by Alana Khan
“I might need to punish you for forgetting your place,” I tell him. Whoops, did I say that loud enough for the media contingent to be able to quote me?
“Sorry, Mistress.”
“I might just let you go hungry.” I eat several bites without giving him any.
Our audience is getting impatient, so I give Dax another bean and watch him nibble up the shaft until his clever tongue circles my finger.
One of the female reporters lets out a soft, appreciative sigh.
I’m already bored with our little show. I’m certain it has nothing to do with the fact that my greedy core can’t wait to get him back to our room and pounce on him.
I’d erroneously assumed we’d go back upstairs after the meal, but by the excited noises the media make when they rise, I realize the show isn’t over.
“You’ve got the collar controller,” one of them says, his camera at the ready, “order him to lift you up. Punish him if he doesn’t.”
I glance at Dax, eyes wide in question. He nods imperceptibly.
“Stand,” I order him. Calling him ‘slave’ was a bit much in our private bedroom sexplay. In front of strangers, it’s strictly off-limits.
When he rises I search his face. I don’t want to embarrass or demean him. We’re free now. We should only do what we want.
“Did you want me to lift you up, Mistress?” His face is impassive, but underneath his bland expression, his eyes are bright with smoldering need.
“Don’t overstep, Gladiator, or you’ll merit severe punishment,” I scold. “Yes, lift me and perch me on your arm.” I make a show of having the controller at the ready.
He grabs my waist with both hands, tosses me higher, and moves under me so he catches my ass on his horizontal bicep. I’m now a foot or two taller than him and my core is even with his face. I hear him breathe in eagerly through his nose —so does every alien in the press corps. Very funny, Dax.
“Set me down,” I command.
My cooperation emboldened the media and they’re now calling out soft-core porn requests including having him kiss my feet and making him disrobe in public for his ‘transgressions’.
It’s a testament to just how perverted I am that those suggestions make me clench my thighs together. Deciding I desperately need therapy, I organize my contingent of gladiators to escort me back to my suite.
Dax
When we’re back in our room, Dahlia leans against the door, kicks off her shoes, and rests her head in her hands.
“I’m so fucked up.” She presses her head so tightly into her palms I can barely understand her mumbled words.
“You did great, Dahl. The media loved you.”
“I don’t care about the media. I’m talking about me. Perverted, sick-as-shit me who can barely contain her desire to jump your bones. What’s wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect. You’re just discovering different aspects of yourself.”
“I’m taking a shower —alone. It’s where I do my best thinking.” She stalks into the bathroom. The sound of the door shutting is a crisp, clear message —do not disturb.
I hadn’t expected this. I’d assumed that her lusting for me was a good thing. Evidently, I was wrong, although I’m not exactly sure why.
I expected her to come out of the bathroom naked, or maybe wearing only a towel and a sexy smile, but I realize something has shifted when she emerges wearing a long, black t-shirt and leggings that cover her from waist to ankles.
She settles down on the farthest edge of the bed from me and launches. “You asked me a question the other day, and I never gave you an answer. I owe you that.”
I’ve never had an erection disappear faster or feel my stomach clench in dread more tightly. Swiveling on my hip, I put one foot on the floor and my other leg on the bed, bent at the knee.
“You asked if I could have feelings for you when I got over Larry.” She grabs my hand in both of hers and looks at me for the first time since emerging from her shower.
I want to listen to her with my whole mind, but I’m struck with her beauty as if I’m seeing her for the first time. Her wet, red hair is curling as it dries. The blue of her eyes is so deep and piercing it reminds me of the trisson flowers of Thrace. I used to glimpse them out the windows of my barracks as a boy.
There’s a knot of yearning for her in my stomach that’s so urgent, so demanding I don’t know how to ignore it. And it has nothing to do with sex.
“Larry’s not here. I have to move on. I need to. I want to. And I like you, Dax. You’re a good male.”
I’m waiting for the ‘but’. My stomach falls to the floor.
“What Larry and I had grew from friendship into something deeper. I owe that to you, Dax. We owe it to ourselves. I don’t want what’s happening between us to confuse me. I don’t want to muddle love with lust.”
Did she just say the word ‘love’?
“And I lust for you, Dax. I just took a shower yet I’m wet for you already. Even while I’m having this conversation, even while I’m telling you I don’t want to have sex with you, my mind is flashing me pictures of you kneeling in front of me, looking at me with those beautiful, sexy green eyes. I want to reach under your loincloth and pull out your cock and suck you into my mouth right this minute. That’s how fucked up I am.”
Those blue eyes are flashing at me, her mouth is tight. She’s angry at herself.
“I’m not seven years old anymore, and I don’t have fifteen years to watch our relationship build from friends to lovers as it did with Larry. But we don’t have to jump into this either. It’s a ridiculous situation: the leash, dear God that leash, the media, the shared bedroom, the fact that we’ve already made love far too often and in far too many ways. And there’s that dangerous fight looming over us both like Thor’s hammer.
“But can we spend some time talking? Can we get to know each other in non-sexual ways? Can we see if we’re compatible outside the bedroom? It’s obvious we’re a match in bed.” Her eyes slide over to me and then down to my lap. I can’t hide the erection straining against my loincloth; it sprang up just sitting so close to her… and her talking about sucking my cock didn’t help.
I lift her hands to my mouth and kiss each knuckle, all the while never pulling my gaze from hers.
“Were you worried I’d say no to your offer? I’d love to have fun with you and get to know you better. We’ve done some of it already. We went to Fairea, you’ve watched my gladiator matches.
“Aeon’s known for its museums. Let’s explore tomorrow since we’ve got nothing but time on our hands until Ja’Meer fills his dracking arena beyond capacity.
“And Dahlia? I was jealous of Larry. Well, I still am if I’m honest. I knew his name wasn’t Lorry; I was being disrespectful. But I sincerely want to know about him. I don’t want him to be between us anymore. I’d like you to talk about him when you miss him or something reminds you of him. I want to be here for you in every way.”
I could have just mouthed those words, spun a web of lies to get her to care for and trust me. But I meant every word.
We lie down and she snuggles against me, her back to my front.
“But this,” I whisper into her ear, “this I cannot do, Dahl. Too hard.” I press my rock-hard cock against her thighs, then scoot to the far edge of the bed.
“Literally,” she says.
Dahlia
I wake up plastered all over Dax’s warm flesh, my leg slung over his hips. He’s sixty percent on the bed, forty percent hanging in mid-air in his attempt to get away from me.
“Sorry,” I say, “I don’t want to be a cock tease.” But the urgent twitches in my clit beg to differ.
I jump out of bed and call over my shoulder, “I’ll be the cleanest female in the solar system if this keeps up.” Yep, I need a cold shower.
We have to keep up the public Dax-on-a-leash charade, but before we leave the room an hour later, he merely leans down for me to collar him
, rather than getting on his knees. Good, because I’m powerless over my body when he’s in that position.
Shadow arranged a hovercar for us and Dax organized our itinerary —it will be a veritable cornucopia of museums.
First stop, Fine Art. I know a bit about Earthy fine art. I never took a course in it, but I can tell a Van Gogh from a Miro, although not much more. The art here amazes me. I could spend all day. In fact, I could spend a week here.
We pay the money for a guided tour and learn about different periods on various planets and how styles intertwined and melded when interstellar flight allowed ideas to cross-pollinate from one planet to the next.
I’ve stayed away from Shadow until recently. His mate, Petra, helped him mellow —a lot. He used to be a cauldron of simmering anger and he scared me. Today he’s polite and cooperative even though he’s taking his bodyguard job seriously.
I’ve never gotten to know Steele very well. He’s always been super polite, but stiff and standoffish. He seemed that way earlier, but when we got the headphones for the tour, he came alive. Since then he’s been laughing and joking as well as making intelligent remarks about the art.
“Great idea to pay for the tour,” Dax whispers when we’re alone in a hallway. “Steele was at a disadvantage without it.
“What do you mean?”
“He can’t read. Illiterate.”
“I had no idea.” All the signs are written on translation boards. No one on the ship has the faintest idea how this technology works; somehow it translates into each person’s written language. But if you can’t read at all… you’re out of luck. I’m glad the tour evened the playing field for Steele.
I wanted to grab some lunch at the museum cafe, even though it was as ridiculously expensive as museum cafes are on Earth, but the paparazzi have tracked us down.
“Time to leave,” Shadow barks. We’re safely behind the darkened windows of our hovercar within moments.
Twenty minutes later we’re eating sandwiches made from deliciously dubious meat we bought at a roadside stand. I crack a window when the smell of galactic onions and garlic becomes unbearable.
“So, do you guys know what I did on Earth?”
“Did you train large animal acts for the circus?” Dax never misses an opportunity to joke.
“Did you jump out of the primitive air vehicles your people called planes?” Steele joins in the fun.
“Did you give guided tours through your diminishing reserves of combustible vegetation?” Shadow asks. Petra must have gone on a rant about our vanishing rainforests and now he’s taken up the crusade.
“No, but all excellent guesses. Close. All of you were close.” I’m smiling. I love when the gladiators include me in their banter. They seldom do it when us Earth girls are around. “I was a teacher.”
Silence. I guess they thought my answer would be as entertaining as their guesses. “For a brief moment I considered a career as a country music singer, but I gave up on that the first time my father told me I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” I say to live up to their expectations.
I don’t even get a chuckle.
“Even though being a teacher isn’t the punchline to a joke, it’s an honored profession on Earth.” They nod soundlessly. It’s a tough audience.
“I even had a specialty.” I forge ahead with or without their approval. “I taught reading.”
Crickets. I thought Steele would pipe up and ask me to teach him —nope.
“Even if someone on board wanted to learn to read, how could you help them? You only know Earther.” I think Dax has caught on and is trying to help.
“Well, I only know Earther —English —and I read all the signs in the museum through the translation boards.”
I glance at Steele and see the wheels spinning behind those intelligent blue eyes of his.
“What’s next?” I ask as I pop the last piece of roadside questionable goodness between my lips.
“Transportation museum,” they all sing out in unison.
Ugh. Could you imagine anything more boring than that? Looking at increasingly more sophisticated hunks of metal? Piles of metal throughout time, what an interesting concept for a display.
“Can’t wait,” is my cryptic reply.
Dax
We evaded the media and are touring the transportation museum. It’s fascinating. Dahlia, on the other hand, seems more interested in the various aliens inspecting the exhibits. When we wander away from someone, she’ll lift on tiptoe and whisper questions about the species’ habits, dress, and eating preferences.
I hinted that it’s considered rude to mention genetic differences in public. That went out after the Eugenics Wars of Standard Dates 4880 to 5200. She’s more curious than would be legal on certain planets in the Solaris sector.
“If your female’s boredom increases, you’ll have to carry her comatose body out of here,” Shadow says, not even trying to hide his irritation.
“Yeah,” I agree, “You can almost smell it.”
“I don’t know about that. The arousal rolling off her in waves is the only thing I can sme —”
I pull up to my full height and stand so close my chest presses against him. “Not proper, Shadow. Not acceptable. You were raised with more manners than to mention such a thing.”
“Absolutely right, my male. Apologies. Sometimes my old dracky ways slip back. I’d kill you if you said such a thing about my Petra.” He bows his head. “Sincere apologies.”
“I’d kill you, too, if I didn’t already know you were such a dracker.”
Dahlia wanders over almost as if she senses she was the topic of conversation and slips her tiny hand in mine.
“How many more buildings are there?” she asks sweetly, her eyes wide and interested as if she can’t wait to see every single one.
I open the portable pad with a map of the grounds. “Looks like we’ve seen buildings one and four. Only fourteen more to go.” I give her a smile so large she can see my back teeth. Only because I don’t want to see her cry I tell her, “But I think we can be done after this.”
She jumps up and gives me a flying kiss on my cheek.
“What’d I just do? I want to do that more often.”
“You just gave me a reprieve from a fate worse than death. I was about to die of boredom. Where next?”
“One more stop. You can wait in the car,” my voice is stern and clipped.
She peppers me with questions as I round up the other males.
“I want to see it alone. The three of you can wait in the hover.”
“Dax. I’m sorry I got bored here, but I want to come with you.”
“No. This is the last thing you want to see. I promise you.”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” she’s stone-cold serious.
“I forbid it,” my tone is sharp as a knife.
It’s silent the entire ride there. I’m in my own world, not thinking of Dahlia’s feelings, or even of dracking her. I’m only pulled back to the present when the odor assaults my nose.
“What’s that awful smell? The windows are rolled up. Did that roadside food do a number on somebody’s intestinal tract?” Dahlia thought she was lightening the mood, but she clamps her mouth shut when she catches my expression. I try to make my features bland, but I can tell I’m glowering.
“I won’t be gone long. Shadow, can I borrow your shirt?” After he shrugs out of it, I tear a band off the bottom edge and hand it to Dahlia. “Put this over your nose, Dahlia. It will keep you from gagging.” I tear three more strips, one for each of us.
She grabs my hand and pulls me close. Those beautiful blue eyes shine with concern. “Maybe the reason you’ve come is to see whatever it is differently. And maybe you’ll see it differently if I’m here holding your hand.”
She’s so dracking smart. She doesn’t even know where we are, but she understands perfectly.
“Shadow, Steele would you mind coming with us? I’ll be in no shape
to bodyguard anyone.”
Chapter Six
Dahlia
I’ve never seen a place like this before, never read about one, but I know instantly these are slave pens.
We’re far from the uber-modern downtown, far from the stately older area where all the museums are. We’re in the outskirts past suburbs and industrial parks. We’re where you’d find the cattle-yards and steel mills outside large towns in America. We’re where they keep the slaves on Aeon II.
