by Meg Harris
“Go,” Tiryl snapped. “If I need help I will summon you. But he is chained, and very unlikely to pose a threat.”
The young woman nodded, rose to her feet, and left the prison area. Tiryl locked the door behind her, then palmed the door to the prisoner’s cell. It irised open, and she walked in.
“Well,” she said, smiling slightly. “This is an interesting situation. Your body is at my mercy, my pet.”
His green eyes flashed defiance, but he did not answer.
“And you have such a lovely body,” she went on, walking toward him. She knew he’d scented her pheromones when his nostrils flared. She dropped her hand to his powerfully muscled thigh and let her fingers slide up and down, seeing his cock harden, swelling against the rippled muscles of his abdomen. “Much too lovely to be used for any purpose other than sex.”
She succeeded in provoking him into speaking. “On my world, men are not judged by the shape of their bodies. They must have a reason for their existence, or they are not men.”
“Men on Zytellia have a reason for their existence as well. Their purpose is to please women.”
“That is not a purpose,” he growled.
“Oh, but it is. We women work hard. We perform all the labor, make all the decisions, and when we need diversion, men provide it. It is a very valuable service that men provide.”
Her fingers slid up to his heavily muscled abdomen, and she heard his quick intake of breath. His erection swelled to its full magnificent length and lay against his lower belly, mere centimeters from her exploring fingers. “Do you really believe that?” he demanded incredulously. “Do you really believe Zytellian men find taking care of your needs fulfilling?”
“Of course they do. Did you not find your experience with me…fulfilling?”
He snorted. “That is an entirely different sort of fulfillment. Would you find it enough to do nothing but take care of the needs of men?”
She hesitated. No one had ever asked that question of her. Seen from the reverse, she could almost see his point. And yet it was a ridiculous question. Men had their role, and women had theirs.
“Women are different,” she replied confidently. “We are born to lead, to make the decisions. Men are emotionally fragile, incapable of difficult labor or serious thought. We do them a kindness by keeping them in harems.”
“If men are incapable of serious thought,” he challenged, “then how can I captain a vessel? How can my father rule Terra?”
Another good question, she had to admit. He was a good debater, for a male. She let her fingers drift to within millimeters of his swollen flesh, saw him swallow, saw his cock twitch helplessly with anticipation. A thick drop of fluid beaded at the tip, then slowly dripped onto his stomach. It was all she could do not to bend over and lick it up to discover how he tasted. She forced her mind back to the discussion at hand.
“There are worlds on which men rule,” she acknowledged, “yet they do not do it well. That is one reason why we have been able to conquer so many worlds, because their leaders are inadequate to the task. Those worlds that have the ridiculous notion of equality of the sexes are misguided and need our help to get back on the proper path.”
“Gods,” he said harshly. “You really believe all that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she responded, honestly puzzled. Matriarchy had been practiced on Zytellia for centuries. Life on Zytellia had always been this way, so of course it was the proper way to live. Any fool ought to be able to see that.
But he wasn’t a Zytellian, so he naturally possessed some unfortunately wrongheaded beliefs. Beliefs that she would soon cure him of.
“They tell me,” she said, tracing her fingers around his cock without quite touching it, “that you brought yourself to orgasm five times yesterday.”
He shut his eyes, and she sensed his humiliation. “You told me you were going to watch.”
“I did, the first time. After that I turned the monitor back over to my security staff. They observed you in my stead.” She decided not to mention that she’d watched the videos later, not wanting him to suspect that watching them had held any real appeal for her. Not wanting him to guess how much watching him had excited her.
Under the dark bronze hue of his skin, his cheeks flushed red, and she chuckled. “I take it the idea of being observed by numerous strangers does not appeal to you.”
“Not particularly.”
“I can assure you that you brought them great pleasure.”
To her amusement, he turned even redder. She sat down next to him on the cot. “Tell me, Terran, what do you like best?”
“Freedom,” he said shortly.
She was amazed by how well he was keeping his mind off the subject of sex, considering he’d been all but mindless with lust yesterday. Doubtless his unusual ability to focus was mostly due to the way he’d tried to exhaust himself. “Let me put it another way. Speaking sexually, what do you like best?”
He pressed his lips together and refused to answer. She smiled, enjoying his efforts at resistance. They were, of course, futile, but so amusing. “Most men enjoy a woman’s mouth on them,” she said softly. “Is that what you like best, Terran? A woman’s tongue exploring you, licking you? A woman’s mouth sucking on your cock?”
His nostrils flared again, and a faint moan rumbled in his throat. She saw his erection jerk hard, and another drop of cum fell to the flat planes of his abdomen. His cock was weeping for her touch.
“Or would you rather slide into a woman’s cunt and thrust to the hilt?”
He groaned more audibly. “Just do whatever you want and leave.”
“I want to do whatever you want,” she told him, and realized it was more true than she would like. She reminded herself firmly that she was retraining this man, not forming an emotional bond with him. It was necessary to force oneself to remember that occasionally. There could be no real affection between a woman and a man, although women sometimes took a fancy to a particular man and treated him as a pet.
She had a feeling this man, with his fierce stubbornness and his surprisingly insightful questions, could easily become her favorite pet.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispered.
He said nothing, only stared mutely at the ceiling.
She sighed. “You are a stubborn one.” Yet oddly enough, she was pleased. Zytellian men were so easy to tame that she occasionally enjoyed a challenge. She felt certain this obstinate, determined man was a worthy adversary.
But in the end, she would win the battle.
She straddled his thighs, and bent toward his cock.
Chapter Four
Barrak had been able to think of little besides sex since the bitch had walked into his cell. He realized glumly that his attempts to exhaust himself yesterday had backfired on him—although his cock was as hard as steel, it was somewhat sore as a result of the five times he’d satisfied himself. And it was more sensitive than ever.
Her fragrance surrounded him, making him lightheaded with lust, as she bent over him, her brilliant hair falling in a cascade over her shoulders. She took a long lock of it and began to brush it against his erection. A surge of intense electricity ran through him, and he gasped.
“Hair sex,” she said, grinning, and despite his acute arousal he felt a bit of surprise at her unexpected sense of humor. But as she continued to brush her hair against him, his surprise faded beneath an onrush of sensation. He was so sore that had she touched him with her fingers, it might have hurt, but her soft hair felt wonderful on his overstimulated skin.
Yesterday these sensations would have driven him to orgasm in mere seconds, but today his body was so exhausted that he was able to hold off and simply enjoy it. He sighed with pleasure, giving himself up to her caresses.
She used her hair to tease him, stroke him, softly and carefully, apparently realizing how sore he was, and her unexpected gentleness was more difficult to fight against than her arrogant self-confidence yesterday.
; It was impossible to fight sensations like these. At any rate, there was absolutely nothing he could do to get away from her, manacled as he was.
He might as well let her have her way.
He could fight later.
Barrak let himself float away on a sea of sensation, let her tickle him with her hair for long, blissful moments, until his cock throbbed, until he felt more drops of moisture drip onto his abdomen.
She must have noticed it too, because she paused. “Do you want me to stop now?” she asked in her smoky, sultry voice.
“No,” he admitted in a harsh whisper.
She began to stroke her hair over him again, and he gave a long, shuddering moan of ecstasy. His erection jerked wildly, and he knew he was about to come. And oh Gods, it was going to be incredible.
And then she paused again and straightened up.
He couldn’t bear it if she stopped now. His body was aroused beyond his endurance, hard and aching, desperate for release. He’d never been so excited in his life. “Please,” he whispered, beyond caring that he was begging.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Anything. Please. Anything.”
She chuckled, and he knew he’d pleased her. “Anything,” she repeated. “That sounds interesting.”
And she lowered her mouth to him.
Her lips brushed over his balls—how could she have guessed how much he liked to be touched there?—and then her tongue began to stroke him there, something no other woman had ever done for him.
It was as if she knew his most secret fantasy. And she was fulfilling it—ah, Gods, she was fulfilling it magnificently.
A low moan reverberated in his chest as she kissed and licked the taut skin of his scrotum, making him squirm against her mouth with growing urgency. It was an incredible sensation, and yet he ached for something more. But she seemed to be in no hurry. She lingered over his aching balls for long moments before her tongue finally found the base of his penis, then slowly slid upward.
It was like being caressed by wet velvet. He sobbed and groaned, thrashing beneath her as her tongue moved against his flesh. She explored him with excruciating slowness, driving him to the brink of insanity. If he had had the use of his hands, he would have caught her hair and forced her mouth to him. But chained as he was, he could only writhe and beg her, in broken gasps, to go faster.
At last, at long last, the tip of her tongue slid over the hypersensitive head of his cock, and he jerked violently beneath her and let out a feral cry of agonized pleasure. She stopped and lifted her head.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he moaned.
“Because I know you are a little sore from your…activities yesterday. Perhaps it would be best if I stopped now.”
In a distant corner of his mind he knew she was mocking him, teasing him, forcing him to beg, but most of his mind didn’t care. “Please,” he implored. “Please don’t stop.”
She bent and touched her tongue to him again, licking away the moisture from the exquisitely sensitive cleft at the tip of his penis. He jumped beneath her and heard his own voice raised in a tormented cry.
“I am hurting you,” she said. Her breath fanned over his cock, bringing him still closer to a lofty pinnacle of arousal. “I think I should stop.”
“No,” he gasped. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
She lifted her head and smiled. “Anything?”
“Yes, damn you. Anything.”
The bitch smiled more widely, displaying her fangs. He shuddered at the sight of those fangs—a shudder composed of equal parts lust and terror. He knew well enough what she could do to him with them. He would be her slave forever if she used them.
In fact, he was very afraid he was her slave now.
“Very well,” she said in a soft, ominous voice. “Since you ask so nicely, I’ll give you what you want.”
She grasped his erection firmly in her hand, pulled it upright, and moved her mouth toward him. He clamped his eyes shut, sure that she was about to puncture him with one of her fangs, but when her lips closed around the head of his cock he didn’t feel pain. He only felt a surge of pleasure so powerful, so intense, he was surprised he didn’t come on the spot.
Her mouth was hot and dripping wet—the venom dripping from her fangs, he realized vaguely—which heightened his pleasure that much more. He’d never experienced anything like it.
As she drew him further into her mouth, his body convulsed beneath her, and his cock began to shudder uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop his hips from flexing, couldn’t prevent himself from driving more deeply into the incredible warmth of her mouth, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Another rush of moisture flooded from her mouth, bathing him in heat, as he slammed into her. He thrust in and out, fiercely, only twice more before the heat and the moisture and the suction overwhelmed him.
The pleasure rose to an unbearable crescendo, ripping a shriek from his throat, and spasms of intense ecstasy racked him as gush after gush of cum erupted into her mouth.
She didn’t ease up the suction, if anything only sucked harder, and the spasms went on longer than he would have thought possible. She didn’t release him until the last faint shadow of his orgasm faded, and then she sat up, licking her lips with evident pleasure. He collapsed back against the cot, covered in sweat, his chest heaving. He’d never been so drained in all his life.
Drained was a damned appropriate word, he thought sourly. He’d been drained of his dignity, drained of his ability to control himself, and drained of his self-respect.
And the process was only beginning.
* * * * *
Tiryl watched as her prisoner lay on the cot, his eyes shut, his breath coming in rough gasps. Judging from the primal noises of surrender he’d made, his orgasm had been as magnificent, as overwhelming, as she’d hoped.
Before long he would be hers. He would accept her as his superior, and she’d be able to use him whenever and however she wanted. The thought sent a warm rush of heat to regions that were already overheated.
“Now it’s your turn,” she said softly.
He opened one eye and looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You may recall that you promised me anything.”
He looked blank, then grim. “If you think I’m going to—”
“Of course you are. You are an honorable man, are you not? Don’t your people consider honor important?”
Never mind that the idea of a man having honor was ridiculous. Abhorrent, even. She saw by the expression on his face that she’d scored a hit. But he frowned.
“A promise made under duress isn’t binding.”
“Duress? You consider the desire for sexual fulfillment to be duress?”
He shrugged, and she saw the gleam in his eyes as an idea occurred to him. Foolish man. He was so transparent, as men always were.
“You may be right. I will be happy to do whatever you want. But you’ll need to release me.”
As if she would be so foolish. She had an obligation to her crew not to provide this angry, rebellious man with an important hostage. “I will not release you,” she said. “But I will loosen your bonds a bit.” Standing up, she pushed a button on a device she’d clipped to her belt, and the chains holding his manacles to the bed lengthened. In a few moments he was able to sit up and move freely about on the bed, but his hands and feet were still manacled.
He looked at her with a considering glint in his eye. “You are thinking about strangling me with the chain,” she said tartly. “Don’t. My guards would be in here instantly, and the torture we would put you through would make breathing vacuum seem like a very desirable alternative.”
He glared, then lowered his eyes, and she realized he’d overcome his anger. He was intelligent enough to realize there was no point in fighting for his freedom now—it was pointless. Doubtless he would plan on gaining her trust, then later make a break for his freedom.
But what he still didn’t fully
understand was that by then he would never want to leave her.
She stood and stripped off her clothes, aware of his green eyes fastened on her. Naked, she stretched out on the bed, her head toward the foot of the bed, and spread out her legs in an inviting position.
“I want you to kiss me and lick me,” she said, “the way I licked you.”
His nostrils flared again, and she knew he’d caught her scent, which was most intense in her genital region. As she expected, all the fight seemed to go out of him as her pheromones affected him. He leaned forward as if drawn by a magnet.
His tongue lapped gently at her, stroking the entrance to her vagina, which was wet with a heavy dew of excitement. She knew males loved the taste of her arousal, heavy with pheromones, which tasted as sweet as it smelled. Sure enough, he groaned with pleasure, and his tongue eagerly delved inside her.
His tongue was hot and clever, and she found herself straining against him. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Just like that.”
Slowly, teasingly, his tongue slid upward, tasting the sensitive flesh of her labia, then trailing circles around her clitoris. She was annoyed to realize he was teasing her, just as she had teased him. Damn it, couldn’t this man learn his place?
On Zytellia, men brought women pleasure when they wanted it, whenever they wanted it. She’d never had one delay giving her pleasure before. It was frustrating, irritating…and strangely exciting.
“Now,” she gasped out, trying to sound authoritative, but the quaver in her voice made it sound as if she were pleading. That was the last impression she wanted to give him.
“Now what?” he said softly, his breath stroking over her responsive flesh. She bit back a moan and snapped out a command instead.
“Now! Touch me there with your tongue!”
He chuckled. “Are you quite certain you’re in a position to demand something?”
Outraged by his insolence, she grabbed his thick, shaggy hair in both fists and attempted to force his mouth to her clitoris, but he was too strong for her. His tongue continued to glide in long, lazy strokes over her wet flesh, everywhere but where she most craved stimulation. She let her hands drop to her side and surrendered to the sexual torment he was inflicting on her.
