by Ava Sinclair
“What do you mean?”
“Enough.” There was finality in his tone. “Your master has arrived.”
General Bron filled the doorway as it opened. Phaedra felt a strange rush at the sight of him, and felt a tingle on the secret place where he’d touched her. Her face grew warm at the memory of how her hips had followed his hand, so eager, so wanton. She stared down at the floor.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Like a child.” GilAman answered for her.
“Good.” Bron’s voice was deep, and Phaedra did not need to meet his gaze to know his was trained on her. “Sharad is expecting her. Thank you, GilAman.”
The alien physician put his hand to his chest and lowered his head. “Anything for my brother.”
Bron nodded and turned to lead Phaedra away. He said nothing as they walked, but kept two fingers on her shoulder, with just enough tension to remind her how quickly he could snatch her to him should he need to.
“He said he saved you.”
“What?” Bron stopped and now Phaedra did look at him.
“The doctor. GilAman. He said he saved your life.”
For the first time, she saw something other than complete confidence on the handsome face.
He resumed walking, his fingers again on her shoulder as he guided her along. “Such matters are none of your concern.”
Now she stopped. “It’s not a matter of concern,” she said. “It’s a matter of curiosity. I’ve been taken from my home, and now you intend to use me for… whatever. You’ve implied that you’re going to…” she looked down, “…fuck me.” She flushed and looked up. “I’m simply curious about you.”
For a moment he was quiet. When he spoke, it was with authority she could imagine him using with other helpless subordinates. “My intentions were not implied, but stated as fact. I will fuck you, hard, often and at my discretion. I will reward you when you obey, and harshly punish you when you don’t. I will, should I desire, even punish you for my own pleasure. As for your curiosity… let it extend only to learning to best meet my needs with your mouth, your pussy, and your bottom hole. Or to learning the proper poses that Sharad will teach you, poses designed to show your complete unerring submission.” He looked up and down her body. “You have one purpose here, Phaedra. And it is for my pleasure.”
This time when he resumed their walk, he took hold of her arm almost roughly. A lump formed in Phaedra’s throat, and hot tears of humiliation filled her eyes as it occurred to her that Bron’s words had been more dehumanizing than the exam had been.
To be used? To be nothing more than a receptacle for this alien male’s cock, to be appreciated only for the show of submission she’d never willingly feel? These things sickened her. The sob in her throat crested and broke. Bron stopped again.
“You show sadness.” He sounded somewhere between annoyed and puzzled. “Why?”
“Why do you care?” she asked, angrily wiping a tear away with a shaking hand. “I’m nothing here. I’m just a walking… pussy, right?”
He was so tall that he had to lean down as he took hold of her arms in either hand. “It’s an honor.”
“No. It’s not. It’s no different than the breeding colony on Savusia.” Phaedra ignored Bron’s look of shock at her words. “Yes, GilAman told me. It was nice, being spoken to. He said his people are more savage, but I disagree.” She wiped her nose this time and sniffled. “At least they talk to the livestock.”
“Look at me.”
It took her a moment to obey. Bron’s eyes darted back and forth, as if to ascertain that they were alone. “You know little of this planet. And you know nothing of Savusia. Trust me.” He sighed. “And understand, little one. Your lot cannot be changed. Nor mine. I needed a pet and chose you. I cannot satisfy this curiosity, Phaedra, at least not until you’ve accepted my authority completely and without question.” He brought his large hand up and wiped away another tear with his thumb. “That will not come quickly, for you are not like the others. You are clever and willful. I find those traits as attractive as the promise of your body. But mark my words: you will see me as the master of your mind and body. It is essential to your survival, and mine. I’ll speak no more on this, and if you press me I will beat your bottom until your screams are heard on the distant moons. Understand?”
This time there was no more conversation as he led Phaedra to their next destination. But she sensed something now that made her wonder at his sternness. Was it genuine? Her mind replayed GilAman’s words about her political importance. Did this large man at her side really want her? Was his gruff treatment for her benefit or his?
Her thoughts were derailed again as they entered another chamber, this one so beautiful that it took her breath away. It had the same high ceilings, but rather than being transparent, this was covered by a moving mural of stars and galaxies. Ornately carved columns supported it, and it was only after passing one that Phaedra realized the carvings were of Traoian men and human women in sexual positions, or of naked women, or penises. In one carving, a circle of naked women was worshipping a large cock on a pedestal.
There were six shallow pools in the room, with women lounging in them. On the side of one pool, two other women were engaged in an intense sex act, with one woman leaning against a carved column, her legs spread, as another woman knelt between her legs tonguing her labia. Beside them, what Phaedra surmised was a female Traoian stood watching and coaching.
“Remember, Sutra… you must feast on her pussy as if it were a ripe fruit. Your master will be pleased to see your face shiny with Ilisa’s juices. Ilisa, you must play with your nipples. Pinch them, pull them; feed on the sensations as Sutra feeds on you. Your masters long to see the connection as they stroke themselves.”
The Traoian female turned then, having spotting Bron, and began to walk over. Phaedra watched the woman approach and realized then why the Earth women had been brought here. This female Traoian was as nearly as large as Bron, her three large breasts bound but ineffectively lifted by a crisscross network of straps over her dark gray shift. Her face was hard, even with her kind smile, and her wiry hair was arranged in an upright rectangular block on her head.
“General Bron. I was told you’d be bringing your selected pet today.” The woman looked down, and Phaedra felt momentarily insulted that this unattractive alien female was looking at her with something of disdain. Her words were even more offensive. “This is your pick? The one I didn’t groom for viewing?”
“Forgive me, Matron Sharad,” he said. “The others were lovely, but I prefer a blank canvas.”
“Hmmm…” The matron sniffed derisively. “Understandable, I suppose, given that you are a military man. As you know, I do not hide flaws; I accentuate beauty.” She peered at Phaedra, then reached out for her, pulling her over. Phaedra felt the shift whisked from her body and flushed as Sharad circled her, assessing her. The woman reached out, slapped her bottom cheek, poked her outer labia, pinched a nipple. From yards away, the two women continued to moan as their sexual liaison continued.
“There is potential here, I suppose.” Matron Sharad stepped back. “But you’re going up against Senator Primus, and his Earth pet is a rare beauty.” Her lips pursed in an expression of disapproval. “Of course, she’d have been even more beautiful if she’d been sent to my chamber instead of Matron Ulara’s.”
“So work your skills on my pet,” General Bron said.
The matron took one more appraising look at Phaedra. “Very well. She could be my best work. I won’t know until I start.”
She fixed Phaedra with a hard glance. “Come along. And don’t lag or I’ll use the reeds on you.”
Phaedra didn’t ask what the reeds were. She simply followed, looking back over her shoulder just in time to see Bron leaving without another word to her. The Traoian woman led her past the two human females, one of whom was now having an obvious and very animated orgasm as the second knelt between her legs, clutching onto her partner’s bottom, her
“Much better,” Matron Sharad said, and both women moaned together, this time in relief.
The matron was—Phaedra quickly realized—as fearsome and feared as any man could be. The women she passed all bowed their heads as she swept by, practically dragging her latest project into another room. The interior of this chamber had ruby-colored walls, and what looked like a more ornate version of the medical cabinet in the physician’s chamber. But this cabinet had drawers that opened to reveal more drawers, and small wands that glittered and glowed between pots of creamed cosmetics in colors Phaedra hadn’t known existed.
“Your facial structure is interesting.” The matron was waving a small wand in front of her face and studying a 3-D holographic image of Phaedra’s head showing musculature and underlying bone structure. “It’s almost childlike. And we’ll want you to be the opposite of Senator Primus’ Dakara.”
It was the first time Phaedra had heard the name of the woman associated with Senator Primus, who she had surmised was in some sort of competition with Bron. She was aching to know, but instinct told her that this imposing female Traoian would not be as willing to make small talk as the Savusian doctor.
“Your eyes.” Matron Sharad had been studying the holograph and now looked at Phaedra with excitement. “They’re too small.”
She pushed Phaedra down in a cup-shaped chair and two robotic hand-like grips shot from around the back, immobilizing her head. Phaedra tried not to panic as the matron reached for another wand, this one flattened on one end, and waved it in front of her eye.
She screamed.
A terrible pain shot through her head, but she couldn’t move. “One more.” The wand moved again, and the pain was repeated. A third pass of the wand and the pain miraculously disappeared.
“Breathe,” the matron ordered. “It makes it worse if you lose your breath.” As Phaedra sat gasping, the matron took a step back, assessing her charge again. “Yes, much better.” She put a finger to her pursed lips and stared another long minute before continuing. “Your skin is flawless for a human, although you will be scanned for blemishes and scars before your bath. I can see no reason for a complete resurfacing…”
What the fuck? Phaedra screamed the words in her head. This was the spa day from hell, and she felt wistful for the less painful sexual invasion of Dr. GilAman.
“Your hair. The color doesn’t bring out the luster in your fair skin. Another shade, I think.” The matron picked up another wand and walked over and Phaedra was relieved that this, at least, did not hurt. But still, the shock of looking down to see that her hair was now thicker, longer, and a glossy shade of auburn stunned her into silence.
“I think a plum for your lips, although they can be a bit fuller.” Before Phaedra could object, the matron had produced another wand, which she waved in front of her face. Suddenly, Phaedra’s lips felt puffy and bee-stung. Another pass of the wand, however, and the pain receded and only the fullness of a pouty lower lip remained.
Next came an instant whitening of her teeth (the matron was happy to see that Phaedra was cavity-free and went on a diatribe about the unsightly state of some of the other girls’ molars), eyeliner expertly applied and—Phaedra realized—as permanent as the plump lip color and cheek color.
The bath was the most pleasant part. The pools were filled with something that was definitely not water. It was heavier, thicker, and seemed to invade Phaedra’s pores as it circled around her body like a whirlpool with a mind of its own, scrubbing her from neck to feet.
She emerged with unbelievably soft skin, and was made to stand again as Matron Sharad circled her for another round of alterations that included a stretching of the skin above her breasts and expansion of tissue inside them to give her a slightly larger, firmer chest, followed by a reduction of tissue in her lower belly to make it flatter. A jewel was inserted in her belly button, and a small metal cap placed over her clitoris, which the matron told her could only be removed by the general.
She would now be dressed, the matron announced, and Phaedra soon found herself in a closet unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was a warren of rooms, really, with everything from diaphanous gowns to what looked like full metal bodysuits. There were also rows and rows of jeweled collars and leashes as well as elaborate harnesses.
Matron Sharad walked between racks of clothing, muttering to herself before pulling down a garment with a flourish. It was the softest pink and looked to be made of fine lace until the garment shifted in her hand. Then it looked like an entirely different fabric altogether, with hues of purple and periwinkle swirling among the pink.
“Oh, yes…” The matron was smiling broadly. “Soft, like a freshly plucked petal. You’ll be all sweetness on the InfoBoards, your image of sensual innocence such a contrast to Senator Primus’ knowing pet. What’s to discover of a pet who looks so bold and knowing? You’re a mystery, a sweet helpless thing any Traoian would kill to ravish. But you will only have one master, and he’ll be the most envied and respected man on the planet once he debuts you.”
The picture for Phaedra was becoming clearer now. Her acquisition was more about image than companionship or even sex. It was about politics.
The shift she’d been given after her bath was removed and replaced by the dress the matron had selected. It was short, coming just up to the tops of her thighs, the bodice clinging to her curves and the skirt flowing around her like the petals of some exotic pastel flower.
“Kneel.” The matron barked the word and when Phaedra hesitated, the matron took her hand and rapped it with a wand she pulled from within her robe. Phaedra cried out and clutched her hand, which felt like it was on fire.
“Kneel!” the matron repeated, and this time Phaedra rushed to obey, sinking down to the floor.
“All the way!”
Phaedra didn’t know exactly what was wanted, but did the best she could, adopting a child’s pose from her yoga days and hoping it would suffice. She could feel the skirt hike up to reveal just the lowest portion of her buttocks but instinctively knew better than to reach back and tug the hem. Instead, Phaedra held her breath, and only released it after the matron grunted, mumbled something about her form, and then ordered her up.
“Yes,” Matron Sharad said. “That will do.” She paused. “I suppose you’ll want to see the changes. Most Earth girls do.” She led Phaedra to the side of the room then, and a mirrorized panel dropped down.
Phaedra couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe. The woman staring back at her was her, but not her. The reflection was a more exotic version, a breathtaking caricature in the flesh. Her eyes were larger, making them her look doe-like and innocent. Her lashes were impossibly long. Her lips were a full cupid’s bow, her teeth flawlessly white. And her body. Her breasts were perfection, her body graceful, perfect lines.
Forget Metalaskin, she thought. Import this technology to Earth and every woman on the planet will be fighting for it.
“You know…” The matron was standing behind Phaedra, watching her assess herself. She was smiling. “I believe Bron’s instincts were right. You are, by far—and surprisingly enough—the most beautiful Earth pet I’ve ever seen.” She turned. “Summon the general,” she called into the other room, her voice swelling with pride. “Tell him he must come at once.”
Chapter Six
Stunning. General Bron could think of no other word when he gazed upon his pet. His pet. He’d been averse to the notion, and had only capitulated for political reasons. But the resentment he felt at having to take a slave faded as he took in the transformed Phaedra.
It was her spirit that had attracted him, and he could see that she was pretty. But now, with the matron’s masterful accentuations, the Earth woman before him was unparalleled by any other pet. And he found himself eager to present her publicly, not because she would enhance his political standing, but because he felt her loveliness would be a gift to all who looked upon her.
“You are a jewel.” He tipped her chin up, looked into her eyes. They were slightly larger by alteration, but Bron believed the natural innocence dwelling in them was more compelling than their size. He raised a finger, touched her plump bottom lip, and imagined that sweet mouth wrapped around his cock. She was his. This was the order of things. Perhaps his high-minded objection to slavery was—as the senators argued—a sort of snobbery. Perhaps they were right; the leaders did deserve a reward, a perk. And would not the sight of these women inspire other men to greatness?
But still, he had to be careful. He was the leader of the Iron Guard, hard and hardened. General Augustus Bron had no room in his life for love, or for a protracted battle of wills. He would tame his spirited slave, teach her full obedience and then enjoy her at his leisure. The sooner they both realized their place with one another, the better.
“She is lovely,” he remarked to the matron.
“She is indeed.” Matron Sharad placed a large hand to her middle breast. “My greatest work.” Then her tone turned serious. “But her training. She must master all the pet postures with fluidity and grace. I recommend Otto…”
“No.” Bron’s response was harsh. “I’ve already decided to train her myself.”
“But with the demands of your station, the election… it may be too much! The training is rigorous and exact!”
Bron threw back his leonine head and laughed at this. “Please, matron. You’re speaking to a man who takes boys from their crying mothers and turns them into warriors. If you think I cannot teach this weak little Earthling female to bend and kneel and present, then you miss your guess!”
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