by Maren Smith
“No, God, please!” she panted. “No… no…”
But no did not mean ‘no’. It meant yes, and more, and harder and harder. And harder still. And he knew it, because harder was exactly what he gave her.
He rocked her, while her toes scraped the empty air. He rocked the barrel in its black wedges, actually moving it by sparse, thrusting degrees. He filled her, stretched her, burned and branded her both with his touch and with that damned spice root, and with the heated sting of his spanking hand as he smacked whatever part of her ass he could reach while he fucked her. And oh, but how she shouted when he released her hair, catching her by the throat instead and held her bowed backwards for frenetic tempo of his ramming finish. As if he didn’t even care if her back suffered the strain of this, or if she found any pleasure at all in what he did. And she loved it. Because in that moment, nothing beyond being this mattered. She was a mouth, a pussy, an ass. She was the flesh he satisfied himself upon. She was the myriad of finger-shaped bruises he left by the dozens all over blushing skin. She was the vessel he stiffened against as he came, grunting that hard expulsion of breath as he poured the proof of his virility into her. She was his.
And it was that, that knowledge combined with the unmistakable spurt of his seed as his fingers tightened on her clit—his clit now—that shattered her beyond all mending. Her pleasure ripped her, ruining her with those last few, faltering thrusts of his cock and the spasms of her own ecstasy, both so overwhelmingly intense that it bordered more on agony than delight.
Stillness filled them both. The quiet was broken only by the raggedness of their panting, the gentle whisper of the evening breeze as it came tumbling down the staircase, and the occasional drip of water falling into a pool of more somewhere in the cellar shadows. The saltiness of sweat and tears clung to her lips. Her belly, breasts and thighs felt scraped raw everywhere she touched the barrel. He hadn’t even used his straps on her.
There was always the next time.
Eyes drifting closed, Brinley wilted in the same slow degrees with which he let go of her hair. She could not remember another moment in her life when she had ever been so wonderfully, completely, exhaustibly well-used. It was like losing a piece of her when his cock diminished to the point of slipping out of her.
Rowth bent, leaving a last caressing kiss upon the small of her arched back. “How do your legs feel?”
What legs?
Lying limp upon the barrel, Brinley closed her eyes. “I don’t care.”
He rumbled, a breathless laugh. He also unbuckled the waist restraint, then freed her wrists. One at a time, they fell limp too and dangled loose against the rough wood slats until he picked her up. She felt boneless and the press of her cheek against his shoulder when he lay her against his chest felt unbelievably comforting.
He carried her back up the winding cellar stairs, back out through the lower balcony where the salty spray of the rolling waves kissed her lips and eyelids. She was so sore, so tired… so relaxed. She might even have dozed because the next thing she knew, he was laying her back in her own bed. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and only overcame the exhaustion just enough to moan when he pulled the heaij root out of her. As if in one last act of vindictive friction, the burning intensified after it was gone. Or maybe, by now, the sex endorphins had diminished enough for her to feel the ‘little’ aches once more.
She covered her back entrance with her hand. It hurt too much to rub. “Ow.”
“Sore?” he asked, throwing the root away in the bathroom before coming back to lie down beside her.
“Does it matter if I am?”
“No.” The heat of his chest warmed her back and buttocks as he spooned his much larger body up next to hers. His arm snaked around her, tucking her into the cradle of his own sated embrace. “I intend to fuck you again before morning, regardless. And again tomorrow. Two or three times, perhaps. Eventually—” He yawned. “—with enough use, you won’t be… well, quite so tender.”
She almost thumped him in the ribs with her elbow, except no sooner had she lifted her arm, than she remembered the heaij root. He’d only removed it as far away as the bathroom, and that wasn’t anywhere near as effective as, say, launching it to one of Pra’kir’s three moons.
Rowth chuckled, low and amused, dangerously so. “Go ahead,” he invited. “See what happens.”
Brinley put her arm down, but lifting her head, she rolled part way over to blast him with the full effect of her knowing frown. “It’s like you think I don’t know you cut that cussed root in ha—”
Movement caught the corner of her eye and Brinley bolted upright, staring first in shock at her open bedroom door and then at the flushed, naked, white-speckled Mekron slowly extending one arm to hook his claws into the crack of the next floor tile. She didn’t think she’d made a sound, but not only did Rowth twist around, Rog slowly lifted his head and looked in at them.
“No, no,” he said. “Don’t get up.” He dragged himself far enough forward to reach for the next claw-hold. “I’m only dying, after all. Don’t let that disturb your little muzzle-snuzzling. It’s not like I can’t crawl off my death bed and get my own damn tollo juice.”
EPILOGUE
“They spelled my name wrong!” Brinley exclaimed from where she sat watching the scrolling newsfeed at Rowth’s desk. “B-r-i-n-L-E-y. Jesus. Didn’t you spell it for them?”
“I spelled it,” Rowth calmly assured. Standing over a hot pan at the kitchen counter, he continued spooning the sort-of rice and vegetable hash he had prepared into three bowls and did not look up.
“At least… they acknowledge… you have a… name,” Rog said from his chair at the table. “They’ve been calling me… ‘the Mekron’… for ten years.”
“You should be grateful they mentioned you at all, considering you are human, quite possibly the forefront of an invading force—”
She rolled her eyes.
“—and not to be trusted.”
“How ‘not to be trusted’ can I possibly be? I cured the Mekron!”
“All hail… our Queen and… Savior, the… Scourge of Allergic… Reactions… Everywhere,” Rog obediently chanted, and even threw up his hands (it took almost nine seconds to get them fully extended) to execute one of the best groveling bows she’d yet seen outside of a really bad Hollywood B-flick. “I can’t… tell you how… excited we all are… to be… receiving weekly… injections from… now until forever.”
“More gratitude, less eye rolling,” she told him. “Plus, I’d be more inclined to take you seriously if only this morning I hadn’t also heard you say, ‘When’s that pain in the ass Brinley going home?’”
Rog sucked a wounded gasp. He glared at Rowth. “You… told.”
“I’m not getting involved.” A corner of his mouth curled, but Rowth remained focused on filling the bowls.
“Jesus!” Brinley exclaimed, throwing up her own hands now only this time at the news monitors. “Look at that! They spelled Rowth right.”
“Only because… misspelling it might… lead to a… life sentence.” Rog grinned.
“Or a gun to the head,” she grumbled.
“All right, all right.” Rowth picked up all three bowls and brought them to the table. “Five bites,” he told Rog as he set one down in front of him.
“Ugh!” Rog let his head fall back. “I ate… yesterday.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Circling the table, Rowth set another at Brinley’s place. He snapped his fingers and tapped her spot.
And just like that, her mood over the evening news dissipated, replaced but a flash of warmth that blossomed in her stomach before rolling out through all the rest of her. Her nipples budded into twin peaks. Tiny twitches shivered from sex to womb and back again.
“Come,” Rowth said, soft spoken but commanding all the same.
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, but Brinley came. Rowth pulled out her chair before seating himself beside her.
“Please don’
Not that she wanted to. She kind of liked the way it felt. Certainly, she liked the sentiment. Instead of a tag, in shiny silver letters at the front of her throat, he’d emblazoned her collar with the first word she’d learned both to read and to write on that fancy tablet program he’d given her. She no longer believed she was following a children’s reading instructional. Not with words like penis, nipples, and Master, and of course, the word on her collar.
It read, quite simply: Bound.
The End
Coming Soon!
Captives of Pra’kir, Book 2
Mated Against Her Will
By
Dinah McLeod
To Be Released 4/21/17
Coming Soon!
Captives of Pra’kir, Book3
Her Alien Masters
By
Renee Rose
Excerpt:
“Clothes off,” he said, releasing her wrists. She still wore one of the the bright yellow prison jumpersuits normally worn by juvenile offenders, since the adult uniforms were too large.
She spun to face him, mouth agape. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Take off your prison uniform. For the initial conditioning, we’ll need you naked at all times. It enhances your sense of vulnerability and submission and helps establish our roles as your masters.”
“Fuck. That.”
He didn’t understand the command to fuck that. Not only was she not being specific about what he was supposed to have casual relations with, but the only thing he was in a mood to fuck was her. Unfortunately, he appeared more like she wanted to kick his teeth out, which was a damn cute look on her.
Jakk closed in from the other direction. “If we have to help you undress, Mira, you will earn your first consequence.”
She bolted.
The little human ran straight for the door, moving faster than he would’ve expected. Jakk lunged forward, catching her around the waist, covering her mouth when she screamed. He carried her a few steps forward, offering her up for Gav’n to undress. She didn’t make it easy, wriggling and twisting like a wild animal, but he managed to work the prison suit off her while his brother held her flailing body.
“And now your consequence.” Jakk used an emotionless tone, as if they always stripped young females and paddled their naked bottoms. His brother carried her to the settee and Gav’n followed, sitting next to Jakk, so Mira’s head fell in his lap when her bottom went over Jakk’s. He took control of Mira’s wrists while Jakk scissored one thigh over her kicking legs.
Mira opened her mouth as if to bite him, but his reflexes were quicker and he caught her by the hair and pulled her face away in time. “Ah ah, little human. Biting will earn you a second consequence.”
Jakk’s palm landed on her bare ass with a resounding crack and the little thing jerked. Gav’n watched as first shock, then fury scrawled across her features. The pink imprint of Jakk’s large hand bloomed on one of her cheeks. Jakk slapped her again, harder, on the other side. Jakk picked up the pace, spanking her rapidly on one cheek then the other, right where she sat.
“Ow! What is this? You can’t keep me here like this—ow!”
Her resistance turned him on. Still holding her by the wrists and the hair, Gav’n leaned forward and spoke softly in her ear, making his voice as loving and gentle as he knew how. “Easy, Mira. It’s a spanking. To teach you to obey. That’s all that’s going on here.”
Her eyes swiveled to peer at him as best as they could with his hair-hold. They revealed betrayal. Her small, rounded breasts heaved as she panted with the pain and stress.
He shoved a pillow between her head and his lap and released her hair, massaging her scalp when her head fell to the pillow. To his satisfaction, she remained collapsed, as if she’d accepted her fate. He continued to massage her head while Jakk slapped away at her rapidly reddening ass.
And a rather perfect ass it was. As was the rest of her. Pale ivory skin glowed with health, her slender body was built of lean muscle, legs long. She was certainly the most beautiful creature he’d ever had the fortune to disrobe.
The pain must have set in, because Mira lifted her head again, tugging against his hold on her wrists and squirming. Of course, with the two of them holding her down, she wasn’t going anywhere.
Jakk spanked her steadily for another full minute and then stopped, rubbing her pink buttocks. His mismatched eyes had darkened and Gav’n knew his brother must be as aroused as he was. Jakk drew in a deep breath, his palm roving over Mira’s punished ass in a caress now. “Do you smell that, Gav’n?” he asked thickly.
Gav’n inhaled through his nose. Feminine arousal. The delicious scent of Mira’s musk reached his nostrils. “I think Mira enjoyed her spanking as much as we liked giving it.”
Her head flew up, anger blazing in her eyes.
He laughed. “Your body can’t lie, little one.”
To Be Released 5/5/17
Click here to pre-order now!!
Coming Soon!
Captives of Pra’kir, Book 4
The Alien’s Mark
By
Megan Michaels
Excerpt:
“You know what’s expected.”
“But—”
“No.” Xan stopped setting up his tray, putting his hands on his hips, exasperated with his girl. “Do I need to tie you down?”
“No, Master. I’ll be good.” Her eyes darted around the room, looking toward his lab.
“I know where you want to go, but you’ll have to behave first, or the privilege will be taken away. What would take away your visitation, girl?”
She pulled her lip between her small white teeth. “Moving my hands from above my head. Uhm…I need to keep my legs splayed open for your procedures and be very still.”
“Yes.” He nodded toward her solemnly, raising his eyebrows in warning. “Or you could cause injury, but more than that you’d be a sad girl for the rest of the day, waiting for visitation tomorrow.”
Her heart dropped, she had to see the test tube—needed – to see it. The thought of waiting another day made tears threaten to fall. “I’ll be good.”
“I know you always believe you will be, but you have a way of dashing even your hopes in that regard…often. What else?” He methodically places his tools and swabs just the way he liked them, waiting for her answer.
“I need to have a respectful attitude, guarding my tone and words.”
“You seem to know the words, but there’s a disconnect with your actions. Isn’t that so, bad girl.” His dark eyebrows were knit above the eyes so dark that the pupils couldn’t be seen. He’d been drilling the rules into her for months now—and her ass—and she knew how to repeat them in rote form.
“I don’t think so.” She blinked innocently up at him. Whenever possible she reinforced that she tried and that she was indeed a good girl. Always convey your desire to be obedient to your captor.
Turning his head, he addressed their nurse, “Ganza, I’d like to hear your opinion on the matter of Miss Blythe’s attitude and respect regarding obedience to the rules.”
The very large woman stepped forward, the fabric on her crisp black dress and white apron whispering as she walked, her hand sweeping over her hair caught up in a severe bun on the back of her head. “It’s been my experience that Blythe is fiery and sassy, some days it seems beyond repair, but when she puts her mind to it, she is as sweet as a kitten, Sir.”
“Indeed, and just as cuddly as one too, but your observation is sound. As always, Ganza. Thank you.” He gave his faithful employee a slight bow before wagging his finger toward Blythe. “I suggest you still that sassy tongue, or I may have to put it to good use. I have ways of keeping an open mouth occupied.”
Blythe’s hips squirmed on the metal table, her arousal climbing. Although she’d never admit it to him, sucking his cock – or even thinking about it – had become a great source of pleasure. The length and girth of a Pra’kirian cock was something to behold. Initially, it’d been more than she thought she’d ever adjust to, but over time, she loved nothing more than displaying her love for it.
“It doesn’t appear to be a serious threat to her, Sir.” Ganza tried—unsuccessfully—to hide a grin.
He shot a glare at the nurse, watching her quickly fix her face. “Oh, but it is. She likes to think she’ll enjoy it, but I have ways to turn even the most pleasurable of events into something that resembles punishment. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Blythe’s eyes widened. “Yes, Master.” Her captor knew his way around punishment, and even on a good day his sadistic mind and methods could turn her into a compliant submissive.
“Let’s proceed. I believe my girl is ready for her thorough examination.”
To Be Released 5/19/17
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