“As for the fleeing…” He stood and paced to the other side of the room, then turned and leaned against the wall.
“As for the fleeing?” She repeated his words. Standing from the bed, she crossed her arms defiantly. There was glint in her eyes. “How will you prevent it, Tarken?” She paused briefly. “Shackle me to a wall?”
Tarken's insides stirred at the sensual manner in which she spoke about being restrained. In his mind’s eye, he saw her bound to the bed, writhing in ecstasy as he wrung several orgasms out of her one after another. He imagined her body, blushed and glowing from the sexing, her scent filling his nostrils as he tasted her exotic sweetness.
The vision faded as another thought occurred to him. He began to wonder if she was attempting a reverse mental game with him. Was she goading him into tying her up because she might enjoy it? Or hoping he would think that she enjoyed it and refrain from tying her up because she actually hated it? Well, there was only one way to find out. “That's exactly what I am going to do, mistress.”
“Wh-a-a—?” Cushla's eyes widened and if it were possible her pale skin paled further.
Tarken stalked across the space that separated them and scooped her into his arms, tossing her onto the bed.
She squeaked out when she landed.
“It appears restraint may be exactly what is needed to deter such behavior.”
“This is not a good idea, Tarken.”
“And why not?” He pinned her with stern eyes.
Cushla scampered backwards on the mattress, balling herself in the corner near the headboard. “M-m-y skin reacts to the cuffs,” she explained feebly, then sucked in a breath and continued, her voice emerging a bit more strongly when next she spoke, “I have very sensitive skin. Remember the dress?”
Tarken paused briefly, but then advanced on her, stopping at the upper edge of the bed. “I think you protest excessively, mistress.” He gazed down at her.
She appeared afraid and vulnerable.
For a moment he felt a twinge of guilt, a rare reaction to giving punishment. But he had to. She'd attempted to escape and was threatening to do so again. Pushing the feeling aside, Tarken turned and stalked across the room going immediately to the inset storage cubicles, removing the snap and attach restraints.
“You know I speak the truth, master.” Cushla's breathing quickened, evidenced by her rapidly rising and falling chest. “You've seen the reaction to the silks.”
“True.” He pondered that for a moment. “But you have no need to worry. The cuffs contain no silk properties.”He moved toward the bed.
Cushla shrank impossibly further into the corner.
Then, Tarken realized he might have a fight on his hands. He gazed at her momentarily, his thoughts foreshadowing the battle to come, of wrestling with Cushla to place the bonds, of her struggling body, warm and sensuous beneath his touch.
The thought aroused him enough to unlatch his pants as he stared at the tops of her breasts, the smooth, rounded flesh he keenly recalled kissing, the nipples he sucked on with relish, hardening with every flick of his tongue, now poking upward, responding as if she could read his thoughts. A tingling rippled the length of his shaft culminating in a series of throbs, the pulsing nearly matching the rhythm of her breathing. “Hold out your arms, Cushla,” he demanded. Fucking blazing hellfires, Tarken cursed inwardly. Why was this, this supposed punishment making him so stiff?
“No.”
The sound of her breathy voice, the defiance in her tone taunted him, sent a wild rush through his flesh, alerting Tarken, filling him with lusty heat. “You cannot fight me on this and win.”
Cushla expelled a harsh burst of air. “But still I'll try like the demon spirits and you will not come out unscathed.”
Placing one knee on the bed, Tarken held up the bonds, his voice firm and even when he spoke, “This is your last chance, mistress. Give me your wrists.”
“No.”
He lunged toward her, barely giving Cushla a chance to evade him, but she did, at least partially. He'd caught her ankle as she dashed toward the bottom edge of the bed attempting to escape in that direction.
“No, master!” she pleaded as she kicked at him with her free foot. “Not this—anything but this.”
“This is my assurance you'll not escape again, Cushla.” Tarken dragged her toward him, his arm wrapping around her body as he released her ankle.
Her determination to twist from his grasp became aggressive, but he had her body firmly clamped.
Again, she kicked at him, before relenting, her body going limp. She uttered a desperate promise. “No more escapes. You have my word.”
“Your word prior is that you will always attempt to escape.” With the ease of lifting a feather he propped her onto her knees, causing her chest and head to fall flat upon the mattress. “Your history proving that fact.”
Clawing at the coverings, Cushla sought something to clutch, so she might pull herself free of him. She began to kick and squirm again, her cries becoming almost childlike and fearful.
Guilt began to rise inside of him, but Tarken pushed it aside. He hovered over her, reached for and restrained her at the wrists while spreading his powerful thighs around the outside of her legs with his feet hooked over her calves.
Cushla was effectively immobilized. She grunted and then hissed out an irate sound.
“Are you afraid, Cushla?”
“Never!” she bellowed.
“You lie.”
“Oh, bite me!” she shrieked in response.
“At your request.” With a chuckle Tarken nipped her shoulder, enough to sting of it, enough to feel the shudder that rippled through her flesh. Was it fear or lust, or perhaps disgust?
“You astronomical waste bucket!” She continued to struggle.
“Cease, Cushla and be still,” Tarken warned. “It will be less traumatizing for both of us.”
Sucking air through clenched teeth, she stiffened and then forced out an irate tone. “Kiss my cosmic ass, master!”
“Is that a curse or a request?” He pressed more of his weight into her, his rigid shaft now popped free from his trousers, poking at her bottom.
“If you were truly a man you would do something about that—that obscene thing of yours!”
Tarken chuckled and molded his body tighter around hers. “I intend to.”
“I meant that only a gutless male makes gain by inciting fear in the helpless!”
A hardy laugh escaped Tarken. “Cushla, I'm relatively sure helplessness is the least of what you are feeling at the moment, despite being pinned down.”
Shifting, Cushla tested his hold on her and found there was little give for movement. He had her firmly trapped beneath him. She expelled an exasperated breath. “Then tell me master, what do I feel since you know me so well?”
“Arousal perhaps?” he whispered seductively near her ear.
She gritted her teeth and bared them. “Your wish is not my command, master.”
“No?” Cocking his hips, Tarken realigned his rigid shaft against the crease of her ass, thrusting at her twice but without entering her.
“No,” Cushla snapped. “The universe will implode before I ever feel that for you!”
“I think you lie, Cushla.”
“I think your imagination precedes your common sense.”
“I think not.”
“How so?”
“Because you're grinding and your ass is pushing upward, shoving your quim against my groin.”
Going motionless, her eyes widened as if it struck rather pointedly that indeed, it was exactly what she was doing.“Uh—I have an itch.”
Tarken activated the cuff and it coiled around her wrist and forearm. Cushla cried out as if in pain, and he wondered if it was a ruse or if she was truly uncomfortable with being restrained. Rising from her he glared at her sternly. “Are you afraid, Cushla?”
“No!” she spat angrily, her face contorting with rage.
“I can
smell your fear, mistress,” he returned, realizing that perhaps he’d finally found a perfect punishment for her, a deterrent to her unruly behavior. Without hesitation, the second cuff snaked firmly around her other arm and her shriek echoed throughout the room.
Bucking and twisting, she fought, cursing at him when he drew her arms over her head, and the symbiotic properties of the soft cuffs caused her wrists to snap together as the material adhered to itself. “No! Please I beg you no!”Another snap and the anchor strap meshed with the wall at the head of the bed creating a bond that was virtually unbreakable without the neutralizing metal.
Tarken gazed down at his beautiful prisoner, watching her mouth drop open. Her eyes glazed over and he saw it plainly, saw the dread that seized her eyes, utter dread, and then terror—sheer terror. She was paralyzed with it, so paralyzed that her breathing arrested, and her body began to convulse so wildly he thought the bonds might rip from the wall.
“Cushla!” he shook her, regret tumbling through him, but her entire body seemed to be in shock. “Cushla!”
Her body went completely rigid and unresponsive. Sounds of distress gurgled from her throat.
Tarken became alarmed. Was she choking? “Cushla!” he yelled and shook her once more. “Cushla!”
After moments of anguishing silence, she finally sucked in a breath, and a smidgeon of awareness seemed to return to her frighteningly lifeless eyes, her gaze now focusing on him. “Tarken…” His name emerged in low, woeful cry. She closed her eyes and wailed loudly.
Behind Tarken a chair toppled, and a cup left earlier on the table top sailed over him, crashing against the wall closest to the bottom of the bed. The entire ship shuddered violently and then went deadly still, but Tarken was so focused on Cushla, the oddity of it all failed to register when she began screaming relentlessly.
Watching the lucidity in her eyes retreating, he shook her again trying to break the trance, reading the horror on her face, staring with fascination at the coil of cosmic colors he saw appear in her eyes, spiraling and sinking through widened pupils as black as a soulless entity. But within those darkened pools, something he hadn't seen before materialized.
Tarken blinked, unsure if his vision deceived him.
Yet there it was—the ethereal glow of a winged creature that formed and swooped from the depths of her irises. Pure energy, white, sparkling, light rushing in opposing force against the prismatic swirls devouring it as if starved for sustenance, greedily consuming the spectrum until all signs of the anomaly were gone and the Libertas faded.
Tarken felt no fear at seeing the spirit bird. Rather it was Cushla's state that terrified him. He thought she might be dying. “Cushla,” the slavemaster pulled an azide chip from his pocket and pressed it against the cuff strap. The seal it’d formed against the wall was broken. Her still restrained arms dropped to her stomach, and Tarken drew her into his arms, his thoughts escaping in a desperate whisper, “Do not depart from me.” Dread was swarming inside of him.
“Tarken?” Cushla groaned.
The slavemaster watched with continued concern.
She convulsed several times more, and then released an anguished cry. The vortex and the Libertas faded from her eyes, her irises returning to their normal crystal condition. The sparkle typically seen in them was missing however, her gaze on him lackluster and vacant.
“Speak, Cushla.” Tarken tightened his embrace, nestling her body to him.
She went limp, her expression lifeless, though she still breathed.
Thank the sacred entities. His sight settled on her dusty pink lips, slack and parted slightly, and Tarken ran his thumb along the supple flesh there wishing to see her smile, even if it was only with scorn. He much preferred her belligerence to this. “Mistress.” He shook her gently, attempting to rouse her.
Cushla's lashes fluttered but other than that she was unresponsive.
Despite her unconscious state, Tarken couldn't help but admire her beauty. The little slave was truly an exquisite woman. Lowering his head, he gently brushed his lips against hers, feeling the warmth of them—thankful for the warmth of them.
She shifted slightly and murmured quietly.
Much to Tarken's surprise, he felt Cushla's tongue skim along the crease of his lips. He went still, enjoying the way she tasted him, taking pleasure in her delicate yet uninhibited reaction to him, though he surmised she was unaware of her actions.
Remembering the cuffs, Tarken released then from her wrists. And as soon as he did, her hands lifted pressing against his chest. The modest gesture was surprisingly arousing to him, causing his craving for Cushla to heighten. Her kiss deepened, and this time Tarken responded kissing her in return.
“I love you my slavemaster,” Cushla murmured to his lips.
Her words were sweet and simple, but he was reluctant to believe she meant them. He'd shown her kindness, hinted at caring. It was likely the most tenderness she'd ever received. Of course she would love that. Who would not? But to love him in the purest sense of the emotion, Tarken surmised that Cushla's heart was one not readily tapped and taken. Loving another was something that she would never surrender easily.
A pang cramped inside of Tarken's chest at being absent from Cushla's mind. He wanted her to care for him, hold him in her thoughts. Drawing back slightly, he gazed at his tiny slave. His…The word skipped through his brain, shivered down his body, causing an uneasy rumble in his stomach before darting back to his chest, his heart tightening almost painfully. It was a clear sign that he had a dilemma.
Tarken was falling in love with a slave—with Cushla.
She was the property of another.
Tarken scowled and then cast the idea of it aside. He instead, focused on the moment, perhaps a stolen moment in time with her, blocking thoughts of where her journey would end and what might become of her. Cupping her cheek, he looked into her eyes, pleased to see the sparkle returning, slowly becoming lucid and once again alive.
“Make love to me slavemaster,” Cushla pleaded.
The humble sound of her voice nearly stole his breath. “You're back with me.” A feeling of relief washed over Tarken.
“Make love to me,” she repeated in a voice that seemed almost desperate. “Bind with me before my energy is gone.”
It seemed like an odd request coming from Cushla, so Tarken hesitated to react. Well, at least voluntarily. Involuntarily, his cock twitched at the manner in which she seemed to beg.
“Master.” Cushla's hand skimmed toward his crotch her fingers curling around his hardened rod and squeezed. “Please.”
Tarken choked back a groan. Surely, she was unmindful of what she asked. Even with Cushla admitting she enjoyed sex with him, resisting was her typical behavior. Knowing that did little to persuade him that it would be better to tamp his arousal. Nor did it cause him to prevent Cushla from slipping her hand into his loosened trousers as she was now doing, her petite little fingers grasping and fondling his balls.
Wisdom and logic told Tarken that taking advantage of her while in a half aware state would undoubtedly anger Cushla later when she realized what he'd done. It would further damage any trust for him that remained—not that he minded her tongue now swiping along the flesh of his abdomen. “Mistress…” He cradled her more tightly against his chest.
The ship gave another great shudder and he lowered her gently to the bed, stood and tucked the coverings gently around her. Turning, he walked out the door to see why the ship was trying to shake itself apart.
Upon entering the command center, he watched Scoac and Rube along with the rest of the crew struggling to maintain control of the vessel. Alarms were blaring all over the ship. “What is wrong with the ship, why can’t you control it?”
Scoac shot him a foul look. “If you can’t be helpful get the fuck off the bridge.”
“It began rattling a short time ago with no known cause,” Rube informed him. “All the readouts are steady and there are no disturbances that would have caused th
is.”
“Find somewhere to land this crate and let someone who knows what to look for and fix it,” demanded Scoac.
Tarken groaned as he turned on his heel. Another unscheduled stop, but this time he was relieved. At least it would give him more time with Cushla—and time to make sure this last ordeal hadn’t cause her to absolutely hate his guts.
Chapter Seventeen
Spirits gonads! She was squealing like a sobo puppy, shocks of pleasure rippling along the flesh of her back and taking direct aim at her crotch. What was this sensation? She hated being restrained, in fact it terrified her. Yet for some mutant reason when Tarken began to tie her up, she was suddenly aroused, but there was no way she was going let Tarken know. The universe could implode before she would admit to that!
‘I can smell your fear, mistress,’ he’d said to her.
You can smell my lust…She thought as her heart pounded with an unfamiliar exhilaration that thrilled her, yet did cause fear at the same time. It was befuddling. The yearning, apparent in her tingling nipples and the warm wetness gathering between legs, disarmed her anger. It didn't help that her center of focus was on the slavemaster's rigid cock, pressing into the crease of her bottom as he held her down.
Insult him, fight this…Cushla attempted to regroup her thoughts. This was the last thing she wanted—to be aroused by his restraints. What the dust fuck did she say to him? I have an itch? What a numb-brained thing to say.
The sound of his sensual voice, the wisp of heated air that brushed her earlobe, causing a rush of desire to pulse through her body…he was flustering her!
Cosmic crap bowls!
It was all she could do to keep from begging for more from him. This made no sense. Being restrained terrified her, reminded her of the horrible, perverse things done to her by prior owners. Images flashed through her brain, though deep inside of her head she somehow knew Tarken was nothing like the others.
Still, when he snatched up the bonds he'd dropped on the bed, and she was determined to resist him, real fear blinded her. In one swift motion, the cuff coiled up her wrist and around her forearm confirming she was half way to bondage, and suddenly Tarken’s voice became an incoherent jumble. It was as if he’d disintegrated, only to be replaced by those horrible memories.
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