Phaedra. Beside them, Senator Primus, who was looking with something akin to envy as the crowd applauded approval of Phaedra’s display, spoke into the small button on his suit that carried his voice through the stands.

“Couldn’t get her shield on her, General Bron?”

Bron looked at his opponent and smiled. “Just as I need no leash for my slave, I need no pleasure shield. She’ll respond to no other touch but mine.”

The crowd, which has gasped at Primus’ comment, roared its delight at Bron’s answer. They knew such taunts were backed up during these assemblies, and Bron could see the taunting expression on the incumbent senator’s face fade.

“As does mine…” Senator Primus gestured toward Dakara, who looked up at him with the adoring expression the viewing public had come to recognize.

“Really?” Bron had turned to face his opponent now as around them the crowd grew quiet. The elite spectators just yards away were staring at the two politicians, the lower classes’ gaze was fixed on the hovering boards. Now the general took a step toward the senator. “We could test it,” he said. “Would you like to try and make my pet release? I can do the same with yours…”

He could see the Adam’s apple in Senator Primus’ throat bob as he swallowed nervously. The senator’s eyes darted to his pet and then back to the man who towered over him. He stepped back, seeming to suddenly realize how the height difference must diminish him. Then his veil of arrogance returned.

“Of course,” he said, and turned to his slave. “You’re used to the experienced touch of a refined alpha male,” he said to her. “But rest assured that the rough handling you’re likely to experience at the general’s hands will be bearable, but not satisfying compared to mine!”

The senator turned back to Bron. “You may address your slave now.”

But Bron just smiled. “I don’t need to,” he said, “not that I would have needed your permission.”

The crowd roared at this, and roared louder when two tables rose from the center of the arena. Sex games were a favorite with the assemblies, with the owners showing off their pets’ responsive natures. But a competition of this kind was a first.

This was what Bron had been waiting for, but as he helped his pet up on the table, he could see the betrayal in her eyes. He felt a stab of guilt; if he’d told her that one of the reasons he’d taught her control was so she’d be able to master herself against the touch of another, would she have cooperated? He knew the little human was developing feelings for him, and tried to fight the revulsion he felt at the thought of Senator Primus’ hands on his pet, or at his having to touch Dakara for that matter. But he knew this exercise was essential, unless he’d been wrong. Would independent Phaedra punish him for this betrayal by releasing under his opponent’s touch? Or would she realize that the power she held in her slave’s body would shape the future of the very planet that held her captive?

The sound system was sensitive; anything Bron whispered to her would be picked up and broadcast. He could not risk offering Phaedra a word of support. And besides, if he did it would diminish his image of being a stern master of his human. So he ignored her look of hurt and apprehension as he positioned her on the table, which now grew extensions that cradled and spread her legs.

Bron looked over to see Dakara similarly displayed as the announcer, an effeminate male in shimmering robes and high, white hair, moved to the middle of the arena.

“Well,” he said, his breathless tone reflecting the crowd’s excitement. “This
is
something, am I right?” The crowd roared in reply and the announcer raised his hand in a call for calm. “To make this fair,” he told them, “we will monitor their pleasure responses. Reactions cannot be faked, so the winner of this contest will be apparent. As always, the red bar will indicate release. We will decide who goes first by chance.” The announcer reached into his robe and pulled out an odd multisided die that hovered in the air. Small holoscreens appeared in front of the opponents, with each selecting a symbol. The die spun and spun and then one side lit up with the symbol Senator Primus had chosen; he would go first.