by Renee Rose
A Zandian male.
When he saw her, his nostrils flared, and brown eyes turned violet. The stubby horns thickened and leaned in her direction, but his face remained blank, if not slightly disdainful.
Her own physical reaction to his presence was so instantaneous and complete, it overwhelmed her. Her breath whooshed out of her chest, thighs began to quiver. She caught his scent, which made her head swim and the room rock under her feet. Moisture trickled from her clenching pussy down her leg. She had to use the wall to hold herself up.
“On your knees, pet,” Prium commanded with a frown.
The lounge owner loved that she’d been trained as a sex pet, almost as much as he loved the color of her skin, her species exotic for a slave. He showed her off to all his best clients, demanded a parade of her tricks: the leash and collar, the way she crawled and licked fingers.
She didn’t move, not out of a show of will, but because her brain couldn’t process the command, and when it did, her legs didn’t obey her brain.
Prium scowled, and she regained her head, dropping to her hands and knees and crawling toward the Zandian, but not before her owner produced a leather tawse.
The Zandian gave a miniscule shake of his head, brows lowered, and she halted halfway there. Immediately, his expression went blank again, eyes sweeping the cell with a disinterested air.
“Get over here and greet your master for the hour,” Prium hissed.
Her throat closed, not at Prium’s anger or the certainty of punishment. It was because of the Zandian. Some unknown emotion surged up and choked her, now, some vulnerability or desire. Or was it grief? Did seeing him remind her of all that she’d lost? What she’d become?
Don’t cry.
She never cried. Hadn’t in years.
She hadn’t seen a Zandian since the airship carrying her, her sister, and a Zandian boy crashed escaping the invasion and she’d been captured as a slave. She forced her knees to move forward, crawled to the Zandian, who Prium had ushered to the padded bench in the middle of the cell.
He didn’t wear the traditional Zandian dress of a white tunic and leggings. Instead, he wore an expensive and perfectly tailored black flight suit with a sword belt, empty of its weapon, at his waist. All customers were disarmed when they entered Prium’s.
She arrived at his polished animal-hide boots and dropped to her heels, kneeling before him. Her nipples pointed forward, tight and achy.
Prium stood over both of them, glowering down at her. “Mina, this is your master for the hour.”
The Zandian didn’t meet her gaze. He didn’t ogle her body, either. Instead, he seemed to stare at a spot above her left ear.
“Elbows on the bench,” Prium clipped, patting the space beside the Zandian. “You know how I deal with disobedience.”
She slid into position, registering the tension in the male beside her, though he outwardly showed none.
Prium drew his arm back, but the Zandian surged forward and caught his wrist. “I’ll do it.” His voice was deep and resonant. It sent a flash of fire through her body, coating her with tingles of heat. It couldn’t be just his presence that had this effect on her, could it?
Was this what happened between members of her species during breeding season? That might be part of it, but there was some other power to him. A familiar energizing power. One that gave her strength, too. Zandian crystal. She almost gasped when she realized. He must have one on him.
She’d forgotten how good it felt. How clean her body ran with it nearby, not needing to eat food every day the way she had since she’d been away.
Well, this planet rotation improved every minute. She turned her neck to scan his fingers for rings, but saw none. Nor did he wear any necklaces or bands around his wrists. Perhaps in his pockets? She’d have to check them while she serviced him.
Prium nodded and handed the Zandian the animal hide tawse—a wide leather strap, split in two at the whipping end. “Make it good, or I’ll give her double when you’ve gone.”
There. The surge of interest again. Like she’d had while watching the human girl getting whipped in the cell across the way, only stronger. More excitement, less shame. Because this master, the male before her, was exactly the sort she had fantasized about.
Whip me, Master.
“I’ll make her sorry.”
Her pussy clenched.
The Zandian’s knuckles whitened where he held the tawse, though his expression was one of boredom. He stood and positioned himself to her left, drawing the tawse back.
Excitement raced through her. Fear, too, although she’d never cowered from punishment before. Something about having a worthy master made punishment completely different. She wanted to please him.
Badly.
But she didn’t have time to examine that insanity, because she needed to keep her wits. This male may provide her best opportunity for escape.
His arm swung, and he struck her with the tawse.
She went up on her toes, her breath screaming in, belly hollowing out with the pain. Even as her buttocks twitched in response to the blow, her pussy clenched and released. Heat poured down her limbs.
More.
She wanted more from him.
He obliged. Another smack of leather caught the undersides of her cheeks, sending her clawing for the edge of the bench. The strap jostled the tail in her ass, adding a level of squirmy sensation to the pain. Not quite pleasure, but heat and desire coiling together into potentiality.
She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her throat.
Prium stood at the door, watching the punishment with a smug smile.
Suddenly, with such a delicious, worthy master standing behind her, respecting Prium became impossible. She childishly wanted to make a face or an obscene gesture with her hands. He was nothing compared to the male wielding the strap.
The tawse slapped across her buttocks again and again, and she dropped her forehead to the bench, forcing herself to breathe through the burn and pain. On and on her temporary master went, spanking her thoroughly with the forked paddle until tears smarted her eyes.
After at least a dozen strokes, the Zandian dropped the tawse and fisted her hair, pulling her head back roughly. He brought his face down to hers, brows knit, mouth turned down. “I’m sorry.”
Her heart fluttered. He’d grated the words directly in her ear in Zandian, the language she hadn’t heard in fifteen years.
~.~
Anger at having to hurt his beautiful female coursed through his veins. Yes, he was calling her his female, even though she was nothing of the kind. She belonged to him for this moment. He’d been named her master, and he intended to treat her with the care and protection a master provided his charge.
With his lips at her temple, her scent assaulted him. Not the scent of her arousal—stars, he smelled that, too, and it nearly turned him into wild beast. But she smelled like Zandia. Like home. Like honeyflowers and morning dew. The joy and wild pleasure of his youth. Of his first discovery of a female’s lush body.
He had to stop himself from nipping her ear, or dragging his mouth down her neck. Tasting her.
His female’s legs and bottom shook from her punishment, but stars, his body trembled too—like the very cells vibrated being near her. The effort of keeping his lust in check proved too great.
But he couldn’t show his attraction. Not now, not here. And, somehow, he had to get out of this cell without vecking her. She was a Zandian, not some human slave. Even more, she was the daughter of one of Zander’s most respected advisors. Master Seke would kill him if he debauched her.
Still holding her pale hair in a rough grip, he hauled her upright. Her bare, striped ass nested against his legs, sending a fresh shudder of desire through him. The heat from her well-spanked flesh radiated through his trousers, and his cock lurched against her back.
Veck if she didn’t mold her back to his front, arching those perky breasts up like an offering. He wanted to fill his hand
with those breasts, pinch and rub her nipples until she squirmed.
But he had a wretched audience. Not just Prium, but a lounge full of assholes had gathered in front of their cell to watch him punish Tara. Or Mina, as she went by here.
And if he wanted to get her out of this place, he needed to blend in. Just a typical customer, here to use and abuse a slave. So he made a show of shoving Mina down to her knees. She dropped obediently into a submissive posture, palms on her thighs, eyes lifted to him, as if waiting for his command.
Fury that she’d been trained this way didn’t outweigh the surge of lusty power and pleasure the sight of her naked at his feet brought.
The door to the cell swished closed, and the asswipe, Prium, left, apparently satisfied with her punishment.
Mina studied him with long-lashed blue-violet eyes. He had to catch his breath at her beauty. Her father’s irises were the same unusual color, but on her, it was exquisite.
He hoped she’d understood him when he apologized.
When the warrior Tomis found her sister, Talia, she had forgotten their planet and language entirely. She’d blacked out everything that had happened to her before being put into slavery. Erick hoped the same wasn’t true for Mina.
He sank onto the bench. His fingers started to curl into fists to keep from touching her, but he forced them to relax. To hide his mounting need to throw her down and veck her until her teeth rattled, he channeled his desire into rage and glared down at her.
Her beautiful eyes widened, confusion flitting over her face. She licked her lips, and he tightened his to keep in a groan. Her gaze darted to his horns. They felt taut, and surely were leaning toward her. Did she know what that meant? Did she remember how the males of her species showed their interest?
It was easy to gauge hers. Despite her captivity and the forced nature of their interaction, her nipples were hard as the points of crystals, the scent of her arousal a heady perfume.
She rose to her knees and stroked her slender hands up his thighs, sultry invitation in the softness of her face. Holy Zandian star, she was about to suck his cock.
He frowned, and she froze. She was well-trained. That shouldn’t turn him on so much, but it did. He loved her responsiveness.
Well, what else was he going to do in here with her, if not let her suck his cock?
He snatched her arm and hauled her across his lap, landing a slap on her perfectly rounded buttocks.
It was a mistake. The moment she was in position, so much of her bare flesh in contact with his body, her perfect pussy in view between her slender legs, he went wild.
He’d only meant to inspect her backside, make sure he hadn’t done too much damage with the wicked tawse, but now he couldn’t help his hand from lifting and falling, smacking her round globes with gusto.
His cock shoved against her hip, aching for release and this was the only way he could think to get it, without actually taking it out and vecking her every orifice. Twice.
So he spanked her, hard and fast, loving the way her bottom bounced and bobbed over his lap, the little cries she made. She wore nothing but a collar and a fluffy blue tail attached to a plug in her ass, which danced and wagged with each smack of his palm.
One of her hands curled around his ankle to stabilize herself, and the touch made his cock surge against his flight pants.
“Please,” she squeaked in Zandian, sending a wild glance over her shoulder.
“Hush, slave,” he barked in Ocretion, the commonly spoken language in the galaxy. They were putting on a show. No need to have their audience activate translators, even if it was highly unlikely for his language to be an option.
He checked his gleeful aggression, running his hand lightly over the welts on her ass. They should heal quickly, although her body was petite, like her sister’s, from living away from the nourishment of Zandian crystal energy.
The scent of her arousal had grown stronger, as if she, too, found spanking to be an acceptable substitute for sex. He gripped the base of the tail and twisted it. She moaned, and her thighs fell open in an invitation for his touch.
His fingers arrived at the cleft between her legs before he even knew he meant to stroke her there. Her pussy dripped with moisture, the plump folds of her sex parted for his fingers. He circled her clit. With his other hand, he pulled the plug out, stretching her around it, then plunged it back in.
She cried out, her fingernails digging into his ankle.
Stars, she liked it. She was so easy to pleasure.
Never, in all his solar cycles of stopping at Prium’s during breeding season, had he experienced a female like this. So responsive, so accepting of anything he tried.
Of course, he’d never had a Zandian before.
And he couldn’t, now. It would be against her free will.
But giving her pleasure wouldn’t be a sin, would it? She deserved release after the terrible whipping he’d given her. After the way he’d continued to punish her with his hand.
He shoved two fingers into her sopping channel as he vecked her ass with the tail plug.
When she spread wider for him, her muscles tightening around his fingers, anus squeezing around the tail, he grew desperate for the taste of her. He pulled his fingers out of her and grasped her hips, lifting them into the air and rearranging her so she straddled him. Her torso rested on his legs, fingers splaying on the floor.
Tucking his hands under her thighs, he lifted her dripping cunt to his mouth and licked into her.
Veck, yes.
Home.
She bucked against his mouth as he tongued her honeyed slit, affixed his lips over her little clit, and sucked the stiff bud. He sucked her outer lips, nipped them. Made his tongue stiff and penetrated her with it.
She squirmed and whimpered, desperation pitching her cries higher.
He lowered her hips back onto his lap, her legs splayed wide around his torso, pussy opened to him, ass straight up. In this new, enticing position, he delivered another half dozen spanks. Then he shoved his thumb into her pussy and pumped the plug again.
“Naughty pet,” he rumbled. “Now you’re getting your little red ass fucked.” He used the Ocretion word for sex, instead of the Zandian term.
“Y-yes,” she warbled, squirming and humping his lap, her nails digging into his ankle.
“You’re lucky I don’t fuck it with my big cock, instead.” Stars, he’d lost his filter. Or was this part of the act? He wasn’t sure anymore. The lines blurred into a mess of color and sensation.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Please fuck me with your big, Zandian cock.”
Veeeeeeeeck.
His eyes nearly flipped backward in his skull. He pulled his fingers out of her pussy and lit her ass on fire again, spanking hard and fast, forcing his breath out through his teeth.
“Please, Master!”
By the one true Zandian star, he would not survive this test. He shoved her off his lap. She landed in a heap at his feet, her reddish-blonde hair falling in soft waves over her face. He wanted to gather her back up in his arms, beg her forgiveness for treating her so cruelly, but touching her now was an impossibility.
His body shook, about to combust. Need overpowered all rational thought, all care. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face.
When he opened them, his beautiful female was on her knees, unbuckling his belt.
~.~
She didn’t know what in the hell was wrong with the Zandian. One minute he was using his tongue in a way no male had attempted on her, giving her the most pleasure she’d ever experienced, the next, he’d shoved her to the floor.
If it weren’t for the purple glow of his eyes and the stiffness of his horns, she might think he didn’t find her attractive enough. But he did.
So, what was the problem?
She didn’t wait for permission this time, certain if she could get his malehood into her mouth, she’d be able to satisfy him. She was trained for pleasure, after all.
His hand sn
apped out and caught her wrist, but not before she’d wrested his cock free of his pants. The huge purple shaft sprang out, bobbing in front of her, a drop of rainbow-hued precum on the tip.
Not wanting him to stop her, she opened her lips wide, and engulfed as much of his length as she could fit. His hand went slack, and he let out a choked shout, brows slamming down, even as his cock thrust deeper. He fisted her hair. At first, she thought he would pull her off his cock, but he just held her head immobile for a moment, indecision playing over his expression. Then he used his grip to move her forward and back over his cock.
He thrust too deep, choking her, bumping the back of her throat. Her eyes smarted as she struggled to relax her gag reflex and let him inch in even more.
“Was this what you wanted, little slave? A throat-fucking?” Some slaves would be offended by such taunts. In the past, with other males, she’d ignored such talk. She wasn’t a sexual being, so she had no shame. She’d existed in her head, not her body. But the Zandian made her feel so much. Every centimeter of her body flushed for his touch. Every nerve ending tingled. Being near him brought on the insistent ache between her legs, the throb of her nipples. His words only made her burn hotter.
She loved the way his eyes blazed like bright jewels, locked on hers as he pumped his thick member into her mouth. Need coiled in her belly; heat flooded her core.
And then she remembered her task. Find the crystal. She shoved one hand under his balls to cup them as the other bunched in his pants. She closed her fingers around the material, tugged and pushed at it as if in the throes of passion.
Yes. There. She felt the hard stone—a ring. A very large ring. And another piece, as well.
She sucked hard, fisting his cock, moving it in concert with her mouth as her other hand emptied his pocket of its treasure.
But where to hide it? She wore no clothing. No orifice was safe while he was in the cell with her. Under the rug, then. It was the only possible place. Hopefully, he wouldn’t step on it and discover her treachery.
