by Sinclair,Ava
But Utak knew that even if she didn’t understand, she was learning of their ways. Trogarian males dominated their mates, but they also were capable of tenderness, even coddling. She would have to sample all to know what to expect—the sting of correction, the heat of passion, the warmth of a gentle moment.
Now the lesson was over. He picked her up again, carried her to shore. He left their things laying there; they could be retrieved later. For now he only wanted to get her back to the tent. When he entered, Zios was there. His brother’s eyes swept him up and down, taking in the bundle in his arms, the now flaccid cock hanging from the thatch of hair.
He nodded knowingly. Utak nodded back.
He laid the human down on a bundle of furs beside his brother. Zios pulled her to him. He had a small flask. He put the spout to her lips.
“Drink,” he said. She looked up, tentatively, and then obeyed.
The Crone had put just the right amount of crushed berries into the milk to send the human into an instant sleep.
“You fit?” Zios asked his brother once her breathing indicated deep slumber.
“She is tight, warm,” Utak said. “Sweet.”
“She did not fight?”
“She learns quickly, brother.” Utak knelt down. “She has a name. Iris. She said it is the flower of her people.”
She stirred. Her legs fell open. Between them, the pink petals of her pussy were visible. The brothers looked at one another, hearing the shared thought between them. It was the perfect name. They would let her keep it.
Chapter Five
Iris lay on the pile of fur and cushions, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The fog of whatever they’d given her to make her sleep was lifting slowly as minute by minute her weighted limbs lightened and her head cleared a bit more.
But even with the haze still clinging to her like down feathers to a wet surface, her first cognizant thoughts had been of Utak, the spring, and the feel of his huge cock as it pumped in and out of her pussy. Her pussy was still sore. So were her bottom hole and her nipples. The aches reminded her of all the places that no longer belonged to her. They belonged to them. To these savages. She’d been able to fight Utak in the pool; she’d not wanted to. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.
She sat up, and they looked over, obviously surprised to see her stirring. Zios rose and walked over.
“Good sleep?” he asked.
She nodded.
A fire had been built in the center of the tent. The smoke rose above and out through a hole into the pinkish purple of continuing dawn. The smells of cooking food filled the tent. A female entered to stir a pot sitting over the fire. Iris stared at her; she’d seen female Trogarians from a distance, but not up close. This woman—Iris could not think of her as otherwise even though she knew she wasn’t human—was sturdy and muscular and clad in the same type of leather shift that Zios had put her in before removing it. When the men spoke to her, she inclined her head respectfully, and Iris remembered that Zios had told her they were chieftains, and had servants to cook and clean.
The Trogarian woman glanced up at Iris, who pulled a fur up over her nakedness, suddenly self-conscious.
“No.” Utak walked over and jerked the fur away. “You do not cover yourself. We cover you.”
Gone was the gentle coaxing tone from the spring.
He’s training me again, she thought, and a wave of resentment swelled and pressed against her chest, along with self-loathing for the memories of how quickly her body had betrayed her.
“This is Lija,” Utak said as the servant approached, and Iris recognized the name as the Trogarian who’d made her the dress. “She will tend to you. If you disobey, she will send for us. You will be punished.”
All the sensitive places already subjected to punishment so far seemed to tingle at the mention. A collective flurry along the nerve endings of her pussy, her bottom hole, her buttocks, her breasts.
“Understand?”
“I understand,” she said softly.
Lija leaned over to hand Iris a bowl brimming with what looked like oatmeal mixed with nuts and… She looked up. “Are those… worms?”
“Grubs,” Lija said. She was smiling. “We find them in the fruit of the Bokran tree. They are sweet, sweeter than the fruit even.” She flexed an arm, slapped a bicep that would have been the envy of many a man on Earth. “Make you strong, see?”
“No, thank you. I don’t eat bugs.” Iris turned her head away.
“They are good. You need to eat.”
“I said, ‘no, thank you.’” She scowled.
Lija moved aside, and Iris felt a small thrill of victory until she realized the servant had only moved because Zios had gently pushed her with his hand and had now taken the servant’s place before her.
“When a Trogarian is offered food of any kind, it is a grave insult to refuse it,” he said, placing the bowl on the low wooden table.
“When a human is offered food she doesn’t want, it is typical to politely decline,” she countered.
“You are Trogarian now. Apologize.”
“I will not apologize,” she said through gritted teeth. “I am not Trogarian. I will never be Trogarian.” She reached out, sweeping the bowl off the table with the back of her hand. It fell with a clatter, the contents spilling across the dirt floor.
She knew she was in trouble even before he reached down to lift her up. Zios propped a foot up on the punishment chair and threw her over his tree trunk of a leg.
“You belong to Utak and me. That makes you Trogarian.” He raised a large hand and brought it down across the lower portion of her upturned buttocks, suffusing her bottom in a burning blast of pain. She cried out, scrabbling for purchase, but in her position could not even reach the floor beneath her.
“You will accept food with thanks, as is our way.” The hand rose, fell again, this time on her left buttock. “Now, your way as well.”
Now both halves of her bottom throbbed with hurt, a pulse of agony overriding the burn that built as Zios began spanking her in earnest. Iris was helpless, dangling as she was over his lap. She kicked her legs, vaguely aware that her pussy and bottom hole were clearly visible through her spread, flailing legs.
Howls of indignation turned to ragged, childlike wails as the spanking continued. And it was fitting, as this was a child’s correction for a child’s petulance. Deep down inside, she knew Zios was right; this was a harsh place. Food was scarce; she’d been wrong to throw it down.
But stubborn pride fueled her struggles nonetheless. And something else. Some primal part of her, she realized, was responding to this base correction. Some part of her wanted this mastery, wanted the security of knowing that even when she did not act in her own best interests in this wild place, these two males would see that she did.
She caught a glimpse of Utak, watching the punishment, his eyes fixed on her rapidly heating bottom and the slick gap between her wildly kicking legs. And she knew that he could see what she shamefully realized—evidence of arousal manifesting in spite of her efforts to ignore it.
How could this be happening? How could the spring coil of tension be tightening in her pussy under these circumstances? Pain and shame suffused her. Her backside felt like it was on fire. This spanking, unlike the first, was delivered all over her bottom, from the crest of her plump buttocks down to the tops of her thighs. It was unbearable, and when Zios finally pushed her down into the punishment chair, she writhed reflexively against the rough wood, her cries becoming screams of frustration.
She was belted into the chair, and sat there wailing as Zios turned away. Through a haze of hot tears, Iris watched as the two brothers and the servant leisurely ate their breakfast. When she’d exhausted her supply of tears and energy, Iris grew calm in her defeat. Her breathing slowed, and she sat as still as she could so as not to abrade her bottom further.
Zios looked over at her as if remembering she was there. He picked up a fresh bowl, filled it with porridge from the ket
tle simmering over the fire. He walked over, stirring the center of the bowl with a crude wooden spoon. Kneeling, he looked at her without malice before lifting it to her mouth. The fat grubs glistened on the surface.
“I offer you food.”
She opened her mouth, scrunching her eyes and praying she didn’t reflexively gag. She almost did as she began to chew. Her teeth crunched through what she realized must be some sort of firm nut, and then something soft ruptured and a sweetness unlike anything she’d ever tasted coated her tongue. Her eyes flew open in surprise.
Zios was smiling. “Sweet, see?” He held the spoon back to her mouth. She opened it and accepted another bite.
Once she’d put aside her aversion to what she was eating—and it was remarkably easy—Iris found herself enjoying the porridge, which seemed to give her instant energy. Across the tent, Lija was chuckling in delight, seemingly pleased to see Iris eagerly accepting what she’d refused.
When she was finished, Zios undid the strap.
“Come. I want to show you something.”
He offered her his hand. Iris rose, whimpering again as her sore bottom pulled away from the chair for the second time in twenty-four hours. The large Trogarian led her to the opposite side of the tent, and through another flap to what she realized must be his private sleeping quarters. She was surprised. The walls of the tent hung with intricate tapestries, and as Iris stared at it she realized it was a timeline of sorts.
“The history of our people,” he said as Iris took in the woven pictures. It was clear that the Traoians had not lied to her; the Trogarians were a militaristic race. “You think we are cruel, savages. But look…”
She did, studying the elaborate images showing Trogarian warriors not attacking other civilizations, but apparently defending them. What she saw indicated they were not a conquering race, but—just as he’d said—a race of guardians summoned to the defense of civilizations under attack.
Zios confirmed this, pointing to different images and telling her of how they’d saved one population or another. Sometimes, he said, it did not end well. He took her hand, moving her to another tapestry.
“My grandmother,” he said, pointing to a woman surrounded by a large family. His finger moved a foot down. “My grandmother.”
Iris gasped. The woman was being assaulted by what looked like a cross between a boar and a human.
“That,” he said, “is the price we sometimes pay when we defend others. Usually it is the warriors who die. But sometimes the enemy invades our camp to attack our females or our younglings.” He tapped the image. “This is what we seek to prevent when we order you to obey, when we feed you to keep you alert and strong and healthy.”
She felt a stab of shame as she looked at the picture. The artist had captured the brutal scene well; the huge creature with prominent facial tusks had his mouth open in what looked like a triumphant howl as he battered the female Trogarian beneath him.
“You have been claimed as our mate,” he said. “You will be trained to be obedient in all things. You will open yourself to us.” He paused. “You opened to Utak.”
It was a statement. His tone was fierce, protective. Iris tore her eyes away from the picture and looked up at Zios.
“Yes,” she said.
“He was gentle?”
“He was,” she admitted, remembering now and feeling guilty for implying that they were savages. “Utak… he took me to the spring. He was kind to me. He bathed me. He held me in the water. When he… took me… I wanted it.”
“Did you find your pleasure?”
She felt herself flush. “Yes.”
“Before him? That is also our way.”
A warrior race that wore animal skins and ate insects was also a race that decreed females must achieve sexual release before the males? Iris would have laughed at the ironic absurdity had she not felt so ashamed of her own assumptions about these men. They could have kept her tied outside and there’d have been nothing she could have done. Instead, they had brought her here to this private chamber, for instruction, for protection.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to offend you.”
“We understand your ways are not our ways,” he said. “But you must adapt. My brother has claimed you. Soon I will claim you. Then we will claim you together. On that day, you will become completely Trogarian.”
Iris felt her pussy quicken with a rapid series of pulses. “Together?” She squeaked the word.
“Yes. Our seed will mingle within you. Take root. When the All that Is sees fit, life will be breathed into what we have made, and it will grow into a son of Trogar.”
The touch of his hand on her pelvis sent another flush through her, a flush of desire. This was followed by another spike of guilt. She’d wanted Utak when they’d been in the springs. She wanted Zios now. It had been easier to cast them as savages preying on her helplessness than to acknowledge that she was excited by these two muscular strangers who spanked her as if she were a child whenever she disobeyed them.
She looked back at the tapestry. “So why are you here on TraoX39?” she asked. “Is the planet under attack?”
“The senators appealed to us to come set up an outpost based on intelligence that a threat was imminent. They have been hearing rumor of possible invaders, of a battle plan to destroy the Traoians and take their resources.”
“I thought the Traoians have an army.”
“They do,” Zios said. “At one time it was a great army under Augustus Bron, the general who became a senator seeking peace. He is on a diplomatic mission, and the army he leaves behind protects the inner dome. But they have grown unskilled in the kind of outside combat of which we are masters. Trogar is a wild planet full of beasts and mountains. We tame our first gyrand while still younglings.” When Iris looked puzzled, he clarified by pointing to the tapestry, directing her attention to a rendering of a Trogarian male on one of the beasts she’d seen them riding the day she arrived. “The Traoians have been spoiled by peace. Their starships now can prevent most threats before they reach the planets. But sometimes threats slip through, landing on the other side of TraoX39. Should they make it through the pass, the domes and all inside would be vulnerable.”
Iris looked back toward the city. “And those outside the domes? The miners and scrappers?”
“They would fall first,” he said. “We have been asked to keep a presence here, to deter.”
It made sense to Iris, and yet it didn’t. She’d been in the Acclimation Center for a year, and during that time the matrons had never expressed fear of invaders. They’d only touted the peace the planet enjoyed, often extolling the culture and security of TraoX39 over that of Earth in the kind of condescending way that often had Iris biting her tongue.
But she dismissed these thoughts; governments often hid information from their people to avoid mass panic. Likely the pampered elite under the domes were kept ignorant of a lot of things that lurked beyond their glass houses.
Zios had begun speaking again. “To be a true Trogarian, you must become stronger.” He reached out, squeezed her arm. “I like your softness, but you must be stronger. You must learn to ride a gyrand.”
“Ride…” Iris swallowed in fear. As a child, she’d been taken to the county fair by her aunt and uncle. It was the last year before the drought, the last year of bees. There had been a pony in a pen. She’d gone to pet it and it had bitten her. Later, when her girlfriends had sobbed over news that horses and ponies and nonessential livestock were being slaughtered, Iris had not felt the same grief. Her experience at the fair had made her afraid of horses. And while the gyrands looked more like furry, swaybacked crosses between giraffes and camels, in her mind, anything that carried a rider was in the horse-and-pony category, and therefore dangerous.
“Oh, I don’t think I can,” she said.
“You have no choice.” He led her out, picked up the discarded dress, and handed it to her. Lija appeared at her side, smiling kindly as she handed h
er a pair of boots. She looked proud, and Iris realized she must have made these as well, and this time remembered to show gratitude.
“Thank you,” she said, and sat down to don the boots, which came up to just below her knees and fastened with crisscross straps. They were surprisingly comfortable, and when she walked out of the tent this time, flanked on either side by Utak and Zios, she felt less self-conscious. The Trogarians still looked at her, some with curiosity, some with amusement. But no one showed signs of disrespect. Iris wondered if this had something to do with the position of the two brothers who now considered her theirs.
The outpost was larger than she realized, and Utak pointed out the piles of scrub that ringed the perimeter. There were, he said, wild and dangerous beasts in the forests above and on the other side of the ravine. She should never venture out alone; to do so was forbidden, and would bring severe punishment.
Iris couldn’t imagine why she would. The terrain was rocky, wild, and unforgiving. And if she had any doubt that the stories of beasts were embellished to frighten her, that doubt was dispelled when Utak pointed to the skull of two beasts that had been recently killed not far from camp. The largest was nearly as long as her body, the long teeth indicating a fearsome predator. Zios showed her a necklace made of its claws; huge, hooked appendages he said could tear through rocky soil. The beasts were large and fierce, and adapted the successful pursuit of prey. If it climbed a tree, the beast could grasp the trunk and shake it free. If something they pursued slid down a hole, the beast could excavate until it was reached. If it ran, the beast could overtake it.
“We killed this one,” Utak said, his face proud. “It took two of us.” He smiled at her. “A little female would be no match.”
She didn’t intend to test his theory. It was daunting enough to face the domesticated beasts they now had her approach. The gyrands were almost cartoonish in appearance with huge Roman heads with floppy ears. Their legs were short, which made them look off balance given that their necks were long. Their wide, padded hooves, large nostrils, and long eyelashes made Iris think of camels, but camels had humps, where these creatures had distinctive dips in their backs instead of humps. There were three waiting for them at the edge of the encampment.
