Sci Spanks
Page 10
She kept her gaze down to focus on something positive to get her through this ordeal. Centering on the Captain’s voice as he spoke, she allowed his words—though she didn’t understand them—to caress her. When she’d met the Captain of the Allegiant, a veteran with one intergalactic war under his belt, she hadn’t found him terribly attractive. Yet, he possessed a confidence and hidden sensuality that crept up on her.
Definitely, she’d take rolling around in the Captain’s bed over what the Carsans planned for her.
“Drommie?” he whispered, and she returned to the room. Her crewmates had disappeared, as had other witnesses to her brief sentencing. She remained in the hollow white room with the Captain and three Carsans, the presumed governing body of this region.
“Drommie, this woman will take you into another room to prepare. You will return here and we will finish this.” The Captain’s face hardened. “I’ll do my best to make it quick as possible, and we will transport you directly to the ship afterward.”
What? She still didn’t know what this punishment involved. She tried the faces of the Carsan—really, she’d mistake them for Earth civilians on any given day—and saw no clues. The lone female of the trio stepped forward to take her arm and Drommie gave a weak cry.
“Drommie, I promise,” the Captain said. “You will survive. You might even not think it’s all that bad.”
****
The Carsan female handed Drommie something that looked like a unitard, only it felt heavy and shone like black silk. The alien offered one word that she did understand, “Skin.”
Skin. When Drommie accepted the woman wasn’t going anywhere, she slowly removed her uniform and made to put on the skin when the Carsan clucked her tongue and motioned to her.
“Oh, sorry,” Drommie muttered. The suit meant to serve as her skin. She removed her undergarments and the black skin fit easily on her. It molded to her every curve, tingling as touched various points. It intrigued her—apparently the skin intended to magnify how she responded to touch.
Which means what the Captain does to me, I’ll really feel it.
The Carsan led her back into the main room, where the only difference Drommie saw was a long metal bar suspended in air near the Captain, chest high. It resembled a pull-up bar in the Allegiant’s small gymnasium. Drommie managed the requisite number of pull-ups during her initial fitness exam when she entered Academy, and had hoped never to see such a thing again. This would teach her to sniff flowers on strange planets.
“Grasp either the bar with both hands, leaving about an inch at either end,” the Captain told her and she complied. Instantly her grip fused the bar—it felt as though the metal enveloped her fingers and palms.
Then it levitated, taking her with it until she stood on the balls of her feet with her heels raised. Did they mean to stretch her to death as in medieval Earth times? The “skin” moved with her, enhancing the prickling sensation tightening her nipples. She watched her Captain study her with great interest, and realized the skin likely left nothing to his imagination.
She heard a rumbling and the Carsan female came into view rolling a small table on which sat three objects. The Captain picked up the first, a feather, and approached.
“This will test the effectiveness of the skin,” he explained. “If you are unable to feel anything, you are to let me know immediately. I’ll advise you not to pretend any emotions during your punishment. The Carsans are very perceptive and unforgiving.”
“Yes, Captain.” The feather swept under her chin and across her collarbone, where the skin ended on top. It felt soft and lovely, not sadistic unless the Carsans intended for the Captain to tickle torture her. She could contain herself, but the feather glided over one nipple and she let out a moan. The skin over her breasts heightened the pleasure given to her. She kept her breathing as normal as possible when he covered every inch of her—down her back to her buttocks and around to her pussy. He brushed her mound and her clit throbbed for more. Under the skin, the sensation brought delicious pain.
The Captain returned the feather and next picked up what Drommie saw was two sticks bundled together. He undid the tie and held them like drumsticks. “This is to warm you up a bit,” he said, “rather, warm up the skin. It’s the prelude to your actual punishment.”
He walked around her, and Drommie didn’t like that she couldn’t see him. The Carsans stood together and watched the scene silently, their faces like stone. If they understood the Captain, they didn’t let on, but Drommie doubted he did anything but play by their rules.
The first light tap landed on her left buttock and she let out a whoop. He hadn’t hit hard, but the skin radiated the touch down her legs and through her pussy. She tried to press her legs together but that only made her feel more. More taps rained down over her ass and the fleshy backs of her thighs, and Drommie reveled in the rising heat.
This action resembled something she’d read in books, older stories from twenty-first century archives on human sexuality. She’d wondered about certain behaviors, why people would enjoy this type of discipline, but now she understood. Her Captain seemed to have mastered the dominant role.
She’d love to have him do this to her again, in private.
“How are you, Lieutenant?”
“Fine, Captain.” She didn’t miss how he moved from informal address. Surely the Carsans might expect he’d be lenient if he called her Drommie. She took a deep breath and waited for the final stage of this act, one that involved the large paddle the Captain weighed in his palm.
“Your sentence is ten, with the paddle,” the Captain told her. “You will mark each one aloud, and bear in mind everybody is paying attention and will know if you’ve miscounted.”
“Yes, Captain.” Her thighs quivered, and no doubt she soaked the crotch of this skin. The Captain disappeared around her again and her heart leaped, anticipating the first blow. Would it hurt? How would the skin project the sensation through her?
She sensed the Captain’s practice swing before he aimed. The short burst of air cooled her heated backside, and when the first spank landed on her buttocks she barely got out the “One!” The force of the swing set the skin on fire and took her close to the edge. Agonizing seconds passed before the second blow. “Two!” she called out on a moan. The Captain hadn’t touched her pussy, but it squeezed and tingled all the same.
Soon the spanks came in quicker succession. Three, four, and five caused her nipples to harden to the point she thought they’d never soften again. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, imagining the Captain’s mouth pursed over one, without the skin.
“Six!” she cried at the next spank. The whole skin absorbed that one and centered the vibration in her clit. The first hint of orgasm sparked, and Drommie fought to count out the next three swats, which the Captain delivered with some force.
“One more, Lieutenant. Very good.” He kept his voice formal and steady, quite professional. Drommie couldn’t believe how it turned her on. Perhaps she was a sucker for authority figures.
She steeled herself for ten, and when it came so did she. She drew out the word in one long syllable and rode the orgasmic wave from the suspended bar. Her feet flailed for balance and she twisted in the skin that projected the ecstatic feeling over her every nerve. The Carsans called this punishment? She could understand that—one more blow might have left her dying of bliss.
Drommie heard something clatter to the ground, and arms encircled her waist and scooped her up. “Allegiant, transport immediately to my quarters,” the Captain bellowed. Drommie heard angry Carsan voices behind her, but only for a few seconds as her body dissolved with the Captain’s into the ship’s transport beam. After that, everything went black.
****
Drommie awoke, still wearing the skin, curled on the sofa in the Captain’s private quarters. His arms wrapped around her, stroking her long hair and rubbing her hip. It felt so good, this comforting afterglow, though the ski
n didn’t feel as magnified.
“How are you, Drommie?”
“I’ll live.” She smiled. “What happened after...well, it ended so quickly.”
“I had Transport get us out of there once we fulfilled the sentence. No point in hanging around, I thought. The Allegiant set a course for the Beta Quadrant, and I doubt we’ll be heading back to Carsus IV anytime soon.”
“I never meant to cause trouble, Captain.”
“Don’t worry. The worst is over.” The Captain chuckled and Drommie leaned closer to take in how his body moved beneath her. “There is the matter, though, of removing the skin.”
“It doesn’t come off?” The idea panicked her. She picked at the neck of the skin, and gasped to see how well it affixed to her body. “I can’t live the rest of my life with this!”
“We’ll move you to sickbay soon. It may take some time, but we’ll remove it.” The Captain brushed her arm. “I had hoped, however…”
Drommie’s heart pulsed, and she looked up at him.
“...if you were willing, to wait a while first,” he finished. His hand trailed around to cup a breast, and the skin heated once more. Drommie willed his fingers toward the nipple and smiled.
“Yes, Captain.”
Author Bio
I am Leigh Ellwood. I write smutty stories about people who like getting naked and having sex. Some have more sex than others, some have sex with people of the same gender, some have sex with more than one person, and still others have sex with toys and things that require the use of batteries. My stories range from a few thousand words to well past 70k. My books are available at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Kobo, and ARe. Really, just type my name in any bookstore site and something is bound to show up. I prefer ARe as a vendor because they rock, but feel free to buy my books anywhere you like.
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A Lifetime
By
Olivia Starke
“You are all a useless pile of scat.”
Murmurs of shock sounded from the council surrounding the young woman who’d dared utter such insolence.
“You will not be so keen on disobedience when you’re facing the open mouth of an airlock,” the Master announced from his high chair of authority. He smoothed pale blue hands down the front of his black robes, his fleshy face a mask of calm indifference.
“Ha! I will not be cowed by the likes of you,” Kylla spat, her cheeks flushed scarlet. “There you sit on your throne of falsehoods while the rest of your council members feed off your lies. My people starve while you grow fatter off their misery.”
Mel shrank into the shadows at the back of the assembly as the woman vented her frustration. Kylla had always been quick in temper and even quicker with her bad decisions, though this time she’d outdone herself. This time she might not live through it.
I’ll save her from herself, I always do. Mel pulled the hood of her roughhewn cloak down to hide her face. Peasants were allowed to watch the assembly’s mock trials as long as they didn’t interfere. Otherwise they’d find themselves receiving the same sentence as the defendant.
This time Kylla had confronted the tax collectors when they’d arrived on their planet, and refused to grant them half of this year’s harvest. Serrin3’s axis had tilted in favor of a long merciless winter, a time of cold and darkness that would last one whole solar cycle. The threat of starvation and the loss of at least one third of her people had brought out the fire in Mel’s long time friend. ‘An unyielding leader is a dead leader’ Kylla’s father had warned her, but Kylla would never bend, no matter the gale she faced.
She’d been taken into custody, and Mel had been quick to follow the Marshal ship. If her plan succeeded, she’d free her friend. If it failed, they’d both be thrown out of an airlock and she’d die at her friend’s side in the vacuum of space. Mel couldn’t imagine life without Kylla, and she’d gladly welcome frigid death. And perhaps this was Mel’s greatest weakness—the hold Kylla always had on her very soul.
Sentence was passed, and it was as expected—death by airlock. The council ruled with an iron fist. Kylla would be another example of the punishment for insolence. Her frozen body would be collected and displayed on the bow of the council’s ship as a macabre reminder to always obey your masters regardless the cost. Her friend showed no emotion over the verdict outside of the stubborn tilt of her chin, and the bright flash of her blue eyes. No doubt she’d die happy knowing she’d stood her ground against the tyranny of the solar system’s rulers. Never mind the hearts she’d break or the lives she’d wreck, so long as she was right.
Mel sighed and slipped back into the narrow hallway leading to the assembly room. Soon after the lights blinked then the ship fell into blackness. Mel threw down the handful of wires she’d yanked from a circuit box and trotted down the hallway, using her eidetic memory to guide her down the corridor and into the assembly room. Council members’ voices filled the darkness, a din of annoyance and concern as Mel made her way between a row of seats and to the center podium where Kylla stood.
“Kylla,” she whispered. “Follow me.”
“Mel? By the Fates….” Mel heard shuffling then the rasping of the soles of Kylla’s shoes as she climbed down the podium. “How did you get here?” Kylla whispered back.
“Don’t worry about that, we have to leave.”
Mel grappled in the dark for her friend’s arm, and once she had hold, she led her back the way she’d came. The Master’s voice rose higher, telling his council to quiet themselves as the two women fled the room. They took this corridor then that corridor, zigzagging within the dark womb of the ship, and Mel prayed to the Fates this wouldn’t be the one time her flawless memory failed her.
Finally she found the docking bay where she had her father’s slipstream stashed. A two-seater ship he used for personal business between solar systems. No doubt he’d missed it being gone by now, and she’d find herself turned over his knee when she arrived home. Though in her twenties, he believed a daughter was never too old for discipline. She had an errant younger sister who reveled in challenging his authority, but Mel rarely found herself at the punishing end of his belt.
Then she’d have to explain to him why she’d risked her life for Kylla, and what could she say but the truth? A truth her family may not want to hear.
Mel pulled Kylla inside the slipstream, and once they’d buckled in, she fired up the engines. The ship lifted off the ground, hovering soundlessly. Mel jabbed at a few more buttons on the controls, sending out a subsonic pulse that alerted the bay’s sensors. The airlock door wheezed open, a much too loud sound that made both of the women cringe. The slipstream eased forward into empty space before the small ship found its full speed. Stars blurred in the dashboard screen.
Mel let out a huge breath, for the time being they were safe. Once the council realized their prisoner was gone, they would send the Marshals out in droves. If the council feared anything, it was a show of weakness. The escape of the wispy woman at Mel’s side would be humiliating for the Master. He’d see to it that Kylla’s next promise of death would be much more gruesome than the relatively quick one of vacant space. Most likely next time the irons would be involved. Mel shuddered, and quickly put the horrible image in her mind’s eye away.
They were now fugitives, and it was up to Mel to keep them out of Marshals’ hands.
****
Kylla huddled into the security of the seat and looked to her friend. Her best friend and now her greatest hero. Once home she’d have her lyrist create a song just for her heroism. She’d make sure Mel would always be remembered.
“Thank you,” she said, finding her voice hoarse. Kylla had faced certain death, and though she’d put up a brave front, she w
asn’t completely unaffected. She’d been terrified.
Mel lifted a shoulder in a shrug, before sweeping her sleek red hair off her shoulder. A violet red that had no measure in the galaxy—Kylla had never known such a rich and fascinating color. And the strands were pure silk to touch, Kylla had spent a lifetime of finding excuses to try its texture between her fingers. Her own hair had always been a mass of tight untamable spirals forming a dark halo around her head. A leader’s hair her mother had often quipped.
She reached out and touched the shining strands, tracing her fingers through the long hair that hung down, covering Mel’s arm. Indeed the hair was real, her friend was real, and it wasn’t all the desperate imaginings of a mind facing death.
“Once we’re home—”
“We’re not going home,” Mel interrupted. “At least not right away.”
Kylla blinked. “No, I must return home and assure my people all will be well.”
Mel lifted her chin, and leveled her sharp green eyes on Kylla. “Do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused?” she asked.
Kylla’s face heated. “What do you mean? I had a responsibility to my people as their elected leader.”
“So you’d trade your life for a few crops of rye and barely?”
“A few crops!” Kylla’s temper snapped. “A few crops, as you put it, might mean the difference between life and death for families. For children.”
“We could’ve traded with other planets for food. We could’ve gathered from the Dark Lands if must needed.”
“Those are the fancies of a child, Mel.” Kylla crossed her arms over her chest, and faced forward, forcing a commanding tone to her words. “Now take me home at once.”