by Meg Harris
Als nodded mutely, her eyes wide.
“Very well. Carry out my orders.”
Looking relieved to have escaped punishment, Als fled from the room. Tiryl glanced at the communications officer and saw that she had made no motion toward the door. “Is there something you need, Jaya?”
Jaya opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Go on,” Tiryl said impatiently. “What do you want?”
Jaya turned red. “Pardon my insolence, Leader, but I wondered about…the prisoner. Is he as beautiful as rumor suggests?”
“He is an unusually handsome male, Jaya. But he is merely a male.”
“He is a prince among his own people, is he not?”
“‘Prince’ is a meaningless word,” Tiryl said with cool derision. “A man cannot hold a position of authority. You know that as well as anyone.”
Jaya lowered her eyes at the rebuff. “Yes, Leader. But some people have said…”
Jaya trailed off again. Irritated with her communications officer, who was fluent in fifteen languages and really ought to be able to make herself understood, Tiryl snapped, “What is it that people have said?”
“There are those who have said he is a more worthy prize because he is respected among his own people. And it is also whispered that he is so beautiful he should be…shared.”
The memory of Barrak’s chiseled face, his heavily sculpted body, the unnatural masculine arrogance in his green eyes, flashed through Tiryl’s mind. Irritated with herself for spending so much time thinking about a male—even an extraordinary specimen like Barrak—she shrugged. “He is very beautiful. And perhaps I will share him…later. But by law, I may claim any male I choose, even a so-called prince. And I have claimed him. He is mine.”
“I do not dispute your right to choose him. But there are others…”
Tiryl frowned at her officer, noticing the sly look in her pale yellow eyes. The woman either sought to sow discord among the crew, or she was attempting to curry the Leader’s favor by carrying tales. Either possibility displeased Tiryl.
“If you hear others discussing the matter,” she said through her teeth, “you may remind them of the punishment for criticizing a Leader’s actions.”
Jaya paled slightly, and Tiryl knew the subtle threat had not gone unnoticed. “Yes, Leader,” she said softly. “I understand.”
“I am glad to hear it, Jaya. Now leave me.”
Tiryl waited until the woman had left, then turned and went to the viewport. The stars hung vividly bright against the backdrop of space, far clearer than they ever appeared on Zytellia, a world possessing a perpetually hazy atmosphere that made viewing the sky difficult. She stared out into the vast depths, wondering exactly which star was the Terran’s.
And then she shook herself. It was absurd to spend this much mental energy on a man. She should be thinking about Yawta III, about other imperial matters of interest, not about the irrelevant, unworthy man she had chained in the brig. He was merely a toy, a diversion, nothing more.
She turned her mind firmly to thoughts of Yawta III and headed back toward the bridge.
But as the door irised open, she couldn’t resist taking one last glance at the stars.
* * * * *
Barrak lay sprawled facedown on his cot. Now that his feverish craving for release had been assuaged, he was irate with himself—furious for allowing the Zytellian bitch to get the upper hand on him so easily. She’d touched him only twice. Twice. And he’d been so unbearably aroused by the light caress of her finger that he would have given almost anything for her to touch him a third time.
Rolling over, he noticed the faint odor of her pheromones still hung in the air, and he sighed. Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t really his fault he’d been overwhelmed by her. Her pheromones acted on men like a drug, and all the self-control in the world couldn’t overcome it.
Which meant that when she returned, he’d be helpless against her again.
He stood up, annoyed that the woman had confiscated his clothes, and began to pace the cell, heedless of his naked state, trying to formulate a plan.
His crew. They were his first concern. The women, he suspected, would be treated as well as the bitch had claimed. But the men…were they all in the process of “retraining”? Would they all be mindless idiots, crawling to do their mistresses’ bidding, when it was all over?
The vision of his male crew, all intelligent, ambitious Naval Academy graduates, stripped of their dignity and transformed into sex toys horrified him. Somehow he had to get them out of here.
He thought of his best friend and first officer, Ama, and gritted his teeth in rage. Ama was life-bound, damn it, wed to a single woman until he died. He’d never have intercourse with another woman voluntarily. Yet he was unlikely to have a great deal of say in the matter. Just like Barrak, he’d succumb.
But afterward he’d loathe himself.
In a fit of rage, Barrak flung himself at the door. But all he got for his trouble was a bruised shoulder. It was damned frustrating. Humiliation and the infuriating awareness of his own impotence churned inside him, causing a totally uncharacteristic, murderous rage to seethe in his gut. He wanted to kill something, preferably the bitch who’d gotten him into this situation.
Damn it. Just the thought of her was enough to make his limp cock twitch, and not merely because of the lingering pheromones. She was a stunning woman by any standards. Her golden hair and her pale skin, along with those strange catlike violet eyes, made her striking. Exotic. Exciting.
And he had her to thank for the most amazing orgasm of his life.
But he didn’t feel much like thanking her, knowing what she intended to do to him.
The memory of the mind-blowing way he’d come brought his erection back, harder than before. His cock swelled, enormous and demanding, craving another release so badly it ached. He groaned, knowing he wouldn’t get any rest until her scent had totally faded.
Remembering the performance he’d put on for her, he wondered if she was still watching. He’d brought himself release knowing she watched, an experience that had been at once deeply mortifying and impossibly exciting. He only hoped he’d succeeded in turning her on, too.
The thought of her watching through cold, detached eyes repulsed him.
The thought of her touching herself, sliding her fingers through her own moisture, sobbing as she climaxed, thrilled him.
He remembered the way she’d stroked the shadowy cleft concealed by her curls, utterly unashamed of her sexuality, her catlike eyes heavy-lidded and languorous, and the thought of touching her wet flesh, tracing his finger over her clitoris until she cried out, then sliding his fingers into her and thrusting forcefully until her muscles spasmed around him, was too much for him to resist.
Despite the incredible orgasm he’d experienced moments ago, his cock was already rigid as granite, throbbing and aching with need. Grasping himself and stroking hard, he imagined sucking her nipples as he brought her to climax after climax, imagined himself thrusting into her glistening pink cunt in a demanding rhythm, imagined her sweet voice raised in cries of pleasure as he came, deep inside her, his cum mingling with her own.
Ripples of ecstasy swirled through him, presaging another overwhelming orgasm, and he dropped his hand away.
He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t let her win.
He thought of Ama, being forced to have sexual intercourse with a woman other than his lifebond. He thought of his crew, kneeling at the feet of their Zytellian mistresses.
He thought of being the bitch’s sex toy for the rest of his life, unable to pursue any meaningful career, good for nothing other than pleasuring her and living an idle life in her harem.
But the insistent, demanding heat of his erection was impossible to ignore. Looking down, he saw his cock, denied of its release, twitching spasmodically. A drop of thick white moisture beaded on the tip as he watched. Unable to stop himself, he slid a finger through the moisture, just as she
had, and his erection jerked wildly.
He wrapped his fingers around himself and pumped hard. Seconds later, ecstasy exploded through him in waves so intensely pleasurable he thought he’d pass out. He heard his own voice, already hoarse, rose almost to a scream as he cried out under the crushing force of a endlessly long, incredibly fulfilling release.
Chapter Three
That evening, Tiryl collapsed into the luxurious cushions of the overstuffed couch in her quarters. As the Leader of Zytellia, as well as the captain of the flagship, she naturally possessed the most opulent quarters on the ship. A connecting door led to the rooms where the favorite members of her harem were quartered.
She was accustomed to life indoors, as she had spent much of her adult life on board her flagship. The rest of her time was spent inside her apartment and offices on Zytellia, a world that was essentially one vast city. The desire for green spaces was an alien concept to the Zytellians, and they had built over almost every square meter of their primary world. A practical people, they saw no reason to preserve the environment, since they generally preferred being inside anyway. Yet tonight Tiryl found that she felt restless and oddly…confined.
She sighed, trying to dispel the peculiar feeling. She had had a busy day, not only giving orders to quell the rebellion on Yawta III, but also sending a harshly worded message to the female leader of Uba warning that if she continued to treat men as equals, she would find herself removed in favor of a Zytellian.
It was really quite baffling, she thought, how many cultures struggled against the matriarchy the Zytellian Empire imposed on them. When she had first become Leader, she had understood that men would likely rebel against the natural order, but she expected the women of other cultures to immediately embrace the benefits of the Zytellian system, and to assume their proper place in society wholeheartedly. It was only natural that women, who were stronger both intellectually and emotionally, should rule, and she had assumed the women of conquered worlds would instinctively understand that. And yet women had participated in nearly every rebellion against the Empire. It was puzzling.
The Terrans were an excellent example of this sort of misguided behavior. Their current rulers, Barrak’s parents, were a man and a woman, both equally powerful. The thought of sharing her Leadership with a man gave Tiryl a shudder of disgust. A man was utterly incapable of making the necessary decisions. And yet she doubted the Terrans would be terribly grateful when the Zytellians conquered them and showed them the correct way to run a society. Even the women would likely struggle against the concept.
And yet, in the end, the Terrans would become a loyal part of the Zytellian Empire, just as thousands of other planets had. It was inevitable, really.
Despite the satisfaction she’d given herself earlier while watching the Terran prisoner on the monitor, she found herself in need of release. She usually needed a diversion after a long day, and the Leader of Zytellia had few true friends. The responsibilities of the vast Empire weighed too heavily upon her shoulders.
As a result, sex was even more important to her than it was to most Zytellian women. A casual, playful approach to sex was typical of Zytellian females, who regarded it as a perfectly natural and deeply enjoyable pursuit, but to her it was something more. It was the one release she could permit herself after a day of hard work, her one real pleasure in an ascetic life dedicated to service to her people.
Dropping her head back on the thick cushions, she considered the males in her harem. She had only brought three, as this was a short mission, but they were her favorites. There was Hab, whose slim blond beauty was a joy to look at; Pel, whose eagerness to please and boundless enthusiasm for any sort of sex play exceeded that of any other man she possessed; and Saq, whose dark hair and heavy muscles reminded her vaguely of…
It dawned on her that she didn’t want any of the men in her harem tonight. She wanted Barrak.
Ridiculous, this odd craving for the man. She supposed, like any hunger, that it would disappear when it was satisfied. Once she tamed the Terran enough to have intercourse with him, she would install him in her harem and avail herself of his body whenever she wanted him, until her thirst for him was satisfied.
In the interim, she really should use another man. One man was very like another, after all.
She recalled the report she’d read at the end of the day. Her head of security had informed her that Barrak had masturbated five separate times over the course of the day. The knowledge that he was so susceptible to her gave her a warm rush of pleasure, and the thought of a man being able to bring himself to orgasm five times in the space of a few hours intrigued her. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been able to see it. But judging from the glazed looks on the faces of her security staff, more than one woman had sat in that chair and enjoyed the show.
She recalled that the security chief had sent the video files to her via the ship’s computer.
“Computer,” she said. “Retrieve video files of prisoner Barrak, time indices 4.25, 4.76, 6.12, 8.02, and 9.90.”
“Retrieved,” the computer replied in its pleasant masculine voice.
Rather curious as to whether her prisoner been fully erect the fifth time, she decided to watch the files in reverse order. “Make holo of fifth video file and display.”
“Full holo or partial?”
“Partial. The man only.”
A nanosecond later the image of Barrak appeared in her quarters, just in front of her. He stood frozen, and she stared at the holo for a long moment. Really, he was an unbelievably handsome man, a worthy prize for a Leader. His face was starkly beautiful, with high cheekbones and a square chin, his brilliant eyes fringed by incredibly long black lashes. His powerful, well-muscled body was as lovely as his face. She had been lucky indeed to capture such a trophy. So handsome, and so very…energetic, she thought with amusement.
Five times in an afternoon. Astounding.
“Activate,” she told the computer.
Barrak strode across the plush carpeting of her quarters, looking restless and angry, like a hungry wildcat deprived of its prey. His stride was easy and predatory, despite the smallness of the space, and his wide shoulders seemed almost to fill the cell. She noticed that he was definitely fully erect, and as she’d observed earlier, the size of his erection was remarkable. There wasn’t a man in her harem who could match him.
A worthy prize indeed.
He began to touch his cock, flinching slightly, and she noticed it looked red and irritated. He was obviously trying to exhaust himself so that he’d be immune to her tomorrow. An interesting gambit, and not one she could remember a captured man attempting before. Of course, it wouldn’t work, but it was certainly a novel effort at resistance.
“Computer,” she said. “Hold.” The image of Barrak froze, and she walked over to the slot. “Give me a sya. Make it as close to this prisoner’s shape and size as inventory permits.”
A few seconds later, a sya popped out of the slot. The sex toy was used very infrequently among Zytellian women, who after all rarely had to restrain themselves—if they wanted a particular man, they took him. If the man was attached to another woman’s harem, it was an easy matter to ask permission to use him for a night or two.
But in this situation she had to restrain herself, at least until tomorrow. And the sya was the best option she could think of. She stripped off her stark, military clothing, then sprawled naked on the couch, her legs up and open.
“Continue,” she said.
Barrak resumed his motion. Tiryl grasped the sya, noticing that it was in fact very close to the size and shape of his penis. And it was warm, as it was designed to be, in order to simulate the real thing. Slowly she rubbed it across her clitoris and labia, all the while watching Barrak’s right hand move slowly and gently across the obviously sore skin of his erection.
She loved the contrast between his untamed, almost predatory movements, the blunt strength of his muscular body, and the gentleness his hands were capa
ble of. When he was sufficiently trained, and she was able to trust him to be unbound without killing her, she planned on putting those hands to good use.
She also loved the rough sounds he made, the deep guttural noises that sounded as if they were dragged from his throat, as he stroked himself. He trembled visibly with pleasure, and she felt an answering tremor deep within her body. She slid the tip of the sya into her body, imagining his cock there, teasing her.
Her mind painted a vivid picture of his big body looming over her, ready to enter her. She envisioned running her hands over his tough, corded muscles, feeling his hair-roughened skin beneath her fingers, the moist heat of his body as he pressed against his chest and abdomen against hers. Imagined hearing him groan, long and low, as he entered her for the first time.
Without letting go of his penis, the image of Barrak moved his other hand lower and began to touch his balls again, stroking them gently. She remembered seeing him do that earlier, and made a mental note of the fact that he liked to be touched there. Some men didn’t, but it was obvious he found it arousing. She imagined touching him there, kissing him there, licking him there, and dampness welled between her legs as a pulsating ache grew deep inside her.
Fiercely, she thrust the sya into her moist, yielding flesh, toward the ache, and began to move it fast and hard, her control shattering.
As the holo-image of Barrak cried out hoarsely in the throes of orgasm, she slammed the sya into her body, imagining him exploding deep inside her, and she came harder than she’d ever come with any man.
* * * * *
The next morning, Tiryl paused at the security station just outside Barrak’s cell. The prisoner had been shackled to the bed overnight, his ankles and wrists securely bound. He lay on his back on the cot, awaiting whatever she might choose to do to him.
“You may go,” she told the woman seated in the chair now.
The woman looked disappointed, and Tiryl doubted it was because she was worried for her Leader’s safety. “But—”
