by Tasha Temple
He looked at me sideways as if thinking, he has abused you more than we had feared.
“Never mind,” he said quietly. “In here.” He led me up the steps into his ship, simple enough, but also sophisticated it seemed, although I was no expert at ships.
“This is my ship. I’m a bounty hunter. Your planet hired me to find you. You’ve been the most sought after hostage in the galaxy for nearly a year now.”
I sat quietly where he indicated I should. I felt disoriented, out of sorts.
“I imagine you’ll be glad to return home to Yar,” he said, glancing back at me while he powered up the engines.
“Yes,” I said.
* * * * *
Jurig set the course for Yar. It would take several weeks. He came into my cabin and found me there, sitting on my bed, as usual.
“You’ve been so quiet on this journey,” he said. “You don’t need to be. There is nothing to fear anymore.”
His hands went to unfasten the collar at my neck. I pulled away from him, alarmed. He frowned.
“Let me just have a look at it,” he said gently.
I let him run his fingers over it. There was no clasp, no latch, no way for Jurig to remove it. Xane would have seen to that. I was relieved.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll find someone to remove it when we get you back to Yar.”
I said nothing but was regaining some of my senses. I knew I would not let anyone touch it.
I watched his expression shift then, knew his thoughts were on something else. He leaned down and kissed my lips lightly.
“I realize that your race typically does not engage in . . . sexual relations,” Jurig said, somewhat awkwardly, “but the Sartyrians unquestionably . . . do.” He was referring to Xane’s race. I had guessed as much when I had glanced at the systography readouts on the bridge of Jurig’s ship.
He looked at me as if trying to determine whether I had had sex during my abduction and what I now thought about it. I betrayed nothing.
He gently pushed the hair at my temples aside.
“I can take away any unpleasant memories you might have,” he said softly, kissing my forehead and brushing his lips down the side of my face.
His hands began to move over my body. It wasn’t disagreeable and I was curious. I let him continue. He slid them under my simple wrap, running them over my hips and then they traveled tentatively to my breasts.
Jurig pulled back a little, looking at me to see if I would protest. I lay back on the bed with my hands beside my head, watching his rich, burgundy eyes take in my lack of hesitation. His hands parted my wrap in the front and he stroked my breasts reverently. Then he leaned down and kissed my nipples, taking them into his mouth, laving them with his tongue and gently nibbling on them with his teeth as he continued to massage my breasts with his hands. The sensations were not unpleasant and I arched slightly into him which seemed to encourage him greatly.
He wrapped his hands gently in my hair and possessed my mouth. Jurig’s kisses were not like Xane’s, but he had passion for me and it showed. After some time of tasting my mouth and caressing my flesh, he sat up, undressed and returned to the bed. He slid my wrap from my shoulders and removed it from my body, dropping it to the floor. I had nothing on underneath. Xane preferred me to wear very little clothing and I was used to it. I could tell Jurig at least approved of that.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. I knew that he wanted to say my name after his declaration, but was afraid to. I am intimidating to most and my reputation is widespread. I am not sure Jurig believed that what we were doing was really happening.
He lowered himself onto me, caressing my body more, causing the heat to rise in my flesh again and then slid into me while facing me. This was new to me. I watched his face and saw that it was contorted with a mixture of pleasure and disbelief. I wondered how it would have been had I ever been able to see Xane’s face with this much clarity. But he either engaged me from behind or I was blindfolded or folded in half, or hung from the ceiling, or if I was in his arms facing him, he would hold me aloft in the air or up against a wall and my eyes were usually glazed from passion, unable to focus as much I was able to focus on Jurig. Xane had never taken me like this, so . . . simply.
Jurig continued his motions as we lay on the bed together, exceedingly straightforward, him above me, me on my back, my legs slightly bent. I found it unusual, but interesting. He returned to my breasts, fondling, kissing them and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, whispering things of flattery as he drove himself into my warm, welcoming flesh.
Jurig was not unskilled although I felt no shockwaves, no roaring tongues of flame, no wildfires sweeping my body. I did feel pleasure, aches, and satisfaction. Before he emptied his cock in me, he pulled out and lapped with his tongue around my little bud until I shrieked and quaked and then plunged back into me and poured out his release.
It was good. To pretend that it was not would be a lie.
I returned to my duties on Yar although it was some time before I was ready to travel again. Jurig and I continued to see each other. Yarians do not mate and do not have romantic visitors, but Jurig was seen by others as a companion, someone with whom I shared a platonic bond because he had rescued me. His presence on Yar was tolerated and I engaged him whenever he came to visit, which was quite frequently. Jurig made sure I climaxed each time, along with him. He never left me unfulfilled. Xane, as you know, was never that way.
Eventually everyone, Jurig and Yarians alike, came to accept my collar of stones, taking to calling it a “necklace.” I wouldn’t let anyone near it, let alone a locksmith. It may have bothered Jurig, but he never mentioned it.
And one day, I was ready to travel again, alone. It would be my first journey from Yar since that fateful trip to the asteroid of Karatar. This was not to be diplomacy visit, but a visit to another planet for a short study on recent advances in systography. With hundreds of years left in my lifespan, I couldn’t remain on Yar forever. It was my duty and destiny to make an impression in the galaxy. Besides, I was good at what I did. The best there was. There was no reason to waste my talents.
I rode the small ship to a planet in the tertiary star system of Qazon, sixteen days away from Yar. It was an easy journey and I let us get eight days from Yar before I took any action.
CHAPTER 6
Although Jiikorians are trained to acquire knowledge of every type, sparing no expense or time in our education, I realized one failing in the year I spent away from Xane. I did not know how to pilot a ship. As exalted guests, we Jiikorians expect to be ferried to our destinations, chauffeured at our whim, transportation at our beck and call. I suppose any of us could have piloted a ship in an emergency. But to set a course for a distant location and manage all operations required a level of expertise I felt I did not have.
Normally if I found a deficit in my knowledge, I would travel to the system best-suited to educate me to fill that void. I would have spent years training to become a brilliantly proficient pilot. But I felt I did not have the luxury of that much time. So I spent the time instead in the Yar gardens, simulating the experience, drawing upon the collective knowledge of Jiikorians, half-blood and pure-blood alike.
There wasn’t enough collective knowledge so I asked Jurig to teach me. He may have wondered why I wanted to know, but he indulged me just the same. I learned only how to fly his ship and not Yarian vessels, but I am resourceful and creative. So when I overpowered the crew, including my security detail, and placed them adrift in rescue capsules, I set about piloting a Yarian ship to Xane’s planet and I had no trouble.
And what of Jurig, you might ask? Did I simply use him and then abandon him for my own ends? I was not his exclusive lover, I have no doubt of that. And I do not believe I broke his heart if that is what you are wondering. But I can see how you might think so based on what I have told you. I will let you draw your own conclusions since I really do not know.
But as to my story, Xane’s pla
net is far away, in the remotest corner of the galaxy. When I arrived, I did not anticipate the security measures He would have in place and I drew upon all of my negotiating skills to be admitted.
Once I landed, they indeed recognized me, but did not know what to do with me. For all I knew, He had moved someone into my old room. A year is a long time.
They finally found a place for me and I waited there for two long weeks. That is not much time for a Yarian but it seemed to stretch like an eternity. Finally, he returned. I knew it from the talk on the planet although he did not come to me for another week. And even when He did, things did not go at all as I had expected.
I knelt before Him on a cold, hard stone floor, my hands behind me, my back painfully straight, my head bowed. I was not allowed to rest on my heels as he usually preferred, but he had instructed me to stand up on my knees.
I was very remorseful and told him so. He listened without comment to my long speech and explanation until I finally fell silent, having no more words to speak, optimistic and hopeful for his forgiveness.
“You still wear my collar.”
It was an observation. I was not meant to respond. I was sure I detected a note of coldness and detachment in his voice that chilled my very blood. My mouth suddenly felt very dry.
“Do you deserve to still wear it?”
There was no mistaking the harsh indifference of his tone now.
I was stricken by the question. I had refused to let anyone remove it. Should I have removed it myself? Was I still worthy of it? I had never thought about it, wanting so much for it be always a part of me. I considered my answer.
“I want to deserve to wear it, sir,” I said in a voice much smaller than my normal way of speaking.
He left me there then without another word, kneeling as I was on the rock floor. How long I could not say, but I was numb with pain, almost in a trance, by the time he returned and three cycles of light and dark had passed through the small window.
“Rise, little one,” I finally heard through my stupor.
I struggled to stand, weak, dizzy. I nearly collapsed as my muscles failed to support me, but he caught me and turned me around gently, holding me up with his strong arms. I had almost forgotten how tall he was, I am so used to looking down at men. Then he lifted me up and laid me gently in a tub filled with soft water from the mineral springs that abounded on his planet. Three beautiful girls came and attended to me. When I next looked up, he was gone. Their ministrations were exquisite and they massaged every muscle, large and small, in my body, while soothing my aches with gel made from scented grasses.
As I recovered, I looked at them more closely. They were obviously His, subservient, obedient, helpful, their nude bodies perfect in every way. They brought me a short, white gown that narrowed around my waist and fell just over my hips and I gratefully accepted it. They helped me to dress, brushed my hair out until it shone like red-gold and wound white flowers in it. I did not know why I needed the adornments but I let them do as they pleased. I was brought food and drink and soon felt myself again.
Night fell on the planet and I was alone, sitting on the bed in my new room. I felt His presence before he appeared in the open doorway to my chamber.
He stood leaning against the stone, his arms folded, those dark eyes searching inside my soul. I shook. My thighs were drenched with wetness. I could not speak.
He entered without a word and walked across the chamber to the open window, taking in the several moons that studded the sky.
“Undress and kneel at my feet,” he said, still looking out the window.
I rose and did just that, my head bowed, my hands on my thighs, waiting in silence although my heart hammered in my chest and no amount of Yarian conditioning could quiet it. Finally, I felt him turn to me.
“You do realize if I take you back, you will be punished?”
“Yes,” I answered, my eyes still lowered.
“It would be more severe than anything I have ever given you, Miya.”
I tried not to shudder. There had been some very brutal punishments. As a rule, he was never gentle although I had always felt secure.
“I understand,” I said, keeping my voice steady for Him. He could reject me. I wanted to please Him. I wanted, above all else, for Him to accept me again.
He sighed. “I do not know if you would be strong enough to endure me, little pet.”
I knelt with my eyes closed, little phrases running through my head that I dared not say aloud. Please think I am strong enough. Please let me do this for you. Please let me do this for me.
I could not say how long he had me kneel there, but my body began to become painfully sore and cold from the unyielding stone floor. Finally, I heard the words I had been so longing to hear.
“I will let you try.”
And then he leaned down and stroked my hair a little, but I knew from experience that the way he touched me was deceptively gentle.
“But you have disappointed me greatly.”
My heart sank with guilt. His words tore through me like a knife. He straightened and was silent for a few moments and then finally he spoke again.
“Take the punishment I give you tonight and I will take you back. I will forgive you and we will say no more about this. Ever.”
I was beside myself with joy and gratitude. Tears began to fall from my eyes. I would not fail Him. “Thank you, sir,” I managed.
“No tears yet, little one,” he said, his voice hard. “You haven’t yet begun to feel the extent of my disappointment . . . or your redemption.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tasha is a former attorney who enjoys writing erotic fiction. She has been writing since she was a child, completing her first screenplay when she was just seven years old. She continued to write profusely throughout her childhood and into her adult years, including during her legal career. After she moved to Hawaii, Tasha decided to devote her complete attention to her true love of writing fiction. She now writes solely from her home on Maui where she lives with her husband and son and routinely draws inspiration from the beautiful Hawaiian scenery.
Tasha is a hopeless romantic, devoted to love and happy endings. She enjoys writing rather extensive erotica, believing that the sexual aspect of romance is addressed far too superficially in many novels. Tasha feel that well-written sexuality is exciting to read and is too often overlooked in fictional literature for women. Tasha also enjoys exploring different genres with her writing and you are likely to find her crafting erotic romance in a wide variety of settings. She loves what she does and hopes that you have as fun reading as she does writing.
www.templefiction.com
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