by Renee Bond
The craft took off. As it began flying, the reason for its transparent build became clear. We all had an unobstructed view of the terrain all around us.
The late afternoon light from the planet’s red-giant sun painted the scrub desert in deep yellows, ambers, oranges and reds. It was inhospitable. Desolate. But somehow beautiful too.
My eye wandered away from the windows. Towards our woman. She was staring out and down, drinking it all in.
Suddenly, she gave a quiet gasp.
“Never seen a herd of Albianas before?” Daxen asked.
I followed their eyes. We were flying over several hundred Albinas, a hearty, shaggy, six-limbed herbivore roughly six meters tall. They could grow to weigh several tons each. A couple of the bulls down below looked about that big.
“No,” said our woman. “They look so cuddly!”
“They’re friendly enough,” said Ellon, “unless they’re hungry. They’ll eat just about anything.”
“Can you ride one?” she asked.
We all laughed.
“Maybe,” said Jensi, “if you could stand the smell.
Which you can’t.”
Our woman’s face fell a little. Cute.
But I was getting tired of thinking of her as ‘our woman.’
“How about Albiana?” I asked, of nobody in particular.
Confused stares.
“We’ve got to name her some time,” I said with a grin. Triumphant regulations were to wait at least a month before naming a mate-prize. It gave you enough time to think about the issue properly. But that wouldn’t stop us from brainstorming until then.
My suggestion - a joke, really - finally got the laughter I was expecting.
For everyone except our woman.
She fixed me with a defiant glare.
“I’ve got a name,” she said quietly.
I felt my own eyes harden.
“You had a name,” I said. “Now you don’t. And you’ll get one when we give you one.”
I could tell she was conflicted. She knew by now that she’d be punished if she displeased us. Even so, her eyes narrowed into slits.
With a small shudder, she went back to looking out the window.
Ellon whispered something in her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut, but said nothing.
“Got something to say, little slut?” asked Jensi, his voice dripping with condescension.
“That’s enough,” I said, just as our woman’s head whipped around, her mouth flying open.
Jensi stared a challenge at our woman… but knew better than to say anything else.
Our woman stared back.
Then she gave a little snort. Almost inaudible.
Jensi’s jaw tightened, the way it did when he was close to losing it.
But our woman was already looking back out the window.
I peered at Jensi. Had that little snort meant something? Had something happened between them?
Chapter 30
Jensi
That little bitch.
No. That clever little bitch.
Clearly, she understood how powerless she was. Clearly she understood that outright defiance wouldn’t be tolerated. But she also clearly knew just how far she could push back without going over the line. Nobody in my squad would understand that her little snort had been a mockery, designed to call attention to my subordinate status. I may have power over her, but her little snort had pointed out that my power actually came from Travan, my superior officer.
Who, naturally, derived his power from whoever his superior happened to be - some Captain back at the ground base, no doubt. Such was life in the military.
As such, her little mockery was hollow.
But she didn’t know that.
She thought she had defied me, mocked me, and gotten away with it.
And that was what really burned in my gut.
The rest of my squad wouldn’t let me punish her for that. They wouldn’t understand.
But I wasn’t about to forget that little snort. Sooner or later, our clever little bitch would get what was coming to her.
The thought made me relax. A smile even tugged at the corners of my mouth as I stared out at the desolate planet.
Defiant as she was, she was just so deliciously punishable. Her tight, rough ass would turn shades of red she’d never seen before I was done with her. Those plush red lips would beg for mercy. Those eyes, so sharp and clear in their pretty little face, would tear and plead.
I had to turn my mind to other matters before the bulge in my pants grew big enough to be noticed.
Half an hour later, our small craft touched down in a small clearing, in the middle of a large market square in the local town of Tendras. It hadn’t looked like much from above, but as I stretched my cramped legs I couldn’t help but notice the place’s charm. There were plenty of plants adorning the white brick buildings, which were neatly built and decorated with intricate carvings that no doubt meant something significant to the indigenous population. A few small fountains threw off a fine mist in swirling patterns that drifted high into the air. I immediately smelled the aroma of roasting, seasoned meat.
Everyone else did too.
We found a small cafe. Ate a meal. It was predictably spicy. We all picked at the food - getting away from the regulation cafeterias was a nice change of pace, but none of us much liked the flavor of this local fare.
Except for our woman. She devoured everything with wide-eyed relish, seemingly oblivious to the spice level.
Or maybe she was relishing that too.
Afterward, we sat around, drinking and shooting the shit. Like every single member of the Triumphant military, we were avid fans of nearly all the combat leagues, from unarmed combat to simulated weapons combat all the way through the team-based deathmatches some prisoners choose to compete in to try to kill their way to freedom. Gambling on the outcomes of these matches is big business, and outside of actual duty, few things are more important to the average Triumphant man.
Our woman, predictably, grew bored quickly.
Daxen was just finishing telling us all why using a short katana in each hand is superior to wielding a long blade with both hands - completely incorrectly, I might add - and why that distinction gave the Tsunami team the best chance to reach the quarter-final stage in an upcoming tournament - again, completely incorrectly - when a commotion burst out at another table in the cafe.
“Stupid bitch!” a uniformed man shouted, jumping up from his table and striking a waitress across the face with a balled fist. The man was balding, tall but paunchy, with a bushy mustache and bushier eyebrows. The unfortunate woman, a middle-aged local, reeled backward, falling over an empty table as she tumbled to the floor in a clattering heap of spilled food and upset tableware. “How dare you serve this filth to me?” the man demanded before he kicked the downed woman brutally in the ribs.
I looked around our table. The men were glaring in stony-faced silence. Our woman was staring in wide-eyed shock, her mouth agape.
“Triumphant isn’t the most egalitarian clan,” I whispered, so low only she could hear, “but we’re far from the worst when it comes to how we treat women.”
It was truly pathetic for a man to strike a woman like that. Even if she was his property - which she clearly wasn’t, in this case - to cause her injury only broadcasted the weakness of his character, his inability to exert his will over her properly.
It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so offensive.
Snarling something unintelligible, the man kicked the now-sobbing woman again while wiping a sweating brow with a napkin.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” our woman demanded.
The four of us exchanged looks.
“See what he’s wearing?” asked Travon, indicating the man’s uniform. It was a distinct forest green, with a clear line of crimson red slashed across the breast. “He’s a member of clan Everlasting. And that red stripe means he’s an officer. Even if our clans were
n’t in the middle of negotiating a lasting alliance, Everlasting has just as much jurisdiction over this planet as we do. That’s part of the ceasefire our clans entered into. We don’t have any authority over him… and even if we did, it wouldn’t be worth risking diplomatic fallout.” Travan frowned the whole time he spoke. As if hating every word he said.
We all knew how he felt.
Again and again, the Everlasting officer rained kicks down on the woman. Most of them were ineffectual, without any real force behind them - he’d clearly been drinking - but we could tell they were having an effect. The cafe’s other patrons were all watching. It was easy to tell the locals apart from the Everlasting troops, of which there was a large contingent. Not surprising, as this was one of the nicer cafes in town. The locals tried to look away, to pretend they weren’t witnessing a brutal public beating. A majority of the Everlasting soldiers did the same. A few Everlasting soldiers cheered their officer on with sycophantic enthusiasm.
“He’s going to kill her!” said our woman.
“The galaxy's a mean place,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” said Ellon, his face stony, “we won't ever let anyone treat you like that.”
“Damn right,” said Daxen.
Our eyes returned to the scene.
Kick after kick. I started to realize that the bastard really was trying to kill her.
“Hey asshole!”
A woman’s voice stopped the Everlasting officer mid-kick.
A voice that was sickeningly familiar.
Too late, Ellon made a grab for our woman, who had risen from the table and was now stalking straight at the Everlasting officer.
With Ellon’s service pistol held tightly in her hand.
“Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to treat a lady?” she demanded. Drawing close, she shoved the barrel of the pistol right up against the man’s face.
He blanched and drew back, his eyes darting back and forth.
“You wouldn’t dare-” he started.
Then the butt of the pistol, swung at arm’s length and in full force, struck him square in the mouth. Down he went, crashing back into his own table, scattering tableware.
“She didn’t deserve that you piece of shit!” our woman shouted, still pointing the pistol. “You can’t do that to people, let alone someone who can’t even fight back, and who didn’t do anything wrong!” The weapon was coded to Ellon’s DNA - all Triumphant weapons are coded to their owners - so she couldn’t have fired it.
But neither she nor the Everlasting officer knew that.
The officer held up his hands. There was murder in his eyes, but a shallow, fake smile forced itself onto his face.
“I’m sure we-” he started.
But he was interrupted when another man, yet another Everlasting officer by his uniform, pointed a pistol at our woman’s head.
It had all happened in the blink of an eye.
But what happened next was even faster.
Three Triumphant pistols were suddenly pointed at
the man - the dead man - who had dared to threaten our woman. Ellon, without a gun to point, simply charged the second Everlasting officer, lowering his shoulder as he slammed into the bastard with all the force he could muster. Taken completely by surprise, the second officer emitted a pathetic squawk as he shot back, crashing against the cafe’s stone wall.
He was almost as thick as Ellon though, and was back on his feet in seconds.
Along with almost a dozen other Everlasting soldiers and officers.
We were bigger. And, having fought Everlasting before, I can tell you that we were meaner.
But we were outnumbered at least three to one.
The only thing we had going in our favor? We were all armed, and only two Everlasting personnel were.
Still, it was about to get very, very ugly.
“Stand down!” Travan roared. It wasn’t clear if he was talking to us, or the Everlasting.
Nobody, Travon included, lowered their weapons.
“You’re going to pay for that,” spat the second Everlasting officer. He tried to seem tough. But an almost imperceptible wince told me that Ellon had hurt him.
“You can treat your own women how you like,” Travon growled. “But you will never, ever threaten ours. Or you’ll be dead.”
The Everlasting soldiers were slowly spreading out. A few were trying to edge around our small group in the crowded space.
“Put your guns down,” said the second Everlasting officer sweetly. “We can settle this with our fists. Or are you Triumphant scum to scared?”
I felt a shiver of rage run up my spine. The urge to holster my weapon, to let my fists do the talking, was almost overpowering.
“We’re leaving,” said Travon icely. “Anyone who follows us will get what our woman gave that first piece of shit.”
A few of the Everlasting spat on us or hurled insults as we backed out of the cafe, our pistols never wavering from their targets. Even when we were out on the street we kept walking backward for two solid blocks, just to make sure none of them was going to try to sneak up on us.
Then we turned and, keeping our woman protected in between us, ran.
Chapter 31
Rachel
Nobody spoke on the way back to the Triumphant airfield.
Nobody had to.
I could feel the tension in the little saucer-like craft that took us back to friendly territory. The anger. I did my best to turn invisible. I wasn’t sorry for what I had done - I’d probably saved a woman’s life.
But I knew that my men were, to put it mildly, unhappy with me.
I’d put us in danger. All of us. I’d started a conflict with a rival faction, who they were supposed to be cooperating with.
Worth it? Totally.
But there would be a heavy price to pay.
When we got back to our ship, they wasted no time. In less than a minute, I found myself stripped naked. Not gently. Soon after, once they’d shepherded me back into the ship’s living quarters, the devices they’d used to bind my wrists and ankles the first time they fucked me were back in place. I didn’t resist. I didn’t make a sound. I already knew that they were going to punish me.
I just didn’t want to make it any worse.
My ankles snapped together, eliciting a surprised gasp. My wrists followed a moment later, binding my hands behind my back, pushing my chest awkwardly forward. But it didn’t end there. Once secured together, my wrists began rising, forcing my hands and arms to rise with them, then bending me right over as I struggled to contort to the pressures the devices were exerting on my elbows, shoulders and back. Soon I was trussed up, completely helpless, my legs straight, bent over at the waist, my arms sticking up in the air behind. Holding me up. Holding my naked ass up, as my equally naked breasts hung down freely. I did my best not to move - every microscopic shift on my part sent painful tension through my arms and contorted back.
I almost swore. Only the painful, embarrassing position, which was even making it somewhat difficult to breathe, held me back.
This is it, I thought. The first time they fucked me, they had hurt me, spanked me, used me roughly and thoroughly, just for the fun and pleasure of it. But this was different.
This time, they were pissed.
However, that wasn't, in fact, it.
After observing their handiwork - me - for several silent, tense moments, the men all left.
Leaving me alone.
Wondering. Waiting.
Aching for release.
But not that kind of release. The kind of release where I’d be actually released from the increasingly painful position the men had put me into! What started as a dull ache in my shoulders, a mild strain on my back, only grew. And grew. I couldn’t move, couldn’t relieve the pressure. I don’t know how long it was until it really started to hurt.
But it did. Oh, but it did start to hurt.
Eventually, I wasn’t able to even keep my back hunched in a vain e
ffort to keep my hands as high as possible anymore. With a sound that was something between a whimper and a gasp, I sunk even lower, arching my back upwards as far as I could. It helped - my back.
My shoulders? Not so much.
The motion also made me painfully aware of just how exposed my naked ass was. Not that I needed any reminding. But now, arching my back… somehow it made the situation even more humiliating. I knew it wasn’t true, but I almost felt like I was presenting myself.
I was under no illusions. I knew my men like to fuck me in bondage. And my ass just happened to be in the perfect position. But what else were they going to do? Spank me? Seemed unavoidable. Use those painful nipple clamps again? Beat me? Whip me? Keep me suspended here until I passed out?
Fuck me… in the ass?
That thought sent a shiver down my spine. The closest I’d come to anal had been the little toy they used the first time they fucked me. And it had hurt… at least as first. I pictured Ellon’s mammoth cock jamming its way into my ass.
Swallowed hard.
I didn’t want to call out. I really didn’t. But after a long, long time… hours, maybe… I just couldn’t take it anymore.
The pain in my shoulders. The anticipation, knowing that my punishment hadn’t really even begun yet. The anxiety, my imagination going wild picturing what depraved, painful acts of sexual torture my hulking alien space soldiers were going to submit me to.
I didn’t want to call out.
Then I was just doing it.
“Hello? Anyone? Please, help me!”
It was humiliating. Every syllable I uttered drove home the point that I was helpless. Powerless. Completely at their mercy.
“Please, let me out of this!”
Nobody answered. Nobody came.
At least, not at first.
Something like half an hour later, after several more rounds of painful crying out - and, if I’m being honest, a little bit of just crying - the door to the living quarters snapped open with a metallic hiss.
In walked my men. My owners. All four of them. Better than a ton of solid muscle and frowning faces.
