The Alien's Mark (Captives of Pra'kir Book 4)

by Megan Michaels

  When she quickly tossed the covers off, flipping onto her side, her backside facing him, he cringed at the state of her bottom. She bore bruises and red stripes from his belt, and she almost assuredly would incur even more discipline today.

  Her stubborn demeanor, refusing to submit, was the problem. Hell, if he could get her to stop biting at this point, he’d consider it his first victory with Blythe. He’d told the wardens he wanted the prisoner with the most spunk, someone with a sturdy disposition, not one given to hysteria.

  For the task at hand, he wanted someone emotionally and mentally stable, along with a strong body. Studying this new species, collecting genome data, would entail weeks and weeks of examinations and calculations.

  From observing Brinley in the hospital, he had come to the conclusion humans were inefficient and on many levels exhibited weaknesses the inhabitants of Endermere didn’t have, but these humans had one thing that set them apart. And it was that one thing Xan hoped would change his life—Something that would give him the accolades he strove for..

  And the key to all of this, Blythe.

  He’d keep her in the dark, though, at least for a while. As a scientist who studied people and cultures, the last thing he wanted was her snooping into his study or ruining any of the data and procedures he’d carefully put into place for such a time as this.

  Rowth wouldn’t approve—none of them would. Xan didn’t care. Although he was aware he needed permission not only from the hospital but the Nine for this experiment, he’d learned an adage years ago that served him well.

  It is better to apologize than to walk around looking for favor.

  He would apologize later, accept the penalty if any was given, and move forward with the astounding data.

  The one detail he hadn’t taken into account was the distraction one Miss Blythe would become. He needed to focus on his research, while still taking her in hand, training her to become the submissive he hoped would be not only his personal partner, but also his medical assistant.

  Ganza had been a faithful and competent friend and colleague, a masterful nurse. She’d worked alongside him for many years, helping him grow, supporting his ventures, tweaking his knowledge when necessary. But the woman was edging closer to a hundred years old and really needed to retire. She’d agreed to assist him on his current—and most important—research project, and readily accepted the role of assistant, helping him train his new ward. She knew his likes—professionally and, well, even sexually—and had assured him his new girl would be meeting his needs by the end of this project.

  He stood, stretching and arching his back. He was stiff from sitting for so long on the metal stool, making last minute changes to his data with a laptop resting on top of a shelf that had become a makeshift desk attached to a far wall. Xan thought again he needed to make a regular office area in his medical room. He was no longer a green intern able to sit hunched over a one-foot-wide metal, wall mount desk. A comfortable chair and wooden desk seemed to make more sense at this age.

  Walking up to a large monitor, he swiped his hand across the screen—the several camera views in his house popped up. Searching, he found what he was looking for.

  My girl.

  She was eating her breakfast in the kitchen with Ganza supervising. He tapped the small box with the view of the kitchen, and it filled the width of his screen.

  Blythe’s skin was pink, warmed by her shower this morning. He wondered if she’d given Ganza any trouble. If so, there would be evidence of it on her posterior. His cock hardened, thinking of those freshly spanked cheeks. He loved nothing more than a paddled bottom, reddened by his own hand, the buttocks wobbling with each blow, the flutter kicks of the girl’s feet, and the bucking of her hips bouncing pleasingly on his lap.

  The benefits of owning a ward. And pet.

  He hadn’t planned on using a collar, leash, or even a tail for that matter on Blythe. He’d always had a penchant for pet play, though it wasn’t a necessary part of his sex life. But when he discovered she’d been biting the guards, and they had a face mask on her, he instantly knew she’d respond—as an animal would—to a shock collar. The electrical charge coursing through her body and anus simultaneously took the bite out of an aggressive woman.

  Until she’d been corrected enough times to be cured of that bad behavior, she’d wear both the collar and the anal plug. He’d not have a ward of his acting like an animal…unless he deemed it necessary for his own sexual pleasure, of course.

  The benefits of owning a pet.

  Watching her crawl with a tail had aroused him even more than he’d ever anticipated. He could get used to walking her in that manner—a riding crop or cane in his hand, spurring her along. Corrections, when deemed necessary, would be administered easily on a naked, bent backside. Yes, he could easily grow accustomed to a lifestyle such as this.

  His attention returned to the monitors. His pet’s nipples were stiff, her areola pebbled—the room must be cold. He tapped the screen, adjusting the heat in the room.

  Her gaze skittered up to meet Ganza’s, quickly dropping again to continue eating her griddled fish with eegle fruit jam. The crinkling of her nose spoke to her dislike of their food. It would be an adjustment, apparently. Blythe squirmed on her chair, her hand coming down to rest on the seat, more than likely taking the weight off her bottom.

  She’s been spanked.

  He smiled to himself. A reason to discipline his ward this morning. Having a slave meant he could, and would, correct her even if she’d done nothing wrong. It was his right and privilege to do so. But, when a situation arose, such as misbehaving for the nurse, he’d march through the door of opportunity, paddling her with no remorse.

  She needed to learn she had to mind Billex and Ganza. As part of his staff and his friends, they had earned and deserved her respect. If she didn’t give it willingly, she’d learn the hard way.

  He ran his hand over his cock behind his silky dress pants, adjusting himself. He still needed to perform a medical procedure before he could fuck her. Shaking his head, he wondered how he’d succeed with that feat.

  Although, watching her through the monitor, he determined Blythe seemed subdued today. Almost compliant. If so, they’d sail through the procedure, collecting specimens, and then his cock would find relief inside the warm pussy of his ward.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After descending to the basement, the marble stairs cold on her feet, Blythe couldn’t control her shivering . Fear. The area downstairs gleamed like the bathroom upstairs. Sterile. Clean. Gleaming metal, like stainless steel, with bright lights everywhere.

  With a hand pressed to her back, Ganza guided Blythe to an expansive room that took up more than half of the basement. A surgical table was the focal point. Shelves along each wall contained glass and stainless jars, some filled with fluid, others with indiscernible goo and what appeared to be organs. On the far side, a narrow shelf substituting as a desk was cluttered with papers, a laptop, and numerous cups of vitamin floxmylarnan juice, and a white plaque saying Xan’s office.

  Xan immediately stood up, reminding her again how tall he was, his long strides making short work of the distance between them. “Morning, pet.” He lightly stroked her cheek, pushing her hair aside.

  “Good morning, M-Master.” She stumbled over that word every time, finding it so difficult. She did her best to keep her tone and attitude subservient.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, Master. I m-must have been tired.” Surprisingly, she’d slept better than she had in weeks, and she had no doubt she could easily fall back asleep now, even though she’d only been up a couple hours.

  “That’s what I like to hear. I want my girl to be comfortable.” He slid his hands down her neck, cupping a breast in each hand, squeezing and kneading them gently. “But, it appeared from watching you through my monitor that you didn’t like your breakfast very much. It must be difficult getting used to different foods. I need you to be honest w
ith me, pet, and tell me when there are foods you find delectable, like the pudding last night. I want you to feel cared for. It’s my goal to be as attentive as possible to your needs.”

  Blythe had seen glimmers of kindness from Xan, like at dinner last night when he cleaned her face, but this display of caring and affection left her feeling unbalanced, unsure of how to react. “Uhm, I liked the purple stuff this morning. It was like a jam.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s eegl jam.” He turned to Ganza. “Make sure cook knows to give her a little bowl of that with every meal.

  She sighed with relief. The food had been so unsavory she’d begun to think she’d become a waif while residing here. What she wouldn’t give for a burger and french fries. At least she could cover the food with the jam like children covered vegetables with ketchup.

  “Does that change in diet make you happy, Blythe?” He brushed the pad of his large, cool thumb across her bottom lip.

  “Yes, Master. Th-thank you.”

  “Of course. I want my girl happy. That is, except when she’s been naughty. Speaking of which…” He directed his gaze toward Ganza. “How was her bath?”

  “Well, Sir, I’d like to say uneventful, but, with your ward, it seems nothing can go as planned.” She shot a disgusted glare at Blythe, shaking her head. “She gave me a bit of a fight, but with some incentive, she gave up, and I won. The rest of the bath was quiet and pleasant, as well as her breakfast.”

  “Turn around.” Xan’s dark eyes practically smoldered. Her throat tightened, and she found it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Now, girl!”

  Blythe pivoted on her shaky legs, trembling now from the cold basement and fear. His hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing them roughly, and she rose onto her tiptoes, quietly gasping.

  “It’s sore, yes?”

  “Yes, Master.” Her voice trembled, and it galled her. He didn’t deserve to see her fear. She reserved that for people she trusted and loved. This situation—this man and this woman and this surgical room—all of it had her feeling like she was part of a horror movie. She could no longer conceal the terror.

  “What exactly did she do?” His fingers pressed and pinched different areas of her backside, she assumed areas that were bruised or welted.

  “I was trying to lather her up, Sir. And when I slipped down to wash her pussy, she pushed at me, slapping and hitting my hands. I’ll never tolerate a ward striking me. Ever.”

  Blythe watched as a smug smirk came to Ganza’s face, and although she couldn’t see his face behind her, his breathing increased, the deep exhales from his nose tickling the hairs on the back of her neck, enough so that she wished she’d left her hair down.

  “She is not sore enough.” He growled the sentence, dragging her by the elbow toward the metal surgical table.

  She tripped, struggling to keep up with him.

  “Facedown on the table. Ganza strap her in.”

  “B-but—” Blythe shook her head at him, backing away from the table only as far as his arm would allow it.

  Ganza interrupted. “Sir, as you can see? I did paddle her pretty intensely, and I do believe she’s learned her lesson.”

  He wagged his finger under Blythe’s nose. “Don’t you shake your head at me and say no. Facedown on the table. Now.” He then turned toward Ganza. “No ward of mine will lay a finger upon my staff and friends. I’ll not tolerate such disrespect.”

  Blythe slid onto the table, the cold metal hurting her skin. She pressed her face against the surface, watching Xan stand in front of her. His narrowed gaze smoldered under his furrowed eyebrows, his jaw working in anger.

  Once she was fully restrained—arms and legs—he undid his belt, not taking his eyes off her. “You’ll not touch one of my staff again, girl.” The leather slapped against the fabric loops, her body clenching. He doubled it over, palming the buckle.

  After he moved out of sight, she waited for what seemed like an eternity for the first lash to strike. The leather whipped her bruised and inflamed tissue, and she shouted in pain, her fist balled up, tugging at the leather restraints.

  Xan repeatedly struck her bottom, hitting her in an irregular pattern, leaving her unable to anticipate the next strike. The punishing blows of his belt felt relentless. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to breathe, her sobs mingling with her gasps for air. She screamed, pleading for mercy, pleading for it to end. But his arm continued to swing, her tears soaking the table under her face.

  He stopped. He was no longer whipping her, but she continued to wail, pleading incessantly for it to stop. Finally, the knowledge t it had ended, helped her relax.

  In a voice raspy from all her screaming, she continued to repeat, “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  He wove his belt back on. Leaning forward, he said, “Did you learn a lesson, pet?”

  Hiccupping enough she didn’t trust herself to answer coherently, she vigorously nodded.

  “Ganza, undo her restraints.” With his hands crossed behind his back, he watched intently. Once the last buckle had been undone, he grasped Blythe’s upper arm lightly. “Get up. It’s time to show your remorse.”

  Her bottom scraped along the table, choking out a sob, her eyes immediately filling with tears again. She looked to Xan’s face, hoping to see pity or concern there. Instead, she found a steely stare, his huge arm lugging her off the table.

  “Apologize to Ganza. On your knees.” His rumbling voice ran through her. She shivered in response, nodding silently to him.

  “Yes, Master.” She shuffled toward the nurse, her bottom on fire. Clumsily, she dropped to her knees, her kneecaps pounding on the marbled floor. Blythe looked up at the stern woman, remorse and self-pity washing over her. “I’m so s-sorry—”

  “What are you sorry for, girl?” Xan barked.

  Blythe jumped, the stern edge of his voice making her tremble anew. “I-I’m sorry I pushed and struck you. I won’t do it again. I p-promise.” The last two words came out between choking sobs.

  “I’m sure you won’t, girlie. I accept your apology, and we’ll start fresh. You’ll be a good girl, I have no doubt.” Ganza ran her knuckles down her cheek, taking pity on Blythe.

  “She needs to start being a good girl all the time. Her little ass can’t take much more, and I’m sure she won’t like the other punishments she’ll receive instead of a spanking, either.” He shrugged into his white lab coat, quirking an eyebrow at Blythe in warning.

  “Let’s move forward with our scheduled appointment. Enough time has been wasted on the misbehaving woman.” Xan patted the table. “On your back, this time. Ganza, strap her in, feet in the stirrups please.”

  “I-I don’t…the stirrups?”

  “You’re already questioning and back talking?” Xan raised his eyebrows. “Is your rump needing more attention?” His hands went, once again, to the buckle on his belt.

  Her clit jumped, her backside clenching. “Oh! No, Master.” She backed her hot little bottom up to the freezing cold table, sliding onto it, gritting her teeth against the agonizing pain on the unforgiving surface.

  He murmured, pulling the tray of tools closer. “That’s what I thought.”

  Blythe hesitantly looked over at the tray of utensils, her discomfort rising. Some were familiar—clamps, scalpel, tweezers, long swabs. But others were downright frightening. The large hypodermic needle inserted into a long metal handle with several buttons on it had her most afraid.

  Blythe had spent many years in hospitals as a child. Diagnosed with leukemia at the age of nine, she had learned to abhor needles and medical procedures.

  The cold leather straps tightened at her ankles. She tried jerking away from them, not wanting to be restrained, but a hard slap to her outer thigh had her stilling.

  “You’ll learn to refrain from your instinct to fight, girl. I’ll not condone it. Hear?” His lips thinned under his moustache.

  She found his black eyes and dark scruff on his face intriguing. Even his stern demeanor had
her curious. Blythe couldn’t explain it, but she sensed that just under the surface of that rough exterior was a man who was loving and caring, and then she’d find herself planning how to escape from this Victorian mansion and find her friends, not caring in the least about any hidden caring or emotions Xan may have.

  “You’ll feel no pain. I’m sadistic but not to that level. I have no desire to hurt you—unless it’s my hand blistering your backside. I’ll be shutting your translator off; the medical experiment I’ll be conducting is very secretive, and I can’t take a chance of you understanding anything that we’re discussing.” Pulling the hypodermic apparatus into view, he depressed a few buttons, obviously each containing a different medication.

  “But I don’t like not knowing. Please, Master may I listen?”

  “No. My decisions aren’t up for debate, girl.” He hesitated, watching her face closely. “Would you like something to ease your nerves a little? It won’t knock you out. It’ll take the edge off. You seem a little tense.”

  She nodded silently.

  He smiled at her, depressing a purple button on the handle before injecting the long needle into her arm with a sharp pinch.

  She winced, smiling weakly at him before feeling slightly intoxicated, her vision blurring a bit, and limbs becoming heavy. Yes, this was exactly what she needed.

  “Ganza, you reviewed the notes I gave you? You’re prepared for today’s procedure?”

  “Yes, Sir. As always, Sir.”

  “Blythe, please scootch your bottom down to the edge of the table. More…more. That’s it. Good girl.” He turned toward his assistant. “Shut off her translator, please.”

  ***

  Xan pulled his rolling stool up to the foot of the table, twisting the light to shine brightly on her vaginal area. He cringed, looking at the bruised, rounded cheeks. Her little ass would be sore for days from the recent attention. He’d have to find other measures to discipline her for the next few days.