Master of the Galaxy

by Tasha Temple

  I felt him shudder above me, felt a rush of ecstasy pour from his body and then he commanded, “Come for me,” and I surrendered, my climax ripping through my body like a torrent of fire, racing, rolling, speeding through my soul, splintering me apart, streaming, gushing, pouring through my mind and body, screaming soundlessly, until I knew nothing.

  Nothing but Him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sometimes, He would come to me and ask my advice about a particular matter in the galaxy. It was usually a political or military incident, but it might be a source of unrest in which he would never say exactly how or why he was involved. We would discuss these and other subjects over a glass of pluit, sometimes outside under a flowering tree, endlessly debating and laughing like a silly couple. He had a beautiful planet and there were many places to sit and talk.

  He always listened respectfully to my opinions, at least on topics such as these, and challenged me on a number of occasions. No one had ever challenged my expertise. I was a Jiikorian, my logic flawless, my approach perfection, my intellect unmatched. I was of the purest bloodline. We were born brilliant and honed this genius through careful study and nurturing.

  But I found he knew things I did not, he had vast experience in both the charted and uncharted portions of the galaxy, and he did not always agree with me. He confronted me, openly disputed my assumptions, pointed out flaws in my reasoning and flaws they were. I gained insight from Him I had not gleaned even in my many decades of study on nine different planets. He stimulated me, pushed me, compelled me to grow in ways in which I never thought were possible.

  And then he would turn those dark eyes on me and the way he looked at me would make me forget who or what I was. In fact, it did not matter then who or what I was, as long as I could please him, serve him, be a willing vessel for his needs, his pleasure, his use. I cannot say that I did not also derive pleasure from his attentions, no matter how severe, although I do not think that was always the point.

  Was I addicted to pleasure? As a Yarian, I was not supposed to need it. Yet I craved it or at least I craved Him.

  * * * * *

  In time I learned there were others besides Him on the planet to whom the girls were expected to go. I do not know why such a thought did not occur to me on my own. I would never have expected Him to be only male in this position on his planet. But I did gather that he was the leader, ruler, overseer, whatever he might call himself or expect to be called, although I never asked exactly what he was and no one ever volunteered to tell me.

  The girls would giggle and talk amongst themselves about the different preferences, styles, and techniques of the men on the planet. They were shared freely and seemed to enjoy it. I was never able to identify who belonged to whom or why or when the girls were called to serve who they did. Never once did He share me or allow me to be called or used by another. I honestly do not know how I would have felt about it had it happened although I suspect that if it had been His will, I would have gladly done it for Him. But only for the purpose to serve Him if it pleased Him. For myself, I needed no other, wanted no other.

  It would be impossible to describe everything I learned while I was with Him. Or you would not have the patience to listen to me. But the last time he came to me before I was taken from him is poignant in my mind, perhaps because I thought about it so much in the time following my removal from His planet.

  I knew that other girls were instructed and skilled in the art of bondage, often set to the task of preparing each other, and especially new arrivals to the planet, using their extensive knowledge of ropes and knots.

  He enjoyed trussing me up in all manner of beautiful and stunning stages of confinement and I grew to love it as much as he did, but never once did he have anyone work on me other than himself. Nor did he teach me nor see that I was taught the art so that I might apply it to another. He seemed to take great pleasure in wrapping my body personally, setting each knot purposefully and carefully, tightening the bonds to the point of discomfort but just short of pain.

  Although his movements were gentle, the results were not, but the soreness and distress were welcome, cherished, my reward the contentment and approval that blazed in his eyes as he bound me this way or that, clearly pleased at my submission, my devotion, my giving of myself to him and whatever he desired of me. I felt there could be no greater pleasure than for him to look at me that way, knowing I completely and wholly satisfied him. And despite the many carnal and erotic pleasures of the flesh to which I have become accustomed, I still feel this to be true.

  It was night and this time he had a long length of strong Urconian silk, soft on the skin, but sticky, bonding to flesh where applied. He had me stand before him and proceeded to swathe my shoulders, chest and breasts in an intricate pattern until my breasts jutted out, tightly bound, engorged, flushed with blood, aching, my nipples erect, hard, painful, but I knew better than to touch myself. He wrapped my arms then, behind my back, from my upper arms to my wrists using a delicate spiral intertwined with many fine, complex knots, sensuous but severe and restrictive until I was helplessly immobile, the way he preferred.

  Without warning, he raped my mouth with a savage, sudden kiss, short and brutal, and then drew a blindfold over my eyes, while I was still breathless from the sultry feel of his mouth on mine, wanting more, always wanting more.

  “Stand in place,” he said, desiring to bind me no further nor to restrain me in any other fashion.

  Such instructions were usually the most challenging to adhere to. If I could be tied to a post or a cross or hung from a ring or locked in a pillory, I could simply give in to what was to come, but if I had to hold myself out freely for his ministrations, without any crutch on which to rely, it became considerably more difficult.

  He used his crop mercilessly on my bound breasts until I threw my head back in an anguished ecstasy and became so far gone, it took a long time of his whispered reassurances to bring me back. Sometimes he allowed me to float undisturbed in my own paradise of space and time and sometimes he wanted me to feel all that he had to give me in unadorned rawness. Tonight, he wanted that. He wanted me back.

  Blindfolded, I could not see what implements he chose next, although he used several, the last being the cane. He started with my breasts which were already deeply marked and then he spun me around, lifted me easily and tossed me onto the bed on my stomach. My arms were bound tightly behind my back and I had nothing with which to catch myself so I fell hard and lay submissive and open where he slung me. He worked on my buttocks until they were striped like the red and golden birds which graced the skies of his planet.

  Finally, he stopped and I had drifted away again.

  “Kneel,” he commanded.

  His voice cut through my soaring daze and I knew immediately what he was granting me. I was elated, floating even higher, desperate with gratitude for the opportunity as I slid gracefully from the bed and fell to my knees before him. I felt him remove my blindfold and I looked up at him, my eyes relucent, glowing with adoration.

  He smiled at me indulgently. At times he required strict obedience of me, never allowing me to raise my eyes to him unless first given permission to do so. But after so long, he knew what I was greedy for, what concessions he would make for me. He would tell me that he spoiled me. And it was true, he did.

  And so he traced my cheek with the back of his hand and said, “Yes, pet, you may have your reward.”

  With tears in my eyes, I accepted his beautiful, swollen pole into my mouth, engorged to a size around which I could almost not wrap my lips, but which I admirably did, his beautiful, pulsing, throbbing member alive in my mouth, purpled with bright red veins of arousal, his foreskin fully retracted, leaking precious pre-cum which I sampled greedily before falling to my task to demonstrate my gratitude and affection for him. If I was ever intoxicated by his attentions to me, it was nothing compared to what I came to love, worship and cherish as his cock.

  This was what I could give back to him
. I could serve him, delight him, obey him, but I had nothing which I could actively give him but this. I took immense delight in worshiping the center of my universe, the source of my unending pleasure, bringing him to the same level of combustion to which he brought me, although he could also arrive there in other ways.

  I drew him in deeper as he had trained me to accept him into my throat.

  The first time I had tried this, I felt I had disappointed him miserably as I gagged and choked and sputtered. I had said to him, “I have failed you,” my eyes downcast, growing wet. But instead of wrenching at my hair and forcing himself into me, he had chuckled softly, stroked my hair and said, “You have not failed me, little one. Believe me, you will know when you have failed me. You will have no doubt when that occurs, but it is not now.” And he was right. I knew that he was not merely saying such a thing. Whenever I did fail or disappoint him, I was quick to feel the power of his wrath, the sting of his lash, and was reduced to real tears. I understood then that I had not failed him in my efforts, but I was determined to improve, to please him more.

  And now, I could. I took all of him, bathing his shaft with my tongue the way he taught me to please him, applying gentle suction and swallowing his cock down my open and welcoming throat as he grunted with delight. As much as I would like to use my hands to feel his exquisite balls, to caress his rod, to feel his strong, warm skin under my fingertips, he generally did not ever permit me to use my hands, although of course, on nights like that one, I had no choice when my arms were bound tightly behind me.

  If you have not noticed, he is always in control, self-possessed, composed, never flustered. And when I am able to worship him in this manner, allowed to show my adoration, my requital, he is still all of those things, but there is a part of him that he gives over to me and when he is particularly pleased, as he was that night, he groans my name passionately as he explodes into my mouth, feeding me liquid ambrosia, as I drink every taste of his essence, swallow each spurt of his release and suck at him gently to coax the last drops from his luscious, softening member.

  And as pleasure crackles like fire down his spine while he spurts, strains, and surges between my lips, the world pitching and revolving around him, I hope that I am sometimes drawn in and encompassed within his wildly spinning orbit and that he notices I am there with him.

  As the planet righted itself for him that night, he picked me up and threw me on the bed again on my stomach and I wondered how he could have recovered so fast, but he had no plans for using me that way as you will see. Instead, he retrieved a knife from the wall which he had never used on me for anything other than cutting my bonds and indeed that was his purpose that night.

  When the silk had fallen away, he rolled me over and rubbed the circulation back into my arms, running his hands over my breasts, reverently tracing the welts, bruises and marks which he had left there. His fingers played with the tips of my nipples, already sore from his lashing, but I made no protest, no whimper. Indeed, the attention caused my breathing to quicken, my clit to strain and throb and a whirl of fiery cinders to skitter through me again.

  He looked at me then, with dark, lust-filled eyes and purposefully exhaled across my breasts, his breath like a fleeting draft of flames. He took my nipples in his teeth and teased them, charges of electricity flickering through me, his lips and tongue moving around the peaks like a blaze, branding me with passion, as I was caught up, submerged in a froth of hunger.

  I felt him smile against my belly as he slid his lips lower, leaving a hot, fiery trail which burned my skin until he reached my core and he lapped at the profusion of wetness trailing from me, swirling with his tongue until he had tasted all of my juices smeared around my pussy and thighs. And then he brought his tongue to my nub and expertly pursued it, fluidly rolling in his lips, agitating it with his teeth, rapidly, ceaselessly, callously, as my eyelids fluttered, my hands balled into fists and my entire body stretched as taut as a bow, a deep feral whine beginning to rise in my throat.

  “Not tonight,” he hissed and my head fell back in utter despair as he brought me to excruciating peaks, holding me there, refusing to lessen his attention, as I repeatedly fought against climax, my skin perspiring, my body heavily flushed, my breathing weak and ragged.

  It took all of my effort, all of my training, all of my Jiikorian willpower superimposed by His will to stop myself, my pulse racing, random colors swirling in my mind, streaks of silver distorting my vision. And the effect was almost orgasmic in itself as I panted, almost broken with exertion, seemingly stuck on the plateau of release, but knowing that I would never fall off if he did not wish it. He sometimes did not permit me release for days or weeks. I was perpetually in need if he did not allow it. Of course, I was like that anyway, with Him.

  He finally kissed my quivering button and stopped the torment. He was not always unmerciful.

  He moved up higher on the bed and ran his fingers lightly over the collar at my neck, tracing the exquisite, white stones. “Such a good girl, pet,” he said. “Such a good, good girl. Perhaps next time I will allow you release.”

  “As you wish,” I said softly, knowing I would only ever do so if he allowed it, and even if he never allowed it again, his words were release enough for me.

  He could not possibly have known it would be our last time together before they came for me, before I more or less went willingly away from Him. But for whatever reason, he looked into my eyes and I saw something in their depths greater than passion, more than lust, more than desire. I did not imagine it, I am sure of it.

  And then he kissed me deeply. So thoroughly that I felt deluged by a firestorm of sexuality, pleasure and desire, rising and falling beneath the tide of his kiss, lost to his sweet possession of me, feeling the electricity of desire exchanged between our mouths, lips and tongues, intoxicated by his dominance and wanting to be drawn within it forever. When he broke the kiss, I floated in a sea of unbounded pleasure, savoring the flavor of Him.

  He pulled me against him then and I knew he would drift off to sleep while I lay in his arms. He would sometimes stay the night after he had taken what pleasure he desired from me. I knew this was not His usual custom from the other girls.

  I could not help but speak to him, so strong were my feelings.

  “I never imagined I would feel this way,” I whispered into his chest.

  “Shhhh,” he said, stroking my hair gently. “Sleep now.”

  I tried. But I was not yet ready.

  “Do I please you?” I asked softly, hoping I had not awakened him, hoping he would indulge my question.

  He was silent for a few moments, his hand moving over my arm, lightly caressing it, and then answered, “Yes. More than I ever thought possible.”

  I never knew whether he meant that I pleased him more than he had expected me to or whether I pleased him more than anyone else had. Most likely it was the former. But it was an admission all the same, which he rarely made. No, thinking back, he never made admissions. He gave me all manner of praise, but had never gone beyond that.

  I wanted to say what was in my heart at that moment to Him, but I did not. I do not know whether things would have turned out any differently. Whether, when I disappeared from his planet, he would have looked for me, sought me out, come to retrieve me from Yar if I had told him. But I did not tell Him. I was afraid. Afraid to admit it to myself, afraid of what he might say, afraid of rejection. Did he feel the same way or was I simply one of his many beauties, to serve as a willing vessel only for his pleasure? I knew I would serve Him no matter how he felt about me and so thought it might be better if I did not know whether I meant any more to Him.

  CHAPTER 5

  He had left the planet again. He would often leave for days, weeks at time, months even it seemed, although they told me when I returned to Yar that I was missing for only a year.

  I was meditating. He had a beautiful garden in which I could meditate as often as I liked. I felt calm, at peace there. I became muc
h recharged while on his planet. If you do not understand, when I am meditating, I am nearly oblivious to the outside world. I have always depended on my Jiikorian security to protect me when I am in this deep state and I trusted His security as well. But fate was to have other plans for me that day.

  I remember strong arms around me, lifting me up, turning me into them. I instinctively knew it was not Him. But it was another tall male, handsome they would say, except with light hair, rather than dark, like His. His eyes were red, but a beautiful, deep red, not a lurid color.

  “Are you all right?” he asked me.

  “Of course,” I replied. Why would I not have been all right?

  “I am Jurig,” he said. “I’ve led a small contingent here to rescue you. Come, the ship is waiting.”

  “To rescue me?” I repeated, still a little dazed from being interrupted during my meditative state.

  Jurig pulled me to his chest and caressed my hair. “Shhhh. It’s over now,” he said. “All over.”

  I let him hold me and then he said, “We must hurry,” and took my hand.

  “But,” I said, protesting.

  He looked at me sympathetically. “No one will know where you have gone. My team and the ship are all cloaked. Your escape will be undetectable. Besides, Xane is not on the planet now. He can’t hurt you.”

  Xane. That was the first time I knew His name. I liked it. I almost giggled, thinking of what He might say if he returned and I called him Xane. “It’s been a long time,” he would say. “Yes,” I’d answer. “May I worship your cock, sir?” “Have you been a good girl, my little pet?” “Oh yes, Master Xane.” That would probably earn me twenty hard lashes with his cane for my impudence. But it would be well worth it.

  “Well?” Jurig said expectantly.

  “Well, what?” I asked, having no idea that he had even spoken to me.