by Tasha Temple
MASTER OF THE GALAXY
TASHA TEMPLE
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by TempleFiction
www.templefiction.com
All rights reserved.
Cover design by TempleFiction
MASTER OF THE GALAXY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
MASTER OF THE GALAXY
Synopsis
Miya, a proud and arrogant member of an asexual race, is overcome by her submissive and sexual reaction to a stranger. He takes her to his planet where she finds herself at his whim and mercy both physically and mentally. He eventually comes to control not only her body but her heart.
This novella contains strong, thematic elements of domination/submission and BDSM as well as explicit and graphic descriptions of sexual situations. The experience is portrayed in a sensuous, romantic and erotic fashion but it is not light BDSM.
CHAPTER 1
I am Miya. I am a woman of immense power, vast education and formidable leadership. I possess a great intellect, I am enlightened and I am beautiful, or so I have been told. This is my story. At least part of my story. Perhaps it is only the beginning.
My life began as one of privilege. I, of course, am of the line of Jiikorians. We are all strong, both men and women, although it is the women among us who tend to have the greatest successes. There is much half-blood in the Jiikorian line, dilution from special-purpose breeding, adding to our collective knowledge. Although there is no shame in this, I have no such taint. My blood is pure. I am a descendant of the original Archetypes.
As you might suspect, I attended only the best schools and was educated on nine different planets: Ortan, N’n, Srinor, A’akan, Balinth, Vortoth, Ly-ui, Wynth and of course, my home planet, Yar. Each planet had something different to offer me. On some I pursued intense academic studies, on others I learned the arts of warfare, still others negotiation and compromise. After my education was complete, I had become the consummate ruler, warrior, envoy, diplomat. And I was highly sought after. Never doubt that.
My life continued as it should until my one hundred and thirty-ninth year. If you do not know, on Yar, we live for nearly one thousand years. So I should say I was past adolescence – I felt wise – but still young when I encountered Him.
I did not intend to. I had no use for Him or any of his kind. It was an accident, purely an accident, a chance meeting. So I told myself. So I tell myself still.
It all started on an asteroid if you would believe that. A small outpost known as Karatar. Why I, Miya, of the pureblood Jiikorian line, was on a mere asteroid to negotiate a treaty is an entirely different story. Suffice to say, it was for legitimate reasons.
* * * * *
“You have been quarreling far too long,” I said, with command, to the tribal leader of the Tryton people who controlled the asteroid system, including Karatar.
“And you,” I said, turning to the leader of the D’cren and tossing my coiled red hair confidently over my shoulders. “You seek the raw materials of Tryton, but are not willing to offer full price, instead claiming there to be imperfections which manifest themselves only after arrival on your planet. These ‘problems’ are caused by your own poor stasis during shipping.”
The D’cren leader bowed his head at this for he knew it to be true. I have the way of my people. I see things for their truth and it is up to the person whose secrets are revealed to accept my decree or not. But knowing it is I who has revealed it, they are generally loathe to deny it, for they know others will believe what I say.
“But you have together been deceived,” I said and both rulers looked at me with surprise.
I stared at the head of the D’cren. “It is your own men who sabotage the shipments to guarantee the security of their employ. A simple shipment of pure Tryton grade quality would satisfy the needs of the D’cren people for five months or longer. But inferior shipments require repeated trips to the Karatar asteroid belt and generate more earnings for the crew.”
“And more,” I said, as I considered the Tryton chieftain. “Your men are not blameless. They are bribed by the D’cren workers to turn a blind eye to the storage of the materials when loaded aboard D’cren ships. They accept such bribes, knowing Tryton will not receive a fair price, knowing it fosters discontent between your planets.”
“You,” I said, turning once more to the D’cren leader. “You will enter into a collaborative arrangement with Tryton. Your men will be paid based only on the quality of the shipment.”
“As will your men,” I spoke to the Kartan chieftain, “so that there is no incentive to sabotage their counterparts.”
“Also,” I continued, “since your planets are interdependent on trade, you will mingle your workers, creating a unified workforce for mining, harvest, storage, shipment and quality. Tryton and D’cren crews will share leadership, administrative and labor roles.”
The details, I knew, would be easily worked out. It was an elegant solution to a long-standing controversy, one which would cost each party little, but obtain the accord both sought. Both leaders could see the wisdom in my pronouncement. It was solutions like this for which our Jiikorian expertise was sought and given, for a price of course.
Just as we were finalizing the arrangements, the doors to the outpost burst open and a man, taller than I (our race is considered tall and I am taller than most men) blustered in, covered in asteroid dirt. His entrance caused quite the stir as security for both leaders, as well as my own detail, rushed to determine who he was and what was his purpose.
I paid him little attention – his presence was irrelevant to the negotiations and my thoughts were on completion. I was ready to head back to Yar and engage in my customary, long meditative session which I use to restore my mind and renew my talents after each transaction.
Absorbed as I was in finalizing the details, I did not notice that the hall had fallen silent. I am usually aware of everything – no, I am always aware of everything – at least I had been up until that day. I looked up and every single person was frozen in place, motionless, as if a strange distortion in time had just swept over Karatar. Everyone, that is, except Him.
He walked up and stood before my throne where I was seated, authenticating the terms of the treaty at my working desk.
“Rise,” he said to me.
His voice was deep, firm, authoritative. I immediately knew he had strong powers. Powers beyond those of anyone in the hall, despite his appearance as some sort of rogue driller. He was possessed of physical strength, a primal magnetism, and a darkness to his personality, though those qualities appealed to me not at all in the way they would matter to most women. As a Jiikorian, I did not engage in sex nor did I feel a sexual attraction to anyone. We feel no need, no urge, no instinct to copulate. We have a way of procreation that is beyond the scope of this story, but it does not involve the crude sexual act in which most races engage.
I also immediately knew he was not using his powers on me. He had persuaded all the security forces to lay down their arms, he held an entire hall of people immobile, but he had commanded me to rise with no pretense of his abilities. I obey no one. I am of the top strata, the highest rank, venerated by all. I learn, I listen, but I do no one’s bidding. Still, I found myself unable to say no to this man.
I rose.
He looked at me, his dark eyes glinting. I could not tell you what color they were. Perhaps they were multiple colors, perhaps they changed with his mood. I only remember that they were dark.
“I am pleased,” he said.
At his words, I felt a jolt rush through me, a sensation I cannot d
escribe, something both intense and electrifying, perhaps originating on a very primitive level. I have never desired to please anyone, let alone any man. Perhaps I have pleased others through my work, my expertise, my skills, but I have never cared whether or not they were pleased. But at his simple statement, I knew at that instant I wanted to please Him. It is hard to say why, let me continue the story.
“You are Miya.”
Again, he was not using any of his gifts. I was arrogant enough. I could have turned him away. Everyone knows I am Miya. I do not have to answer to statements such as this which are not even questions.
But I said, “Yes,” and lowered my eyes. I knew then that I was lost.
CHAPTER 2
He produced a collar and fastened it around my neck. I do not know the answer to where he had it hidden or why he had brought it with him. It was beautiful, fitting I suppose, not the kind of rough, harsh collars I have seen on slaves and servants, but one made of linked, white Tavos stones, the most treasured substance in the galaxy, mined there on the very asteroid on which we then occupied. Did he create it or have it created while on Karatar? I have often wondered.
He attached a tether to the collar and led me out of the hall. Why I followed in such a manner, I have no idea. I still do not understand to this day although to be sure I have given it much thought. It is true I had no guards to prevent it since they were all inert and held motionless (He did release them later). But I made no protest either, following meekly behind, content I suppose, if that is the right word, to follow Him.
He brought me to his planet. I do not remember much of the journey, except that we transferred from his small ship to a very large one. I was treated well and allowed to move about freely. He was busy with other aspects of the voyage and I rarely saw him. I had studied systography, the mapping of space, in my extensive education and I recognized enough from the placement of the stars to know that the planet to which we traveled lay far in the uncharted portion of the galaxy.
How long I spent on his planet I could not tell you personally as time seemed immaterial. I learned later, however, that my own race scoured the galaxy to rescue me, the Jiikorians sparing no expense, using our planet’s considerable wealth. I suppose I could have orchestrated my own escape, given my ingenuity, but I did not. Yet it was Yarian efforts to bring me home that finally did bring about my release from Him.
I remember the first time he came to me as if it was yesterday.
I was in my room. It was spacious, with enough comforts so that I had felt not at all deprived from Yar, open windows with a view of His beautiful planet. There were libraries and meditative places to which I was allowed free access. I had been escorted there with no instructions and remained unsure of my role until that day.
I turned as he entered and he came and stood before me, his eyes burning down at me, magnetic, intense, vivid.
“Undress,” he said simply, his voice strong, commanding.
It was not a request.
I did, pulling the short white dress I wore slowly over my head and letting it slide to the floor through my fingers. I had not been given undergarments on His planet and so was completely nude. We do not go unclothed on Yar and I had never been uncovered before a man. I remember that his eyes drifted over me, slowly, lingering on every part of my body. I do not remember feeling ashamed, but I felt myself flush hot under his gaze and my flesh quivered as if a sudden breeze had swept through the room.
He walked around me, taking his time, as if scrutinizing, inspecting, evaluating me. In fact, he was. My skin was alive with sensation although he had not so much as touched me. I began to wish that he would touch me, but he said nothing, came no nearer, just watched my reactions with his cool, dark eyes.
“Place your hands behind your head,” he told me.
I did as he asked, trembling at his words but not because they frightened me. Instead his voice evoked an urgency in me, something that had been starving and seemed to be now waking up from a long famine and wanting to be fed, demanding matters of flesh and carnality to satisfy its salacious appetite.
He walked behind me and disappeared from my sight.
I became aware of an ache that was beginning to grow between my thighs. It felt as if something was drawing in and up inside of me, a need smoldering, warming, throbbing. I wondered what it was as I tried not to writhe while standing in place. And then more tingling, but from my breasts this time. I wondered why they were beginning to hurt as well. Then I realized it wasn’t my breasts, it was my nipples. I glanced down. They stood erect, hardened into elongated, taut peaks. And they ached. Terribly. I almost brought one hand down to touch them to relieve the pressure.
Suddenly there was a frightful crack and a pain like a stripe of fire landed across my buttocks.
“What?” I cried out, taking a small, stumbling step forward, flinging my arms forward to try to steady myself.
“I did not say you could look down,” he said from behind me. There was a hard edge to his voice.
I immediately understood. I regained my balance, raised my chin and laced my hands together again over my coral curls just above my neck. I kept my back straight despite the residual pain, which was not really a pain now, just a warmth.
Crack. He swung again. The sting was intense and I gasped, but only a little. Crack. I was silent for this one. And again. Crack.
Four times total. My eyes leaked wetness although I did not so much as twitch even a muscle.
There was a brief silence and then he said to me quietly, “I am pleased,” for the second time in my life and I thought I would burst into tears at the sweetness of those words.
He walked around in front of me and touched the long thin reed he held in his hand to my breasts, lifting them up one at a time and releasing them. I watched his face but did not look down this time. His eyes met mine, calm, confident, focused. They seemed to have a look of what I would now describe as arousal and desire. At the time they looked only as if they were the eyes of a god, deep black with shades of gold, eyes that could devour me. I remember thinking that I wanted to be devoured.
He drew the cane back swiftly and I closed my eyes, thinking he was going to strike me across my breasts, but no stroke came. Instead, I felt his hand wrap around one of my wrists and gently pull it down to him. He attached something wide, cold and hard around it. I kept my other arm in place until he drew it down to him and did the same to my other wrist. I opened my eyes.
“These next strokes will be a bit harder,” he said, studying me. “I will have to restrain you for it.”
I do not know why, but the words he spoke sent a shower of sparks through my body, igniting the blaze below my navel that already kindled there. My belly was aflutter with nerves, currents of anticipation running just under my skin, the pulse between my thighs growing ever stronger although I had no idea what lay ahead.
He led me to the back of the chamber to a simple cross of sorts in the shape of an “X,” made of some type of firm, but giving material, which leaned forward at a slight angle. I had noticed it in my room, of course, even examined it cursorily, but paid no real attention to it, unable to imagine what it was or for what it could be used.
I realized then that there were little chains of metal at the upper ends of each crosspiece and to these he took each of my wrists and fastened them, tightening the links until my arms were stretched as far as they would go above my head and out to the sides. Behind me, he tapped the cane gently at one of my ankles until I understood that I was to move it the same distance apart as my arms. Then he fastened each ankle to the matching cross.
It is hard to describe how I felt once he had done this except to say that I felt completely powerless, exposed and open to him, a raw vulnerability which both excited and aroused me. I felt more alive than I ever had up until that time in my life. My skin was infinitely more sensitive, the caress of the metal, the posts, the air an unrequited tactile awareness, as if every pore in my body yearned for Him and what h
e desired to share with me.
Did I trust him? It is a logical thing to ask. It is true I had no choice then, restrained as I was, helplessly immobile, whatever formidable skills I had as a Jiikorian effectively neutralized. He had never once tried to use his powers on me and never did he do so. I do not know whether they would have worked on me, but it is pointless to speculate. He needed nothing more than Himself. But back to the question of whether I trusted him. I did, although I do not think I could explain why to your satisfaction. I was not afraid for my life although it is not true to say that I was unafraid. I had no idea of what he was capable and I still may have no idea to this day.
He moved aside the hair at my neck, drawing it from my back and letting it drape down to one side. His touch was gentle, tender even, and my skin tingled where his fingers brushed against it.
“This,” he said, “is a different implement,” and he let the tails of what felt like braided leather dangle against my now exposed neck. I arched up against it, so surprising was the feeling, a warm, muted softness, but at the same time austere, obviously a tool for sadistic purposes. He feathered his hand over my back, sliding his fingers together with the leather as he drew the strands lower and my mouth went slack at the sweet, exotic waves rippling over my flesh. He let the feel of velvet drift lower over the swell of my buttocks and ran his hands over the curves of my flesh. I whimpered at the shadowed sensuality of his touch. I could not help it.
Then he withdrew and there was a long moment of silence before I felt a sudden heavy thud across my buttocks which threw my body forward against the padded crosspieces and forced a sharp exhalation of air from my lungs. There was a sting, an ache, but also something pleasurable in the stimulation and I felt as if I was beginning to leak fluids from my body although I could not understand why.
Before I could complete my thoughts, he landed another blow. And then he began to strike me in earnest, the tails of the flogger alternating from one side of my buttocks to the other, sometimes wrapping around my hip which caused me to bite my lip to keep from crying out, my breath now coming sharp and fast.
