by Anneke Jacob
At last the woman had been brought into view. The auctioneer was surprisingly salacious in his handling of her; he knew his audience, the sly bugger. She had been a small fleshy jewel of excitement up on that platform. As he piloted his aircar, Garid could see the rounded naked flesh, the full, firm, animal breasts, the swollen folds between the legs struggling to free themselves. Her face had seemed childlike in its smoothness, the fear and excitement so easy to read on it. The eyes, caught in his own, giving up so readily to him. His hands, his whole body ached to feel that soft flesh, and his groin throbbed, wanting to take possession.
But he could wait. She was safe in the crate behind him. He suppressed his urge to yell aloud, a triumphant yell only held back because control was more satisfying. Waiting was a pleasure now that there was certainty at the end of it.
He heard her from time to time, stirring in the straw. His own pet woman! He had taken the congratulations and envy of the others patiently and quietly made arrangements. The metal collar he had brought was around her neck, hung with the license and holo tag. Her description, holograph, hand and footprints were on file in the government’s computer, with his name entered as owner. In the auction offices she had been strapped to a table, given a last medical exam, had all her scans done and her health and (most rare for a human) contraception certificates checked. While all of this was taking place, and while she was being roughly fed, the little creature had been compliant, but her eyes had kept straying to him.
There was enough information in her file to show that she was not capable of reasonable behavior when treated reasonably. She had to be controlled, or she created havoc. He could understand his father’s fears, really. But he had no intention of allowing her any latitude.
I huddled in the crate, in deep straw, holding myself in the dimness. There were a few air holes in the top, but little light came through them. I thought about the man who’d bought me, the green-eyed man, and realized I was almost forgetting to breathe. From the platform he had looked thin, but up close I saw this was an illusion based on his height. He was lean, but incredibly tall, and his shoulders seemed to give him the breadth more of a house or an auto-harvester than a person. It was hard to believe that men, that this man, could be so large; he was on an entirely different scale than I was used to. Those huge hands could crush me. I was a young, healthy woman; I’d always been reasonably strong, at least on Raniz. Here I was a puny little bird in a snare.
I was scared. I was entranced. I was aroused. The movement of those great limbs had been clean and definite, no motion wasted. His face was unreadable. This man quietly controlled everything around him. Soon he’d be controlling me.
My excitement warred with the humiliation of knowing that I was going to have to empty my bladder like an animal in the straw. Would he beat me for it, or was that what the straw was for? Would that be better than being unable to control myself when I was brought out? Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead, and the pain was becoming intense. If we didn’t land soon… At last I gave up and let it go. I stayed as high as I could on my knees in the little space, in order to keep the urine from touching my skin. I was crimson with embarrassment, but stronger than embarrassment was the deep fear that I was doing something wrong, displeasing, that my owner – my owner! – would be angry with me. I shook a little, holding my face in my hands. I realized that more than anything I wanted him to be pleased with me; at least, I was hoping not to make him angry. This was a new one, after years of more or less deliberate misbehavior, directed at authority figures everywhere. Still, it was not entirely new, now that I thought of it. I remembered my childhood fears, and they were all that someone would be angry with me. That’s what I felt like now, a small child, completely dependent on the slightest whim of the very large person to whom I belonged. Except that now the thought of obedience carried with it a complex, adult-sized burden of lust.
Garid brought the aircar into its port and rose from the seat, stretching. His housekeeper, Arleben, met him at the door with a cautious look, saying, ‘Well, sir?’
‘Yes.’ Garid’s face was impassive.
Arleben’s face lit up. ‘Wonderful, sir! Is it – I mean she…?’
‘In the back.’ Garid finally permitted himself a quick grin at his friend and subordinate. ‘Bring the crate into the view room.’
The view room was called that not for the viewing they were about to do, but for its great windows, curtained now against the sun and the day’s heat, looking out onto the city; the house and grounds were on the side of a hill. The room had couches in deep green-blue, touches of black and rust and gray on the walls. Garid pushed back a chair or two to make room for Arleben and Pav the cook, who were carrying the crate between them. Pav had insisted he could carry it by himself, but Arleben pointed out that it was an awkward size for one man, and they couldn’t risk dropping it. So they both got to see the woman. They set the crate down gently on the floor. Arleben made as if to turn away, but one eye remained on the crate. Pav stared openly. Garid was about to dismiss them, but saw the curiosity on their faces, and decided to satisfy it.
‘Open the crate, Arleben.’ The housekeeper undid the latches on the side of the crate, and swung the door wide. The woman was on her knees in there, blinking in the sudden light. Garid bent a bit, clicked his tongue at her and held out one hand, and she obeyed the gesture, crawling out of the box toward his hand. He checked the lock on her collar, and tugged on the license and ownership tag. Then he straightened up and took a step back. The woman glanced up a little, but they were too far above her to see, and she looked back at the floor.
Pav and Arleben stared. They looked at each other, eyebrows raised, then gazed again. ‘Um…’ Pav hesitated, ‘…very pretty.’ He sniffed audibly toward the container and had a look. ‘We’ll have to wash out this crate.’
Garid could see the woman tense up. Her arms were trembling, pushing rigid against the floor. ‘Yes, all right, later,’ he said casually, and noted that she sagged a little with relief. She was moving to sit back on her heels. He nudged her sharply with his foot, under her hip, and she shifted forward quickly onto her hands and knees again. He nudged her again, hard, this time on the inside of each knee, and she obeyed, spreading her knees apart. Garid let his men have a good look, then took hold of her collar and pulled her up to stand. They stared down at her breasts for a moment. Then he sent them out.
He stood there examining his little prize, then walked around to savor her from all sides. He had barely touched her so far; he wanted to prolong this exquisite moment of acquaintanceship as far as possible. Her skin was pale, smooth and elastic, the curves supple and sweet. Her breasts, softly trembling as he watched, looked large against her slender ribcage. His hands almost moved of their own accord to touch and squeeze them, but he pushed back the impulse. Instead he took her by the wrists, made her raise her arms, and examined how her breasts changed their shape. Her arms in the air, she was watching his face watching her. He made her bend forward from the waist and examined the breasts, their soft weight falling like inverted teardrops. He gazed at her rounded ass from behind. Two beautiful ovals. Her light reddish-brown pubic hair was dark with her juices, the opening just visible, swollen and glistening. She held the position without moving, except for a trembling which communicated itself from her hands to her thighs and soon seemed to have all her body vibrating. He could hear her quick, uneven breathing.
Her excitement tinged the air, a tangy musk that brought back every woman he’d ever had. His own arousal was barely in check. It had been two years since his off-world trip, two years since he’d had a woman. His perverse preferences made ordinary sex, sex with a man, distasteful, and he had only given in once or twice for relief. But more than the sexual pressure, the mere physical frustration of celibacy, there had been the frustration of his need to possess, to own, to exert control over a small body like this. Here she was at last, and his control held, but just barely. Her female scent alone was intoxicatin
g enough to destroy his defenses; his whole body wanted to grab her up and use her, invade her body and take over, mark her as his.
Garid straightened the woman up by the shoulders and circled around to look again at her breasts as they heaved in time with her rapid breathing. At last he reached out and stroked one of the pliant mounds, weighing it in his hand. His cock threatened to burst from the confines of his clothes. He rolled the nipple tightly between his fingers, then stroked down her belly until he held her cunt in his hand. She was breathing in gasps now. She looked up at him and they locked gazes for a long moment, their eyes bright and feverish. Her soft fur, the slippery flesh behind it, the female smell of her like a drug in the air, at last was too much, even for him. He stepped back and shed his clothes, his gaze never leaving her. Her eyes widened at the sight of his chest and shoulders, and when she saw his erect cock her mouth dropped open and she cried out, backing away a step or two. He grabbed her and smacked her ass twice, hard. She stood still, crying a little. He picked her up, lifted her to him, his mouth kissing her neck, her face, his tongue pushing into her mouth, and she responded with passionate intensity, her closed eyes spilling tears. He let himself cast aside control now; he moved in a frenzy, his hands everywhere, handling her roughly, trying to cram years of touching into moments. She was clutching his back and moaning continuously against his mouth, the sound rising to little whimpers as he squeezed her flesh, a sound so exciting he squeezed her harder to hear it again. The legs around his waist trembled and splayed against him. Garid would wait no longer; he found her opening with his fingers, spread her wide and lowered her onto his cock, gripping her hard and thrusting. She cried out in pain, and he felt something give way inside her. Then he was deep in that soft, tight chasm, exulting, in possession. He pushed her up against a wall and fucked her, hard, ravenous, his heat mounting with each thrust. He couldn’t hold back long; within a minute he exploded inside her, his hands gripping her breasts, his shout reverberating through both their bodies.
Slowly he let me slide down between him and the wall, until I was on the floor. I felt riven, as if an earthquake had changed my topography. As if I could never be closed again. I was slumped down, staring at my open cunt; the fluid that seeped out was pinkish. His feet were still next to me; I suppose it had been only a few moments since he had let me down, but everything seemed to be moving as if we were under water. I wasn’t thinking when I turned slowly onto my knees and put my head down to his feet. My arms were trembling as they wrapped around him, and I kissed him. I kissed each foot several times, and felt his hand stroking my hair. I was still shaking.
I felt a great hand slip into my mouth, and I tried to suck on his finger, but he gave a little pinch with the other hand; when I opened my mouth to yelp, he tapped my tongue and pushed my head down, saying a word, and pointing at a few drops of fluid on the floor. Tentatively I began licking them up, and was rewarded with a pat. I felt gorgeously abject, and was shakily proud of his approval. I was trying to remember the word that probably meant ‘lick.’ Hoping to please him I looked up – god, his face seemed miles above me – and said my best approximation of the word. Immediately he walked off, and came back with something long in his hand. I heard a hissing sound and a crack, and my ass felt pain like nothing I’d ever felt before, an intense burning pain, followed by three more of the same. By the last one he was holding me down with a hand on my neck, and I was struggling and crying. When he stopped beating me he took me by the hair and directed my head back to the floor, where I groveled and licked between sobs and sniffs, this time without saying a word. I licked up the tears as well, without being told. My ass throbbed; I could feel the welts swelling. Then he said another word and pulled me away by the hair. I was too distraught to try to remember that one.
My master (I was thinking in those terms now; perhaps it was the beating that did it) stood me up in front of him, as he seated himself in a chair. My eyes were around the same level as his, and I blinked the tears away so that I could drink in the sight of him. He was bizarrely beautiful to me; all the hair on the broad, muscular chest and limbs, the beard that darkly shadowed his face, the lit up green eyes, the penis, frighteningly thick and hardening, veins meandering across the dusky reddish skin, still wet. He had leather cuffs in his hand; where had they come from? He fastened them on my wrists and ankles. They had locks built into the leather; I heard them snap. He fastened my hands behind my back. The combination of the restraint and the pain in my ass, now down to a dull burn, had me squirming around my sore cunt. He stilled me with a big hand closed on my hip and a warning look, and I froze. His long fingers pressed against my welts, and I whimpered a little. No, I whimpered a lot. He began playing with my breasts, using fingers, tongue and teeth, while I tried to stand still for him, still arching and moaning uncontrollably. When he squeezed both my nipples at the same time, there seemed to be a direct line from both of them to my cunt. I couldn’t think; had nothing coherent left inside me, just sensation, one heavy layer folded over another, weighing me down till I could hardly stand.
Finally he let me sink down between his legs. His giant penis was in front of me, so frightening still. I couldn’t believe that a few minutes ago it had been inside me. Surely I hadn’t… I didn’t have that much space inside… He pulled my head toward it, and said what I thought was ‘lick’ again. Tentatively I put out my tongue and ran it along the hard silken surface. He seemed to approve, so I washed it again and again, reaching as much of it as I could. Finally he pointed it at my mouth, and I began to suck on it. I tried to get the huge knob in further, but my teeth touched it. At once he yanked me back with a hand in my hair, and pulled me up over his lap. His hand crashed down on my ass. The pain of this on top of my welts was a terrible shock; I couldn’t get my breath. When I finally did, I wailed. He spanked me twice more, holding me hard by the waist while I kicked and struggled. Then he placed me back down in front of him. Again his penis was at my lips. I breathed hard, swallowed a sob or two and opened my mouth, very wide this time, trying hard. My ass felt like it was on fire.
I did my best to learn what he wanted, but of course I made mistakes, and he punished me again. And again. Since the situation was almost wordless, all I could do was learn by trial and error, and oh, god the errors hurt. He didn’t always put me over his lap; sometimes he just pulled my face away and slapped my breast hard, then pointed to my lips or tongue or throat, and had me start again. I choked and gagged several times, and he punished me for that, too. He was calm, and relentless, and I was scared. I suppose I should have been resentful; instead I felt frantic to please him and frustrated with my own stupidity. I was terrified that he’d give up in disgust. I struggled on. Eventually I must have made some progress because he got even more enormous and harder still, and came in my throat, almost drowning me. I had known theoretically about what happened when a man had an orgasm, but the reality was a lesson I hadn’t quite prepared for. I gulped it down anyway, and didn’t take my mouth from around his penis until it softened and fell away.
I leaned against his leg then, tasting his come in the back of my throat, grateful for the hand stroking my hair. After a while he took a short leash from his box, passed it through an eye bolt recessed into the base of a wooden pillar, looped the hook end through the handle and clipped it to my collar. My hands were still fastened behind my back, so I couldn’t undo it. Simple and effective. He went off and I heard water running.
The leash was short enough to keep my head bowed when I was sitting on my heels, as I was. I toyed with the idea of lying down on my side, but I wasn’t quite prepared to risk another beating. I didn’t know what the rules were, but I suspected that not breaking position might be one of them. And I did not want to sit on my ass.
Eventually he came back into the room, clean and redressed, and unfastened me from the pillar. He led me down the hall into a bathroom, let me use the toilet (I had to wriggle myself backwards onto it like a child), then stood me in a tub the size of
a small pond, and washed me gently all over. My hands were still locked behind my back, but the water didn’t seem to affect the leather cuffs at all. Treated, I suppose.
The washing became a smooth soapy stroking, and my skin began to wait for him. Each part of me wanted to be the next to be touched. The part he was touching felt like a different sort of surface, raised and hypersensitive and sleepy and wide awake. My breasts in his soapy hands felt wonderful, silky and slippery, each nipple a point of indefinable bliss. Even my sore ass, especially my sore ass, wanted his touch like nothing before. His huge hands slid fairly painfully over the welts. He was touching my cunt and a painful place just behind it on my ass at the same time. I groaned with pain, or whatever it was, and leaned toward him, wanting more.
Then he showered me off, and dried me, and it was over. I whined a little and he stroked my hair, looking amused. He led me on the leash along a corridor, very austere looking, white walls and a dark wood floor, and down some stairs to a room with food laid out for one. This room looked neat but lived in, with at least two vidcom screens, a corner holo display and tidy piles of books. It would have felt fairly homelike if it hadn’t been half again as big in all its dimensions and furniture as my eye expected. The room looked too informal to be a dining room, but perhaps this was where he ate when he didn’t have company. I wasn’t company. My bowl was on the floor a few feet from his chair. I was glad when he released my arms from behind my back. However, my wrists were immediately locked again to the sides of the heavy, squarish bowl, which seemed to be bolted to the floor. Someone scraped some food into it, and there I was. I was grateful, and I was humiliated. I was grateful because he wasn’t making me eat with my hands behind my back, which I had found hard. I was humiliated, because not only my master but two others could see me eating like a dog on the floor. I closed my eyes for a moment, put my head down and began to eat.
