Domination Games

by Francesca Baez

  I’m jelly in his arms as my K carries me to bed. He tosses me down without finesse and yanks me toward him, the roughness bringing me back to the moment. I sit up, grab the back of his head and pull him into a violent kiss. I work my way down his body, nibbling at his ear, licking his throat. He tears his shirt off, buttons popping and rattling across the floor. I trace his flawless torso with my tongue, moaning against his abs. His cock is already rock hard, deliciously enormous in my hands. I take him into my mouth, relishing the way he groans my name.

  After a few minutes he pulls away, pushing me back onto the bed.

  “It’s time,” he says, kneeling over me. He is astonishing, completely naked like this, glowing in the dim lightning.

  “Wait, a condom,” I say out of habit, glancing at my bedside table.

  “You know that’s not necessary,” Verit says with a chuckle, and then he’s kissing me again.

  I cry out as he enters me, an inscrutable cocktail of pain and pleasure washing through my body. And then, when the sensations already threaten to overwhelm me, I feel his sharp teeth against my throat, and I’m violently catapulted into a high like no other. Total bliss floods over me, and we remain together in this ecstasy for what feels like an eternity.

  I don’t remember the end of the night. When I wake up the next morning, it takes me a moment to put the pieces together. I’m alone in my bed, sheets hopelessly knotted around me. My aching body should protest as I get up, if even half my memories of the night are accurate, but I feel fine. My apartment is completely empty, which stings more than I’d care to admit. Have I lost my K again, just after finding him?

  I call Noelle after a quick shower. We’ve been friends long enough that I know she’ll forgive my lie, after a brief reproach. She picks up after a couple rings, her half made-up face too close on the screen.

  “Don’t be mad,” I say before she can speak. “I went to the x-club after all.”

  “Oh my god, Ari, I—“ she begins in an annoyed tone, and I cut her off with a quick zipper motion across my lips. My story is way more exciting than her lecture.

  “I fucked my K last night,” I tell her, grinning. “Or rather, he fucked the life out of me.”

  “Oh my god, Ari!” Noelle repeats, in a completely different tone. This one is scandalized, impressed, and scolding all at once. “Tell me everything.”

  So I do, while she finishes getting ready and I eat a bowl of granola and fruit, and then as we both take our respective subways she tells me about this new show we should watch, and we’ve already planned our next GNO by the time our paths cross. It’s the morning routine we’ve been perfecting for years, ever since a failed attempt to room together right out of college. We love each other, but I think she’s a nightmarish slob, and she thinks I’m a high-strung control freak.

  “Are you going to see him again?” Noelle asks with a nudge and a wink as we wait for the WALK sign to light up.

  “Probably not,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “He totally ghosted, so. I guess that was that.”

  “Even K men can be dicks. Forget that douche,” she says, adjusting her purse straps.

  So, I once again find myself trying to forget the K that haunts my every thought. If the process was torturous before, now that I’ve known absolute bliss at his hands, it’s pure hell.

  Three days later, Noelle and I are eating takeout on my couch and watching reruns of our favorite pre-Invasion trashy reality shows when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Who is that?” Noelle asks, eyes still glued to the screen.

  “No idea,” I reply, stabbing my chopsticks into the box of veggie fried rice I’ve been working on and setting it on the coffee table.

  I don’t see anyone through the peephole. When I open the door, the hallway is empty, but there’s a flat black box on my doormat. The sight of me carrying the large box inside is enough to pique Noelle’s interest. I set the box down on the kitchen table, and she runs her fingers over subtle, embossed letters I hadn’t noticed yet.

  Alexander McQueen.

  “Holy fuck,” Noelle says reverently. “Ari, since when you can afford this shit?”

  “I can’t,” I say, just as confused as she is.

  I open the box as cautiously as our desperate curiosity allows, and pull out the coat inside, holding it up so we can both see. The silky black cloth is decadent to the touch, with a colorful beaded design spreading across the shoulders and twining down the sleeves. It’s not the kind of thing I would ever choose for myself, but I love it, and I can tell without even trying it on that it will fit me perfectly, as if it was specifically tailored to my measurements.

  “Oh shit,” I whisper, suddenly remembering Verit’s promise to buy me a new coat after I’d left my old one behind at the x-club.

  I hand the garment over to Noelle, who takes it with greedy hands, and check the box while she drools over the extravagance of it all. Tangled in the tissue paper at the bottom of the empty box is a note, with nothing but a phone number written on it, signed V. While Noelle isn’t watching, I add the contact to my phone and save it. Too late, I realize his name autocorrected to Veritas, but I don’t bother changing it.

  I already know that no matter how hard I fight it, he’s going to become my truth.

  I call to thank Verit later that night, the bottle of wine I split with Noelle at dinner buzzing through me.

  “Ariana,” he says without preamble, that deep rasp dripping through the speakers.

  “Thank you for the coat,” I say. “It was very generous. Like, probably more generous than I can even imagine.”

  “It’s nothing,” he says, and it’s hard to tell over the phone if he’s purposefully being arrogant. “It’s my fault you lost the other one at the club, this was the least I could do.”

  “You left the other day without saying goodbye,” I say after a moment of silence, trying not to sound clingy.

  “I had a meeting,” he says, a gentle smirk in his words. “I’m a busy man.”

  “Are you busy now?” I ask, and I can hear the whiskey roughness of desire in my voice now, too.

  There’s a tiny pause, where I wonder if maybe I misread our situation. But then he’s back, and if he recognizes the new space I’ve pushed us into, he doesn’t acknowledge it yet.

  “Not particularly,” he says. “Just reading some reports.”

  “Mkay,” I continue, nonchalant. “Because I’m lying naked in bed right now, thinking about how much fun it would be if you were here, too.”

  The first part is not factually accurate yet, but it will be if the next few minutes play out the way I’d like them to.

  “Oh really?” he asks, and now that dirty smirk is soundlessly deafening.

  “Mhmm,” I say, leaning back on the couch, tracing a line back and forth from my belly button to my sternum, my touch feather-light through my threadbare t-shirt. “I was thinking about your tongue on my clit, and your fingers inside me.”

  “What else were you thinking?” he says, but his voice is still too teasing, too easy. I sit back up, and turn the sex in my voice up another notch or two.

  “I was thinking about how good your big cock felt inside me,” I say. “And how wet it makes me just thinking about you.”

  “Tell me more,” Verit says after a beat. His tone is still casual, but I swear his voice is just the tiniest bit hoarser. I push harder, speaking lower, slower.

  “If you were here, I’d want you to bend me over and push into me from behind. You do it slowly, torturously, because you know I want it so bad. You’re so big, and my pussy is so tight, I cry out, but I love it and you know it. You’re thrusting into me, gripping my hips so hard, your nails are digging into my skin. You grab my hair and pull, hard, and you tell me that I’m a dirty girl. Oh yeah, I’m your dirty, dirty slut. You’re inside me, deeper, faster, rougher, but still I w
ant more. Please, Verit… give me more.”

  My free hand has snuck deep into my flannel boxers by now. Over the phone, I can hear Verit’s rapid breathing, and I picture his hand fisted around his thick cock.

  “Don’t leave me hanging now,” he says when I pause, in a deliciously husky melody.

  “You reach down and start touching my clit, slowly at first and then faster, faster, and oh my god, you’re so good, I can’t take it. And just as I am about to come, you bite me.”

  I hesitate for a beat, teetering on the edge of real life bliss.

  Then Verit says, “You taste so good, baby,” and I’m flying apart.

  “I want you to come inside me,” I whisper hoarsely, a hitch in my voice. On the other end of the line, I’m rewarded with a moan.

  “I’m coming, Ariana,” he rasps, and the sound of my name on his tongue is enough to push me over the edge again.

  For a few moments, the only sound on the line is both of us breathing heavily.

  “You’re right, that does sound fun,” Verit says finally, and we laugh together.

  “I’m going to bed now,” I say abruptly, because honestly I’m not sure how to follow up a casual phone-sex romp with an alien I barely know. Small talk? I don’t think so. “I have work in the morning. I’m a busy woman, you know.”

  Verit chuckles at that. “Well, good night, Ariana.”

  “Good night, Verit,” I say. I hang up and lie on the couch for another twenty minutes, just staring at the ceiling and wondering what I’m getting myself into.

  The next morning there’s a knock on my door just as I’m turning on the coffee maker. Through the peephole I see Verit, and my heart skips a beat. What the hell? I shake my hair out, hope for the best, and open the door.

  “Good morning,” he says, looking perfect as usual. “Breakfast?”

  He pulls a paper sack of bagels out from behind his back, and I grin. I let him in and pour us both coffee. We sit together awkwardly at my kitchen table—well, I’m not quite sure the Krinar are capable of that feeling, but I’m awkward enough for the both of us.

  “Um, I’m sorry if last night was weird,” I say into the silence. “I’d had a little wine—”

  “No need to apologize,” he says, waving his hand as if to thoroughly brush the sentiment away. Then he fixes his gaze on me and I’m frozen by his stare again, paralyzed by the way his long black lashes blink slowly over honey-ember eyes. “Did you mean it, though?”

  I stumble, lost in the moment. “Did I mean what?”

  In one swift motion, he’s risen from his seat and pulled me up too, flipped me over, and pinned me face-down across the table with one arm. My heart beats fast, and I barely register the mug of coffee that’s toppled over and is spilling slowly onto the tile floor. I feel Verit’s groin pressed against my ass, and through my yoga pants I can feel his stiffening cock as distinctly as if I were naked.

  “Did you mean it?” he repeats. One hand keeps holding me down, the other slips into my pants and down into my panties. “Did you mean it when you said just the thought of me gets you wet?”

  I don’t have to say anything, because he can feel my answer. His fingers curl into me, and I gasp softly.

  “Did you mean it, Ariana?” he asks again. His fingers pump inside me, his cock rubs against me, and I have to grab the edge of the table for support as my legs begin turning to jelly. “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

  “Oh god, please don’t stop,” I say through ragged breaths. “I meant it. I meant every word.”

  I grind my ass back against him, and he inhales sharply. He adds another finger, but it’s still not enough.

  “Do it,” I whisper hoarsely. “Just do it.”

  And he does, holding me down tightly against the table as he pulls my pants down, unbuttons his own, and then shoves into me, hard and fast. I cry out in surprise, not having expected his full length and girth all at once.

  “Oh my—”

  I’m interrupted by fingers in my mouth, and I’m tasting myself as he slams into me again and again. The second coffee mug rolls off the table, shattering on the floor, but I barely notice. I’m overcome with sensation, with Verit all over me, all in me, all of me. He pulls his fingers out of my mouth and moves them to my clit, initiating slow ministrations that juxtapose harshly with the relentless fucking.

  “Verit—”

  My moan is again interrupted, this time by a fist in my hair pulling back, hard. I gasp, grabbing the table harder to keep from melting off completely.

  “Are you a dirty girl, Ariana?” Verit asks solemnly, slowing his pace down torturously. “Are you my dirty, dirty slut?”

  “I am!” I cry out loudly, not caring if the neighbors hear. “I’m your dirty girl, Verit, make me come, oh god, please make me come…”

  With fast fingers, Verit has me somersaulting over the edge, and as I’m still gasping for breath, he pulls out and comes all over my back.

  “Shit, now I have to shower again before work,” I groan before I can help myself.

  “I thought you said you were a dirty girl,” Verit teases, with a playful slap to the ass. “Besides, you don’t really have to be at work til ten.”

  That’s true, the first class I teach is at ten, although I usually show up early to catch a yoga session. Still, I’m slightly unsettled that the K knows my schedule already.

  “Here on Earth we call this kind of behavior ‘stalking,’” I say, with as much authority as I can muster with cum dripping down my back. “You can’t just do anything you want, you know.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can,” Verit says unapologetically. “Now go take that shower. I’ll clean up here.”

  When I reemerge from my second shower of the morning, the coffee mess and broken mug have been taken care of, and Verit has vanished again.

  I make it to work just in time for my first class, a beginner’s kickboxing session. Most would assume that a beginner’s course would be easier on the instructor, but I don’t find that to be completely accurate. While the moves are easier for me, the students still have no idea what they’re doing, which requires a lot more hands-on focus from me. Still, I really enjoy my beginners. I like being the person who shows them how fun and rewarding a new activity can be, taking them from amateur hobbyists to potential experts.

  Unfortunately, today my body is agonizingly sore after this morning’s wild sex sesh, to the point where I have difficulty with even the basic warmup I’ve prepared.

  “Fun night, huh?” a student asks, eyebrows raised and voice lowered, as I wince while helping her through a stretch.

  “Just an off day, missed my yoga this morning,” I answer, trying to sound nonchalant.

  After my first encounter with Verit, I felt fine. Did him taking my blood have some kind of curative effect on my body? Also, why didn’t he bite me this morning?

  By the time my lunch break comes around, the soreness has dissipated somewhat, but the questions are gnawing at me like a hunger. While waiting in line for my order at the smoothie place down the street from the gym, I text Verit: Why didn’t you bite me this morning?

  After a second, I go ahead and add: Also, why am I sore as hell today when I wasn’t last time?

  He replies faster than I expected.

  It’s complicated, but humans can become addicted to our bite. It’s best to avoid engaging in that particular pleasure too often.

  As for the soreness, I apologize. After our first meeting, I used K technology to relieve the pain. I didn’t get a chance to this morning.

  I grab a seat by the window and take a bite of my green goddess wrap. With human men, I have to worry about being too forward and scaring them off. But the K have different rules, and while I may not understand them fully yet, I have the feeling they’re harder to scare off.

  So I text Verit: I don’t mind
the reminder of you inside me. Round 3, tomorrow night?

  It only takes two more bites for him to respond.

  My pleasure.

  The following night we meet for drinks, then head back to my place. It’s a slow burn this time, with hungry kisses by the door, greedy hands on the couch, burning skin in the hallway. By the time we tumble into bed, I’m starved for him, ripping at the last scraps of clothing keeping us apart. Verit pushes me back with a deep kiss, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. In seconds he’s fucking me relentlessly, as I scream for more. After my first orgasm, Verit releases my hands and shifts slightly, and I use the momentum to roll our bodies over, landing on top. I’ve had fun being dominated the past few days, but right now I really want to ride my gorgeous K for everything he’s worth. But before I can even straddle him properly, Verit easily flips us back over, pulling my legs up over his shoulders and pounding into me from above. The next time an opportunity presents itself, I try one more time to get on top. Again, Verit reclaims dominance immediately, and I accept defeat, playing the submissive role for the rest of the night.

  In the shower, after Verit has left, I play tonight’s romp over in my head. I can’t deny that the sex was fantastic, as always. I like to be dominated, but I have no interest in being owned, in being controlled. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t given in so easily.

  I knew what I was getting myself into when I climbed into bed with a K, but I never intended to become a stereotype or another cautionary tale. We’ve all heard the horror stories of human women who got in too deep with a K. In the aftermath, they’re always made out to be naive, easily malleable things, thoughtlessly handing over their free will in exchange for a sexy blood high. Charl, it’s whispered under breaths, like a bad word. As in: She met a K, let him make her a charl, and then her loved ones never saw her again. The stereotypes about the male charl aren’t nearly as forgiving.