The Space Marshal's Captive

by Jaye Peaches

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Then as the urge in her grew, she added, “Sir.”

  On Malimor, nobody frowned upon anal sex, which was considered a common method of birth control for many women. Sex education at school had taught her all she needed to know about preparation and hygiene; what she hadn’t anticipated as an anal virgin was how erotic it was having a man’s cock pumping cum in there.

  Mason began with long strokes, ensuring she could accommodate his movements, and when he seemed happy with her ability, he altered the pace and force. Jade anchored her knees and lowered her elbows onto the mattress to support the weight of their conjoined bodies.

  What she thought might take no more than a few minutes continued for much longer. He changed position several times, especially the angle of approach and to her amazement she coped with all of his demands. When he shifted from kneeling to squatting over her, lowering his cock in and out of her bottom, she screeched with delight. He flitted from dipping and pounding, slow and fast. Every possible way, it seemed to Jade.

  In amongst the occasional pauses, when he caught his breath and stroked her back, he encouraged her to keep going. “This is good, Jade, so incredible. I’d not thought…” The sentence hung incomplete as he returned to fucking her with renewed vigor.

  She came in the midst of one long spell of rhythmic thrusts. Her clitoris, far from exhausted by the repeated need to come, reveled in the third orgasm. The spasms crippled her muscles and her aching legs finally gave out. She collapsed beneath him, taking his captured cock with her.

  Mason didn’t stop. He used her. There was no other way to describe it. She spread herself out, arms wide, legs splayed and let him fuck her while she lay in a strange place. She was aware of him, of his actions, but unable, or more likely unwilling, to participate actively.

  The heat of his cum leaked out of her bottom hole. She’d heard him grunt, felt the shudder of his ejaculation, but it wasn’t until the hot cream filled her ass did she stir and peer over her shoulder.

  He was beaming. There was no other word to describe the look of sheer pleasure on his face. “Fuck, girl, you’re made for this.” He leapt off the bed. “Stay there. I’ll clean you up.”

  Sometime later, as she lay next to the sleepy Mason, she traced her finger along his collarbone, exploring his facets with the certainty he wouldn’t mind and felt the rise and fall of his slumbering chest. The twirl of his tattoo, which decorated most of his arms and torso, wasn’t black but had a bluish tinge in the pigment.

  “Blue,” she said aloud.

  Mason’s eyes sprang open. He was awake. “Yes. The color of my Stratum. We have blue in many of our things, including our bodies. Carers prefer green. Workers, reddish hue.”

  “Is that what the Stratum is all about—what you are?” She propped her arms on his chest and nuzzled her nose against his neck. He smelled delicious.

  “How are you divided on Malimor?” he asked.

  “It’s less about who or what. I suppose it’s more about where. We’re community based and location is the key to how we define ourselves. Where I was born, educated, that kind of belonging. I love my town. My friends.” She halted, aware of her rambling.

  He stroked her hair, a comforting action and appreciated. She was recovering from the highs and feared the crash of a low point, which often came after she’d had sex. So far, she felt amazingly happy.

  “Each to their own,” he remarked. His obvious rapture continued as he explored her, using just his hands to skate across her skin. “Smooth. I’d thought because you come from a hot, dry place, I’d feel it in your skin—that dryness. But… no. It’s not so.”

  Jade sighed, enjoying the way the tips of his fingers brushed along her figure, into the valley between her breasts, down the flattened plateau of her stomach toward her navel and then underneath to the rising arch of her back before circling around to her hipbone, where his hand rested. She copied his idea, followed his lines, admiring his translucent skin. The paleness wasn’t the pallor of an ailment or weakness, nothing like that; it was marble, strong and rigid to touch, giving his muscles and sinews a chiseled appearance. She traced his biceps, the stretch of his pectorals across his chest and the nook below the throat stone, which moved as he swallowed, hard.

  She hitched herself up and greeted his blue eyes. Something glinted from deep within Mason. She recognized its significance.

  “Love-drenched eyes,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what we say, when, you know…” She tapered off—he would deny it anyway and proving her point, his cheeks blushed faintly.

  She backed away from him slightly. “Sorry. I forgot, love isn’t important—”

  He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shush. That isn’t true. We might rely on compatibility testing for mating, but no one is forced into a relationship. I’ve rejected potential wives and I know that women do so also. Just because our marriages are formally arranged doesn’t mean love isn’t our goal.”

  Worlds apart. She and Mason were born into such different cultures. “We date, a lot. Party. Mix and match.” She hadn’t had much success with any of those and blamed it on too much alcohol or rushing into the bedroom; sometimes it wasn’t either, simply lives not ready to share.

  “Not exactly romantic either,” he pointed out with a grin. “Sounds terribly chaotic and poorly planned.”

  She laughed. “Not thought of it that way. It’s fun. No regrets, because nobody has treated me badly.”

  “You’re not expected to conform to a particular role, then?”

  “Conform?” She pulled a face. “Forced?”

  “Not like that.” He eased himself up onto his elbow to face her. “When girls become women, through that evolution, they are ready to perform their functions.”

  “Functions?” She rolled her eyes upward in disbelief. “Wow, sounds robotic.”

  Mason puckered his lips, then relaxed into a smile. “I’d not intended it to sound… so mechanical.”

  “Can’t you just be who you are?” Nobody had programmed her like an object.

  “I would say the process of evolving brings out the best in people. Men become good at leading, controlling dangerous situations, and protecting their wives. Our women are pleasing, cooperative, and obedient. Good at nurturing and serving, too.”

  “They’re roles, though, aren’t they? Like acting.”

  He frowned. “Nobody acts. It’s genuine. It’s thrilling, intense, and effective. The purpose of the Stratum is to encourage stable relationships. For a husband, the best way to ensure cohesion is through heightening sexuality, like orgasm control—”

  Which explained his commands. “I noticed you—”

  “No interrupting,” he reminded her, raising his eyebrows. “As I say, orgasm control is good for both punishments and rewards. Obedience stems from the core of our sexual beings, so when I demand sex, my wife will respond accordingly.”

  It was Jade’s turn to frown. When he spoke of rewards, she got it, understood how gifting somebody an orgasm was beneficial, but denying it, taking away the right to come freely—how could that instill obedience? “I’m not sure I can fulfill your wishes. Does that kind of training only work with people from your Stratum?”

  Mason glanced away and for the first time, he looked uncomfortable with her line of questions. “I don’t know. I’ve not tried…”

  “Try it on me,” she said impulsively, and then nipped her lip. What had she just gone and said? Try what on her—more punishments, more control and rules?

  Too late. His face had lit up—he liked the idea. “It would mean additional rules, stringent expectations of good behavior. Regular spankings.”

  She’d not done anything wrong! “Why would you do that if I’m being good?”

  “For the purposes of maintaining your obedience. Nudity. Kneeling. Those kind of activities.”

  The contrary mix of emotions continued to plague her. S
he wanted sex with Mason, she loved it. Every time she thought of what he might do to her, even those humiliating punishments, she tingled all over. However, she liked her freedom. Around her wrists and ankles were the metal bands—he’d not removed them.

  “I’m still a fugitive. Your captive.”

  The crux of the situation rose to the surface. He sat alongside her on the bed and grasped her hand between his.

  “I’ve being lying here thinking. I’ve two more fugitives to capture, two of the most wanted in the sector, both of whom will bring me a considerable bonus. Sufficient for me to retire early. The problem is, as you know, this ship is not in great shape. I need you to keep things working. So this is what I propose.”

  She waited, hanging on his every word. “Go on.”

  “Follow my rules, stay under my protection, and be my engineer. Help me complete these missions, and,” he squeezed her hand tighter, “while we have the opportunity to spend time together we will determine if we are compatible.”

  “And if I am?”

  “I can’t promise anything, Jade. You’re special—something inside me has come alive when I’m with you. But, if I lie to the Federation, I’m in trouble. I’ll try to expunge any record of you being on this ship, but I can’t do anything about your arrest warrant.”

  “Where will I go?”

  “I’ll release you, hand in the three fugitives to the courts on Novador as I planned, then I’ll come find you.”

  “Stealth needs major repairs.” She grieved for her ship.

  “Something will have to be done about Stealth. If I arrive at Novador with it docked to my Titan, they’ll be questions to answer.”

  “What if we’re not—” she didn’t want to think about it, “—compatible?” The word felt meaningless, it almost stuck in her mouth. She wanted to talk about love and friendship, not tests of her suitability.

  “I’ll still let you go, if that is the case, but I won’t come back to find you.” Releasing her hand, he coiled his fingers around her neck and drew her closer. “Don’t worry. You’re the kind of brave girl who doesn’t give in easily, which may or may not work in my favor.” He chuckled. “I guess we’ll find out what it means to have a Malimor woman as a submissive.”

  “I’m not obedient, Mason, not in the way you want me to be.” She rested her head on his shoulder and yawned. Parts of her ached and needed soothing with a hot shower and sleep.

  “You’re going to surprise yourself, Jade. There’s something locked inside you and it’s a gift and you’ll want to share it with me. I can sense it when I touch you.”

  “We’re not even from the same planet, never mind your Stratum, how can you know?”

  He paused for a while, breathing deeply. “You’re not the first.”

  She lifted her head and stared up at him. He seemed pensive. “What do you mean?”

  “There was another girl, Lila. She was from a different Stratum and I felt there was something there, something between us, but I never got a chance to find out. She was taken away from me. I’ve not seen her since.”

  “Do you love her?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, no. But maybe if we’d been allowed to explore those feelings, we might have fallen in love.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jade laid all the components on the workbench and tut-tutted. The food processor unit needed new parts and there were none on the ship. She’d have to improvise until they reached the space station. For the time being, any improvement to the quality of food it churned out had to be an improvement.

  She worked methodically, trying out different spares or fashioning something using the tools she had. Over the days she’d become accustomed to thinking on her feet and making do with what little was available. Something to be proud of—her versatility. Mason seemed pleased, too.

  It was happening again and she squeezed her eyes shut, allowing herself the indulgence of daydreaming. Whenever Mason appeared in her thoughts, she conjured up a ludicrous fantasy, each darker than the previous one.

  She’s working with her back to the door and she hears him enter—the purposeful footfalls—just as she had done all those days ago when he boarded Stealth. Her heartbeats thump against her ribs; she drops the wrench, knowing any second he’s going to reach her.

  He kisses the nape of her neck and at the same time, pulls her flimsy clothing off her shoulders. She’s not wearing underwear and he bares her breasts, her belly, which churns with trepidation, and rips off the rest of her clothes. Coiling his fingers around her neck, he pushes her down, bending her over the bench and pinning her there as he enters her. One mighty thrust. Perpetually wet, she takes him easily and holds still as he drives deeper. Except for his grunts, he says nothing as he fucks her hard, ramming her into the bench. How she wants this—his dominance. No holding back, no pandering to niceties.

  He growls, “Come,” and she does instantly, feeling him respond in kind. He withdraws, turns and walks away, leaving his cum spilling down her thighs. Her legs shake. She’s breathless, needy for more.

  Jade opened her eyes and inhaled. Only two elements of her little dream had come true: he’d forbidden her underwear and she was constantly wet. Even so, Mason’s regime, far from discouraging her submission, had placed in her a tranquil place where she needn’t worry about anything other than her assigned tasks. He controlled the day-to-day activities and kept her busy. When he wasn’t on the flight desk or in his quarters, he kept her company, playing as her assistant, passing her tools and asking her to explain what she was doing, so he might learn. It was an illusion of compromise, because the moment he wanted something from her, she dropped everything and obeyed him.

  The routine of the day was centered on a pattern. Breakfast, followed by the pair of them running around the cargo bay, during which she was permitted to wear a brassiere. They would finish covered in fresh perspiration and mutually admire the way the fabric clung to their respective chests. His accentuated his pectorals, hers two pert nipples. The ogling would last all the way to the bathroom where they’d wash away the sweat.

  She bathed him in the shower. Sometimes, if he felt inclined, he would ask her to suck his cock to completion, which she eagerly did. She’d follow him into the shower and he’d treat her to an orgasm, fingering her into a state of wantonness by plunging his fingers, sometimes three or four of them, deep into her pussy. If she had been late to bed, which had happened or he’d warned her about tardiness for duties, he would deny her the pleasure of that finger fuck as punishment. Strangely, this incentive worked. It amazed her how miserable and disappointed she felt if she failed to receive that first orgasm of the day.

  There was usually more than one climax, if she was good.

  After a few hours of work, they would meet up again for lunch. They’d chat about mundane things for the most part—she’d explain what was wrong with the ship and how she was fixing it. He kept quiet about his work as a marshal, but had regaled her with some of his exploits as a soldier—all men from Ixzar, and many other planets including her own, underwent a period conscription to the Federal army. He admitted he hated it.

  “Why?” she’d asked. “I thought you liked orders.”

  “I like giving them,” he’d grinned. “I was young, so it was necessary to learn to obey, but I knew in my heart, I like to be in control of situations.”

  Eating the dreadful food, she’d complained about the food processor and he’d given her permission to fix it, adding it to her list of tasks.

  When he left her to her duties, she missed him. Why she yearned for him was odd because there were just the two of them, nobody else and in the past spending so much time with one person would have suffocated her—she liked to mix with groups and was not taken to exclusivity when it came to her friends. With Mason, it felt so different, and in a good way, so much so she looked forward every day to the rest period in his quarters when she undressed, kept herself naked and ready for him. Every night, he equipped himself with an erect
ion and fucked her, then when both of them were spent, he held her in his arms and slept. She loved those hours lying next to him, listening to him breathe and the occasional soft snores as he slumbered.

  She reassembled the last few pieces of the food processor. The ugly machine, which slotted into a compartment in the wall of the mess, didn’t incite much of an appetite for food given what went in it, but it would have to do.

  Job done, she hit the intercom button.

  “Mason,” he replied, which amused her since he was the only other person on the ship.

  “Sir. I’ve finished mending the food defiler, I mean processor.” She smirked at her little joke, wondering if Mason was smiling too. He quite liked her sense of humor, as long as she kept it respectful. “I’ve done my best.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “It was worth a try.”

  When it came to gratitude, she couldn’t fault Mason. He always complimented her on her efforts, even if she failed. Trying was important, he’d told her during one of her routine spankings. When he tipped her over his lap and smacked away at her ass, he’d typically chat about his ‘expectations’ or rules as she saw them, reminding her of this or that, warning her about slip-ups in her attitude. Those sessions worked, to her chagrin, because they had become less daunting, although not as fun or as sexy as when he did them as foreplay, and more important, afterwards he cuddled her on his lap and told her all the good things she’d done. He never left her feeling disappointed or upset. If this was what made them compatible, it was okay. No, more than okay; she was starting to enjoy those intimate spells and the carefully warmed ass that came with them.

  “It will need shifting back to the mess,” she pointed out. The unit was too heavy for her to carry, but Mason would pick it up as if it were a bird’s feather.

  “Later,” he growled softly. “Come and join me on the flight deck.”

  “Sir.” A wave of tiny shivers shot along her spine. The flight deck was the power base where the commander wielded control over all the ship’s operations. The fastest route he’d mapped to the space station took Titan through an asteroid field. Mason’s faith in the autopilot was put to the test and he’d taken to sitting on the flight deck for long hours, ensuring the navigation system was functioning correctly and if necessary he made adjustments to the course.