“Don’t. Say. It.” She gritted it out, and he shut up, hopefully for good on the subject. She continued, “What about the wrong kind? Is there…”
He shrugged. “Subs are punished for a variety of reasons, depending upon infractions or sometimes at the whim of their Doms. Behave yourself to the best of your ability, do as you are told and serve. Come to me when it is over. I’ll be waiting. I will make it right.”
She cried then, cried for what was to come and wept for the selflessness of her friend. Samuel drew her to her feet and sat with her in his lap until she settled.
After a time she pushed upright and wearily shoved her hair away from her face. She could feel the hard length of his cock against her hip and once again recognized his interest in her, but she didn’t return it. Perhaps it was because he was a Dom. She simply didn’t see him in a romantic way. She didn’t judge him for his proclivities and had attended a couple of his educational scenes in his club.
Observing him bring a sub to the most outrageous pleasure, the woman restrained, naked and exposed to observers, had spoken to something inside her, but Adara denied that pull. She had worked too hard to become the independent, respected woman she was and refused to change that fact. She needed the persona if she was to take her place in the family business, and assured herself the thought of being in that woman’s position hadn’t made her panties wet.
Pressing a kiss on his cheek, she extricated herself from his hold and made her way to the room he had put her in, one like he expected she might find waiting for her when she arrived on Virile. It was sparsely appointed, if adequate, and was probably geared to make her long for more. Like a small cell. At least she might be able to retreat to it.
Her little suitcase lay on the dresser, open to receive the meager items allowed by the contract—it was specified the farmers would provide for her. Samuel tried to put a positive spin on that, suggesting they wanted to give her everything. Adara thought they just wanted to cut her off from her life here with nothing to remind her of home.
Personal toiletries were allowed, as was her profiler for electronic books, although communication without proscribed consent of her captors was prohibited. That last point chilled her to the bone. If they meant to sever contact even with her few friends, it didn’t bode well.
She was taking the transport in the morning, woefully unprepared for the months ahead. She still railed against the lack of choice, but she’d crammed for the test, much like she did in her university classes, and would try to pass this one without losing everything because of failure. She’d take a shower now and leave the really nice lace bra and panty set to drip dry in the bath before she ate the contents of the tray she knew Sammy would have sent to her room. And then she’d go to bed and study some more. Maybe sleep would ease her if she read until her eyes couldn’t stay open any longer—if her brain would only get the message. She’d need her so-called wits about her tomorrow.
Showered, her skimpy laundry hanging to dry, she donned a nightgown before checking out the light meal the cook had prepared for her. She managed to sip some of the broth before her stomach clenched in rejection. Setting it aside she slipped beneath the covers and turned on her profiler. There was yet another apologetic message from Elliot for her to delete.
****
The plan of reading until her brain surrendered—nothing to read into that particular verb—bore fruit. Adara woke to the low vibration of the alarm, profiler on her chest and her hair a mass of tangles because she’d failed to dry it properly the night before. She sat up and tried to pull her fingers through it, wincing. She’d look like a hoyden and not the carefully groomed woman she showed the world. Her hair was her one real vanity, the one physical attribute she’d inherited from her mother, a woman she had vague, if fond memories about. But it was a trial to keep it contained, and she hardly wanted to present as someone who wasn’t calm and controlled, ladylike.
“Morning, honey. You have an hour before your transport to the station.” Samuel lounged in the door frame, holding a chocolate protein shake in his big hand.
Suppressing a shriek, she clambered out of bed and ran into the bathroom, relieving herself as she tried to tug a brush through her hair. If she missed that transport…gods knew what those farmers would do to her. The contract had been very specific about the date of her arrival—if she was late a week would be added for each day. Tossing the brush at the counter she washed her hands and decided to wear the underwear she’d laundered. The contract hadn’t stipulated she appear without any. Maybe she was pushing her luck but that little demon inside urged her to do so, and she tugged the bits of lace on.
Makeup was apparently frowned upon as well, but she touched her lashes with dark kohl after applying moisturizer to her face and neck, and added a hint of color to her lips. Her green eyes stared back at her, veiled by her intense need not to think any further about her lot in life. A judicious use of detangler loosened her curls, and her dark red hair shone as she worked the brush through it. She tied the mass high on her head and secured it with several pins, effectively giving her that professional look. A bite of dental cleanser took care of her teeth, and she spat the detritus into the sink.
Scooping up her soaps, hair products, creams and cleansers, as well as a little bottle of scent, she headed out of the bathroom towards the closet, dropping her armful of toiletries into the suitcase. They sadly outnumbered her clothing, but the contract indicated she would have everything she required provided there. Perhaps Virile lacked such things as shampoo and soap—no surprise to her. She moved robotically, not thinking, and saw Sammy had left her shake by the bed, so stopped to drink a few swallows. The cold beverage tasted good against her tight throat then curdled in her belly, but she kept it down. There was no need for stasis during her trip because of the new star drive engines, but she would need the energy to sustain her because of the toll of quick travel on her body, not to mention what would greet her when she arrived. No thinking.
She stepped into a pair of navy trousers and pulled a top in a vibrant shade of lime green over her head. It might be the last time she would get to wear her favorite color.
“You have underwear on. And makeup.” Sammy spoke quietly from the hall.
“Jeez. You walk like a ghost.” She scowled at him. “And I’m wearing it. I know that fucking contract word for word, and there’s nothing in it to say I can’t wear underwear until I get there. And a little makeup boosts my confidence.”
“But you will please them if you don’t wear either.”
Oh. Good point. Then she decided not to heed his advice. Her month of submission didn’t start until she got off the godsdamn ship.
“And your language, sub.”
Oh shit. He was in Dom mode now. She swallowed her protests and nodded meekly to practice. Could a person nod meekly? Perhaps so, because Samuel relaxed his stance and moved past her to pick up her case, pressing the edges shut and sealed. The contract crackled beneath his fingers from where it was tucked in the outside pocket, an audible reminder of what awaited.
His eyes met hers before she cast them to the floor in respect for what he had tried to do for her. “Come, Adara.”
“Stay here, Sammy. Please. I can’t bear to say goodbye at the ship.” Her plea was heartfelt, and she hoped she meant it, but somehow the idea of him seeing her off was too much, too final. She wondered if she would ever see him again, and the premonition brought stinging tears to her eyes. Why couldn’t she have fallen for him, fallen at his feet as he so obviously hoped she would do? Elliot couldn’t have wagered her if she’d been claimed by someone else. Hindsight.
Silence greeted her request, and then he nodded. She didn’t miss the flash of pain in his eyes before he once again became stoic.
“If I’m allowed to contact you I will. I’ll tell them you’re my family.” The tears made her voice husky.
Another nod. She could sense his riot of emotions.
“Samuel?”
“
Obey and serve, Adara.”
Pressing a kiss on his cheek, up on tip toe, she tugged her case from his hand and ran down the hallway in her bare feet to where her shoes rested by the front door of his abode. For an instant she wished she’d taken a sedative—they were not only allowed on off planet trips but encouraged—but she feared arriving and not being in full control of her faculties. Toeing into her flats she took a breath, opened the door and stepped out. She didn’t dare look back.
The vehicle was waiting, and its driver climbed out to take her case and help her inside. She sank into her head and thought about nothing, practicing her new state of mind. Despite his protests to the contrary, it had been obvious to her that Sammy harbored doubts about an experienced Dom allowing her to retreat in such a manner, but she had nothing else.
Arriving at the airfield she was met by an officious woman wearing the uniform of the off planet fleet, a deep, solemn burgundy color that fit her attitude. “Traveler Waycross? Adara? Number 200395767?”
At Adara’s nod, the official checked the paperwork and led the way to a trim little ship ensconced a short distance away. Little in the sense that it looked very small beside the huge market transports, but it loomed over them as they approached. The ramp beckoned like the plank featured in the fantastical pirate vids on the profile feeds, and each step felt symbolic. Aye, me hearty wench…walk here and say goodbye to yer old life. She trod it glumly and met another official, also female, wearing the same dismal uniform, who gave her a look, followed by yet another check of her paperwork.
“You’re the woman they’re expecting on Virile.”
Great. Did everyone know she was pay-off for a gambling debt? Chattel to be bartered? She opted not to answer. The other woman leaned closer and whispered, “You’re a celebrity. They are talking about you all over the planet. The Freestars have been waiting a long time for you.”
“What do you mean?” The question tore from her. Waiting a long time?
The official shrugged, a movement that lifted her large breasts to fill the v-neck of her uniform blouse before they receded to a more decorous placement as her shoulders dropped. “I don’t rightly know. But the scuttlebutt is that you’re gonna be most welcome. I think we know what that means, honey. Those men are fine.”
Oh my gods. This woman was insinuating being fucked by three men was something to look forward to! She’d never survive what they had planned for her. Being submissive wouldn’t save her. She should have refused and let them have the family business, the estates—everything. Her brother would have survived one month in jail. The little weasel always came out on top in any situation, witness her present situation.
As her thoughts pounded, one on top of the other, rivaling the beating of her heart, she was positioned in a long, upright couch-like seat, straps wrapped firmly around her body, securing her for the delivery to three Doms, until she thought she might scream. The fabric swelled to cushion and fit her shape—she could feel it beneath every curve and angle—and then tilted to lie nearly parallel to the floor. With great effort she held it together.
“There. You might as well be comfortable and drift off, maybe get some real sleep, honey. I think you’re gonna need it.” The suggestive chuckle that accompanied the pronouncement made Adara grit her teeth. Bitch. Focused anger made it easier.
There were no other passengers, but a considerable amount of tied down cargo surrounded her. She squinted at the markings and some of them looked familiar, from foodstuffs to materials. But all of them were stamped Freestar. Did that mean all of this was going to the farm owned by the men who had won her? Or were they traders too? The limited amount of information she dug up on them hadn’t specified, other than it was just the three of them, no other family, at least not by the same name, on the planet.
They primarily farmed some sort of tough crop that was processed and used in all sorts of applications where metals and other materials were too heavy. It was very lucrative so they were presumably well off, but other than that she had no idea of what to expect.
The planet itself was rough and harsh, full of animals that ate people, and had pockets of old world outlaws, on the run from whatever planetary law they’d broken. No one really cared about them—if they were alive in the wilds of Virile it was probably worse than what awaited them in the prisons of their home worlds. All humanoid life apparently suffered on Virile with the exception of those in the domed city center and some of the farms built in the few areas that boasted water and flora. She assumed the Freestar pervs lived in one such area.
Thinking about the little she knew didn’t prove much of a distraction so Adara began to dream about what she would do within the family business when she inherited her share. All of her education had been geared to put her in the heart of the business when she came of age, managing the growth and production side. She could read a balance sheet at a glance, understanding the profit and loss variables easily. It hadn’t been easy to matriculate from classes filled primarily with men, but she’d done it.
She suspected the recent plateau regarding the worth of the business was related to incompetence and laziness on the part of the present managers, but Elliot was oblivious, spending the profits instead. He was a poor manager, and Adara was looking forward to increasing output and hiring more people.
The hum of the star drive engines filled her ears, and she tensed. A thin male voice emanated from somewhere to her left, announcing imminent take off, and a slight shift in where Adara felt her center was, told her they were moving. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax, the couch cushioning her form while the straps held her in place. There was definite pressure on her body until the craft leveled out after breaking through the atmosphere, a procedure outlined in minute detail by that disembodied male voice. And then it was like resting on a soft surface with no indication as to the incredible speed with which they were travelling. Travelling to Virile where three dominant males awaited—had been waiting for a long time. For her.
What the hell did that mean? Two days weren’t long enough to practice their perversions and learn their ways, let alone sort out information she needed to cope. Had that been their intention? Were they saving her training for them? Shit.
The hours crawled by as she alternated between perseverating on what awaited her and trying to distract herself with plans and ideas about the business. Her grandfather and his father before him had patented the technology invented to utilize a planet’s natural energy sources, but that didn’t mean new and creative updates weren’t necessary. Hurting Elliot in creative and increasingly cruel ways before she killed him segued into the contrasting thoughts—sexual slavery, torment Elliot, improve the business. Probably it was best she had had only two days to get used the idea and one long day of travel. Better if she had none. She was making herself insane.
Mid-voyage, first officious attendant kind of floated and glided to her with a bottle in her hand. The liquid inside was obviously cold—the sides of the container were beaded with condensation. Adara was instantly ravenous and grasped the bottle in anticipation.
“Do you need the lav, honey?” Officious attendant was loosening up. Either that or she figured calling her sole passenger an endearment was allowed in space. The final frontier. This is the voyage of Adara Waycross on her way to be fucked and topped by, count ‘em, three, yes three, farmer types. Boldly going to her sexual subjugation when sex wasn’t even where she let a whole lot of men go before. She ignored the memory of the handsome, mysterious visage of Thorn and the lighter, contrasting images of Orion and Kellis and how her belly had fluttered in response to their overt magnetism, obvious even in those small pics. Hot and handsome didn’t mean merciful or even tolerant.
She nodded to the attendant. The lav was going to be a necessity in a short while, so she’d take the opportunity now.
“Drink the concoction first and I’ll take you.”
“What’s in it?” It didn’t hurt to be suspicious.
“P
rotein, vitamins, the usual. You look kind of on edge.”
“No sedative.”
“A mild muscle relaxant is all, honey. Promise. You need to relax. Tension in space travel is not your friend, and you’ll be what the oldies call jet lagged for days. Master Thorn wouldn’t be pleased.”
Adara instantly decided she wasn’t hungry or thirsty after all, not if one of her future Masters—she’d never give them the satisfaction by referring to them by that title—had instructed the attendant to give it to her.
“Honey, I kid you not. Drink it. I can see you’re feeling pushed, but don’t give your body more stuff to deal with.” The other woman smiled, looking totally sympathetic and trustworthy, so Adara felt herself nodding.
She sucked the cold liquid back and almost instantly felt the drug take hold. She didn’t feel any less alert, but her body seemed weightless for a bit until she forced it to mind her. After raising the seat, the attendant unclipped the straps and helped her up. Adara thought the drug should have been administered after she returned from the lav, but she felt remarkably relaxed yet in control of her movements, so maybe that was the reason for drinking it beforehand. The mirror over the basin reflected her familiar visage with no sign of being altered. Without the tension, her head settled too. Good stuff.
Comfortably ensconced again in her couch, Adara slept lightly, reaching for that place in her head. And then she heard the voice narrating their final approach and felt the craft settle with enough of an impact and pressure to make her tense all over again. Show time.
Chapter Two
The ramp unfolded with nail-biting slowness from the body of the craft. Thorn held his casual stance and kept his features inscrutable while the anticipation built to a nearly untenable level in his gut. Adara was the only passenger on this flight, so when the petite figure appeared behind the attendants who were clad in the dark red of Freestar, he knew it was her. The hit of green clothing took his attention initially, the color at odds with the sober shade of the uniforms around her, and then he saw her hair as it soaked up all the available light from the three suns floating on the horizon. Red. Deep, glowing shades of red—enchantress red. The red of iron will.
Virile Page 2
