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

by Megan Michaels

  Biting her lip, she nodded.

  Rising from the bed, he cleared his throat. “Then roll onto your belly. Ass up.”

  She swiped at her tears and rolled over the pulled her knees up until her broad bottom spread before him, the peach colored flange peeking between her well-spanked cheeks. He tapped the end, pressing it up against the tight whorl.

  “Are you ready? Push back.”

  She sighed into the blankets, but when he pulled on the dildo, it slipped easily out. “Good girl.”

  He carried the toy to the bathroom and left it on the floor of the shower then stood in the doorway to the bathroom, staring at his woman, still in position, her breasts dangling under her, her little hole gaping open, calling to him.

  How did I get so lucky?

  His cock, rigid again, bounced in front of him, just as eager, apparently, to get on with the fucking. Grasping her hips, he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed and reached around her hips to slap her breasts. Each jiggled and wobbled with his sharp smacks. The pale peach skin turned pink under his punishing swats, her nipples hard as steel. He tweaked them, pulling down on them roughly, stretching the globes.

  Her hips jerked in response, pushing her bottom back, rubbing against his cock. Her wet lips smacked and slid along him.

  This woman kept him painfully rigid most of the day. He’d chosen the voracious one.

  He slid his cock through her slit, bumping against her clit, coating it liberally with her juices. “I doubt you’ll want to come from anal tonight, but in case you feel the urge? You’re forbidden from coming—at all. This is for me. I won’t damage you, I promise. But your satisfaction and arousal are of no concern to me. I’m your dominant. Your Master. You answer to me, doing as ordered. Running away is no longer an option. You’ve learned that, hopefully.”

  “But—”

  “No! No coming. Period!” Grabbing the lube, he generously coated his cock, dropping a large dollop onto her bottomhole, working it into her channel with first two and then three fingers.

  “I’m… Master?”

  “Yes, pet?”

  “I’m afraid. What if—” Her voice trembled, her last word caught on a sob.

  “Shhhh.” He stroked the small of her back, lightly. “Listen to me, girl. Are you listening?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You’ve taken easily two thirds of me before. And just now you took the whole of me in the form of the dildo, right?” He stroked her bruised ass, sliding up to her back, soothing her.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll not take you further than you can go. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”

  She pulled in a deep breath.

  He stilled, the room deafening with its silence, while he waited for her to reason this through, to accept his dominance. That’s what this was about…power and control. She needed to give up this last vestige, to stop trying to manipulate or influence his behavior. “Are we ready, my dear?”

  “Y-Yes, Master.”

  He pressed the tip of his cock to her tight whorl, restraining the need to pound into her, taking her to the hilt with one thrust. Gritting his teeth, closing his eyes briefly, he, too, took a deep breath, steadying himself for the task ahead.

  Slowly he pushed himself in, stroking and brushing his fingers along her hips, murmuring platitudes, easing her worry. He eased slowly from her dark channel, pushing farther each time.

  “That’s a girl. Push back.”

  She whined, opening wide for him—the muscles thinning to accept him. He prodded, thrusting against the resistance, until he entered her completely, his groin pressing against her. Stilling, he let her body adjust.

  “It’s in, baby. You’re holding the whole of me inside you.”

  “I…I am?”

  “You are.” He smiled, hearing the shock and pride in those two words. “I’m going to pump into you, now. And remember, you will not come. That’s a pleasure only good girls experience, and you, pet, weren’t a good girl, were you?”

  “No, Master. I’m sorry.” Her quiet cries tugged at his heart strings, but he couldn’t relent. Wouldn’t relent. If she wished for a reward, it required submission—ideally, complete submission.

  “Relax against the movement. Keep yourself open and relaxed, girl.” He slowly thrust into her, his hands holding her buttocks open. Watching his girth, spreading her thin, the muscle stretching, pulling tightly over him. The pucker gone from her little hole.

  “Will you run away again, pet?”

  “No, Master!”

  His hand dipped into her, circling her clit, keeping her arousal at bay, but allowing just enough to diminish the discomfort. Her panting increased, her hips slapping against his groin, pushing herself over his length.

  Pulling away from the tight nub, he slapped her breast hard. “Who’s your Master, girl?”

  “You, Sir.” Gasping and the stiffening, she responded to his slap just as he had hoped—abating her arousal. Her breathing returned to normal.

  “Mine! You’re mine!” Pounding her mercilessly, his cock hardened even more, his balls drawing up until he hammered her cunt one last time, shouting, seeing stars behind his eyes, the growl continuing with every spurt of his seed into her bottom. His hips continued to pump, and he faintly became aware of her cries. “Pet?”

  No answer.

  “Blythe.” His word was spoken with warning. “What is wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  He pulled his cock from her and lay on the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m just sorry I was bad and ran away.” Her tears wet his neck and chest.

  “I know. It’s all forgiven.” He kissed her brow gently.

  “And I d-didn’t get to come, too.” She cried anew.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “No worries, pet. Next time, we’ll make sure you come, too.”

  She nodded into his chest, her sweet-smelling hair brushing his chin.

  “I have one more thing I’d like to do with you.”

  She pulled back to look at his face, her brows knitted in confusion.

  “I’ve hesitated doing it, but I’d really like it if you’ll agree.”

  “Okay.” She lengthened the word.

  “I was so worried when you ran away. You have no idea—”

  “I’m sor—”

  Putting a finger to her pretty pink lips, he said, “Shhhh. Let me get this out before interrupting again.

  “I kept thinking, what if someone finds her? Will they know who she belongs to? Will they just give her to another fostering family?”

  His throat tightened remembering his fear and anxiety.

  “I want to mark you, to make it known to anyone who finds you that you belong to me. That you are mine.”

  “Mark me?” Her green eyes darkened, her white teeth worrying her lip.

  “Yes.” He pulled her lip out, running his finger along the velvet softness. “I’d like to have my initials tattooed onto you…a mark that says you belong to me. But it would be hidden—only showing to you and I, but, if necessary, proving who owns you.”

  He waited for her reaction. Would she be disgusted? Angry? Had he gone too far with ownership…wanting to brand his woman, marking her as the slave of an alien?

  “Where?”

  “On your labia. It would please me immensely.”

  She blinked, staring at him, her pulse fluttering in her neck. “It would hurt…a lot.”

  He nodded back. “I’d lessen it with some pain medication, but yes. I’d like it to be a penance, a labor of love…a sacrifice of sorts.”

  He watched her closely. Would she be disgusted? She stared at the ceiling, blinking silently. She bit her lip, looking out the window for a bit.

  Then, turning back to him, she nodded. “Okay.” She smiled weakly.

  He squeezed her tightly into his embrace. Pride overwhelmed him. His slave, his girl, accepted wearing his mark.


  “I’d like to do this now, before you lose your nerve.”

  Her throat worked to swallow. “It’s probably a good idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “You need to void before the tattoo, pet.” Xan snapped the leash into place on the round metal ring of her collar. Blythe crawled past his staff, her head held high this time, her tail brushing along her thighs.

  Once outside, he picked a spot near the back of the house. Grasping a twig, he said, “Do I need a switch for your naughty little ass, this time?”

  “No, I’ll pee on my own.”

  “We’ll see. Won’t we?” He watched her get into position. Her knees bent, her soft belly and plump breasts pillowing around her legs, her pussy, prominently displayed in contrast to the white thighs framing it.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to urinate in this exposed and embarrassing position…and it pleased him more than she’d ever know. Her quiet submission allowed him to view the most private of acts.

  The liquid bubbled from between her lips, flowing in a steady stream from her body to the cold, hard ground, rolling downhill to puddle behind her.

  He murmured once she’d completed her task, “You’re such a good girl.” Leaning down, he kissed her on the nose, lightly jerking on her collar. “Time for your tattoo, my dear.”

  ***

  He strapped her feet into the stirrups, patting the inside of her thigh as a nonverbal to open wide for him. “I’m going to rub an anesthetic on your labia before giving you a shot to numb it more. As we agreed, pet, I’ll not be erasing all feeling, only dulling it. It pleases me to think of you sacrificing yourself for me.”

  She nodded.

  “I need to hear that you agree, girl.” He waited for verbal consent.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good girl.” He swabbed her still red labia with the anesthetic lotion, the sensitive tissue inflamed from the plentiful and strenuous sexual activity of the afternoon. He blew on the damp ointment, and once it was dry, he injected the area with a minimal amount of numbing agent.

  Taking the plastic cartridge and popping it into the opening on the tattoo gun, he snapped the lid closed then tested it on the sterile paper on the tray. The ink came out in a steady stream, just as he wanted. Stretching her lip taut with the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, he poised the needle above the area. “Are you ready, pet?”

  “Yes, Master.” Her body stiffened, her eyes widening.

  “Don’t hold your breath. Breathe normally. If the pain becomes intolerable, let me know, and we’ll take a break, but I’d really like to have you breathe deeply, exhaling slowly and loudly. It will help you deal with the pain.”

  In obedience, she slowly exhaled, and then took a deep breath in again, pushing it out incrementally. Tentatively she reached out, grasping his hand and squeezing it.

  “You can be such a good girl. You’re making me so proud with this. And now you’ll be mine…marked by me, with my initials, as my property. For life.” His throat tightened and he swallowed past the lump rising, signaling tears.

  You need to focus, Xan.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready, Master.”

  He pressed the needle into the fragile skin, the pillowed labia, flattening under his persistent pressure. Focusing he adjusted his fingers on her lips, assuring he didn’t use a heavy hand in this situation. He didn’t want the tattoo to “blow out,” resembling an ink blot instead of his initials.

  While being trained in tattooing, finding the balance between a light and heavy touch had been a skill that had taken time. Like most things in life, if there is too much pressure or authority, the result is an explosive, unrecognizable mess—a blotch on a page or a life destroyed, or in this instance, a blowout of ink on the skin.

  But, if the pressure is too light, sensitive, or too kind, the tattoo wouldn’t hold up to the elements of life, and wouldn’t leave an indelible mark. People, situations, and yes, tattoos need just the right pressure. Enough discipline and authority to keep the person (or ink) within the boundaries of the art form,, and enough sensitivity and compassion to mold and design the person (or tattoo) into a beautiful symbol and work of art that will please those who see it and come in contact with it for a lifetime.

  He had decided to do his initials in his own cursive writing—if it was legal for documents, it would be legal for his slave. He pressed the needle into the plump tissue, making the taller diagonal line for the X. As normal, the adrenalin along with an appropriate level of anticipation and anxiety masked the level of pain, and she breathed easily through the first letter. He actually wondered if he gave her too much numbing ointment.

  He paused, shutting the tattoo gun off, wanting to check on her status.

  “How are you doing, girl?”

  “I’m doing well. It hurts, but I think I can do this.” She beamed at him a full smile spreading on her face, those deep green eyes warming him. He swore he’d do just about anything to bring that smile to her face.

  As he’d told her on that first day, good girls are rewarded. He loved nothing more than giving her a treat for her obedience, or bring her to orgasm—over and over and over—until she shook with ecstasy, unable to even lift an arm in her sated state. Yes, in his house—good girls received very special rewards.

  “You may find that each letter hurts more as your adrenalin dissipates, pet. If it becomes too much, you let me know and I’ll talk you through it. But, in my experience with you, my girl is tough, you’ll do fine. You’re making me proud.

  Her cheeks turned pink with her blush and she brushed her knuckles along his cheek. He never in a million years thought he’d allow such sweet affection to be displayed on him, but now that he’d experienced it with Blythe, he couldn’t imagine living life alone. Ever again.

  Kissing her hand he returned it back to her chest. We’ll be moving to the next letter. Ready?”

  “What letter is it? You have a middle name?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Did she think that Pra’kirians didn’t have middle names also?

  “My middle name is Taren. Xan Taren Breckett.”

  “It’s a very official name. A good name for a Judge on the Council of Nine.” She stared at him with a look of – what is that? Awe. Can’t be. But it became quickly replaced with a twinkling in her eyes that signaled mischief. “Now I know what name you were called when you were in trouble as a child.”

  “If you think you can handle the consequences of calling me that, you can try. You’ll only do it once.”

  Her long slender neck worked to swallow. “Maybe not.”

  “Choice is always yours, girl.” He turned the tattoo gun back on. “I’ll do the letter T and then we’ll take a break.”

  He pressed the needle into the skin making the horizontal line first. It was when he began the vertical line that her legs trembled. She breathed at a much quicker pace, but didn’t stop to hold it in either. If the tremors moved to her core, they’d have to stop. Xan continued making the letter focused on the task at hand.

  Picking his head up, he noticed her chest had stopped rising and falling. “Pet, you need to breathe. You’re holding it in.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I know, baby. You’re such a good girl. Breathe…again…again.” He pressed the needle to the plump lip, noting her hot little cunt had dripped down her perineum, leaving a wet spot on the paper under her bottom. His girl reacted sexually to almost everything.

  I am a lucky man.

  She exhaled loudly and rhythmically, doing her best to endure the pain. His cock twitched when he noticed her clit had hardened, peeping out from under its hood.

  And she’s all mine.

  “Ohhhh, I need…can we stop?”

  He pulled the gun away from her, looking between her legs, her face barely visible above her breasts, nipples erect and hard. Tears streamed down her face.

  “We’re almost done, and you’re doing so well, I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. I neve
r thought I’d ever have a woman who would do this for me—my slave, my pet, my girl. You’ve made me so pleased today, my dear.”

  “You say we’re almost done?” An edge of desperation laced her voice and she reached out to clasp his hand.

  Shutting off the gun, he placed it on the tray, and took her hand kissing the top and palm, trailing kisses up to her neck, before placing gentle kisses on her lips and face. “My pet. I only have the letter B left. That’s it, sweetheart. You got this. Deep breath. You can do this.”

  “Yes.” She pulled in a deep breath, nodding toward him.

  Picking up the tattoo gun again, he carefully and steadily engraved the upper and lower curves, keeping her skin stretched tight.

  She keened loudly, expelling a sob at the last bit.

  “It’s over, baby.” He tossed the tattoo gun onto the tray, resting his hand on her cool belly, calming the shuddering. “Shhhh. You’re such a brave girl.” He kissed her gently.

  “D-does it look n-nice?”

  “It does.” He smiled down at her. “Would you like to see?”

  She nodded, smiling back at him.

  He placed a mirror near the tattoo, tilting it until she could see it clearly.

  “I like it. You did it in purple. How did you know?” Her eyes widened.

  “You mumbled in your sleep one night that you wanted a shirt in purple because it was your favorite color.” He felt his cheeks heat. He felt deeply embarrassed admitting he’d remembered such a small detail, but to bring that smile to her face made it worth the humiliation.

  “Awwww.” She beamed back at him.

  “You tell anyone that story and I’ll paddle your bottom raw. Got it?” He pointed a finger at her, putting the mirror back. Depressing the button on the medical instrument, he injected the area with the rest of the painkiller.

  “It doesn’t hurt any longer. Oh God. Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome, Blythe. Let’s get you to bed. Our bed. You can sleep in your pet bed tomorrow. I need to hold my girl tonight.”