Taking Flight

by Tabitha Rayne

  She grabbed her tunic and knocked on the door for Jane to take her back to the lab.

  Jane looked stricken as she followed a naked Deborah back down the corridor.

  “You look angry. Did you get whipped for crashing in there like a mad thing?”

  “No, I did not get whipped, Jane.” She shouldered her way past as Jane opened the lab.

  “Really? I felt sure you’d be getting a whipping.”

  “For God’s sake, corporal punishment is illegal. Nobody gets whipped these days. Here, help me put my robe on.” She passed the woman her tunic but Jane remained still, staring.

  “Well, I don’t think anyone’s told her that. She loves whipping.”

  Deborah dismissed Jane’s comment, taking the tunic back and pulling it on while she went to her bench. Carefully taking a swab, she removed the mixture of sweat and love juice from her palm. The sperm in the Petri dish had defrosted just enough to be receptive to the governor’s essence. Perfect timing.

  With her breath held tight in her lungs, Deborah swept the pheromone-laden cotton bulb over the liquid and dived to her microscope.

  There! She saw it. A tiny motion, like the electric twitch of a nerve, flicked in one or two of the tails. Deborah pressed her eye painfully into the eyepiece, frenetic with anticipation.

  Nothing. Everything had slowed. Fuck. Sweat left over from the brief liaison suddenly cooled down her back and she shivered. It took all her strength not to shove the microscope and dish onto the floor. It didn’t escape her own notice that her temper was getting a little out of control. Sucking a long breath through flared nostrils, she exhaled through gritted teeth. The initial spark of movement was probably just her twitchy hand knocking the dish by mistake.

  Deborah flopped down onto her one comfy chair and decided to let her blood pressure normalize before she drew her conclusions about the experiment. To have been so far away from the subject was ludicrous, and it wasn’t really a true experiment, more a chance encounter she’d taken hopeful advantage of.

  She ran through the memory of her ‘chance encounter’ and blushed at how dominant she’d been. It had never happened that way before. Deborah had always been the one to be led into pleasure, not the other way around.

  She looked around the lab self-consciously before letting out a chuckle. A dominatrix. She’d never, ever thought of herself in that way, but it had been a long time since she’d felt anything close to the arousal she’d felt when she’d grasped the governor’s hair and pulled her head back.

  Mirroring the action, she let her head fall onto the headrest of the chair and brought the memory of her superior’s exposed, fluttering neck to her mind. So vulnerable. So sexy. It was obvious the governor had loved every second. It must be very erotic to let someone you are supposed to be in charge of take you over and expose the chinks in your armor.

  The bubbling, excited feeling pooled between Deborah’s thighs and her cheeks heated. She reached down to her sex but stopped abruptly as the door opened and Jane came storming in.

  “Time for lunch,” she announced in her abrupt yet jolly way. “You’re allowed extra pudding. You must have been following your orders or something.”

  The innocent comment seemed plausible enough, but Deborah caught a wicked glint in Jane’s eyes as she pulled her tunic back over down her knees.

  Chapter 21

  “Come. They’re waiting.” The cold tone of Katja’s voice did little to disguise the heat from the seething fire of anger that lay just beneath it. With barely a glance at Marcus, she turned and left his cell, just jamming her heel in the door to hold it open for him.

  He’d fretted most of the night about his broken alliance with this woman.

  “Katja,” he said softly, his voice quavering at the thought of losing her help completely. “I’m sorry. Please don’t turn your back on me.” He watched through the sliver of doorway as her shoulders sagged and she turned to peer back in the room. “Why are you so angry with me?”

  Slowly, the door opened and Katja came into the cell and leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry too. I’m angry, but not with you. Well, kind of with you.”

  “Why? Tell me.”

  Katja paused and stared at him, her eyes blazing with hurt and fury.

  “It’s just—” She managed to control her voice and keep it low and steady. “You remind me so much of him. If you can get out of this place and find your love, then it gives me the belief that he can too. If you are just a dreamer, then my hopes are dashed. You, and what you do, keep them alive.”

  “Oh.” Marcus’s head dropped. He was about to apologize but something welled in his chest. “But I am going to escape,” he said with sudden, renewed determination. His tone made him believe it, and he could see from the shift in Katja’s body language that she did too. She smiled in the warm way he’d become used to and reached into her top.

  “Good,” she said in a determined voice. “Read this. I managed to steal it from one of your clients’ bags while you were fucking yesterday.”

  Marcus shuddered slightly at her words but his mouth fell open as she threw him a page torn out of a newspaper. The headlines sent horror and joy pulsing through his veins.

  “Notorious science fiend charged with crimes against humanity.” He felt sick as he saw his lover’s name in cheap black ink, smudged by the fingertips from those who had read all the lies.

  He scanned the columns, trying not to take in the words about fire setting and sabotage and life imprisonment. The paper trembled in his grip, and Katja impatiently pointed at a picture of a grotesque concrete prison.

  “Is that where she is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it far away?”

  “Yes.”

  They fell into silence, and Marcus felt suspended somewhere between euphoria and horror. Notorious. They had used Deborah as a scapegoat. She would be in high security with no chance of escape, he felt convinced of that, but a tiny piece of his heart jumped and leaped for joy. He knew where she was.

  “I’m leaving tonight.”

  “I thought you might.” Katja smiled from ear to ear and her chest rose.

  Marcus suddenly understood fully why his escape was so important to her. It was all about belief. To know there was fight still left in the world kept her going.

  “Come with me,” he said on impulse, and her face paled.

  “I can’t,” she said quickly. “I’ve told you before, details about males are so secret, I’d never find out where he is, but there will be lists somewhere he can access about my whereabouts. I have to stay put. I have to wait for him. It’s my only way.”

  Marcus nodded. “Listen, I can’t see any more of those women. Not now. Can you say I’m sick?”

  Katja nodded with what looked like relief washing over her face. He thought about what it must mean for her to suspect that her lover was either dead or being made to service beautiful, rich women for survival. He wondered if Deborah felt the same.

  He’d assumed the physical attention he’d lavished so willingly on these women wouldn’t induce any jealousy as it was all to conjure up ultimate unity—and his conscience had been very clear on that. But if it were the other way around, would he be so willing to believe that? Would he be happy to see his Deborah being ravished and fucked by another man while she spilled her soul into another plane?

  Now that there were cracks opening up in his belief in the existence of the meeting point, he suspected that envy would surface. And rightly so. The thoughts he was exploring were whipping him into a frenzy of invented jealousy and he had a sudden desperation to hold her and have her. The reality of his situation came crashing in on him. What the hell had he been doing for all these months?

  Anger, frustration, and regret coursed through him and he stood up, grabbing the sheets and blankets from his bed and flinging them at the wall. He wanted to destroy this whole fucking place. Blood pulsed hard in his head and he felt like the room was getting smaller. He growled and shrieke
d, balling his fists and making ready to punch and smash the place to pieces, stopping just short with every strike. He couldn’t jeopardize things now by destroying his room and being sent to the head guard. Sinking onto the single armchair, he made do with grabbing the hair at his temples and driving his head between his knees. Saliva slipped out through his gnashing teeth and his breathing rasped. Deep in his psyche he was glad of this rage. It had been lacking for too long.

  * * * *

  “Ah, back so soon?” The governor cocked an eyebrow at Deborah’s unexpected entry.

  “Yes, I’m back.” Deborah stalked across the room and behind the desk where the governor sat. “Do you think I’m stupid?” She glared as menacingly as she could at the governor.

  “Absolutely not.” The woman seemed genuinely taken aback.

  “Then why are you giving me dead samples?” Her heart was thumping in her chest so hard that she could feel the blood shooting through her veins at high pressure right to her crotch. What was it with this woman? She wasn’t that sexy or fantastic-looking. Was it her power?

  All Deborah knew was that the lust she felt in the governor’s presence blocked out all rational behavior. Her pussy twitched with prickling arousal.

  Deborah straddled the woman on her plush antique chair and grabbed her hair in a bunch at the nape of her neck. Pulling her head back, she leaned in close, inhaling the fear and excitement that was rising in the woman. She pulled harder and twisted until the governor cried out, breathing hard with a half-smile on her face. Her hands gripped the sides of the chair and Deborah ground herself onto the woman’s thighs, taking her succulent lips in hers as she did so. She tasted so hot and so horny as she responded with her mouth and tongue. It was ferocious, this need in them. Deborah wanted to own this woman, take her.

  She kissed the governor ferociously, arching and humping her body like a feral sex fiend. With one hand still controlling the woman’s head, she reached up under her blouse and grabbed at her breast. A groan left her throat, and Deborah ground her hips and mound with new vigor. Heat mounted and rose between them, and the governor squirmed and writhed on the chair, matching Deborah’s movements thrust for thrust. Her dampening tunic bundled and hitched between her thighs, causing friction which resonated right into her center. The welling and listing inside her abdomen rose and, with a peak and slump, she came onto the governor’s lap. By the quivering going on underneath her, she could tell the governor had come too.

  “Naughty, naughty,” Deborah said, releasing her captive’s hair and clambering off her. She righted her tunic and turned to leave.

  “Listen, about your samples…” the governor said.

  “Never mind,” Deborah snapped without turning to look at her. “Just send me my goddamn assistant.”

  Deborah asked Jane to take her straight back to her cell. Lying in the fading afternoon light, she tried to assess her situation with a clear head. The initial enthusiasm for this new streak of research had waned, along with her trust of the governor. She’d been duped into thinking she could make a difference, again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She had to get out of there, otherwise she’d go mad. Why hadn’t Marcus come for her? More lies.

  Deborah let herself drip into a melancholic haze of self-pity. She couldn’t do it all herself. She couldn’t find a fucking cure for this toxin-induced male infertility single-handed. It was ludicrous. She felt like a total fool and she couldn’t understand what the governor’s motivation was to make her believe this was the case. It was all very odd. The only way it made sense was if the governor’s story was true and she was relying on Deborah and her research.

  Fuck! One thing was true, no matter how she thought it through—the woman did something to her. Something animalistic, dark, and exciting. Deborah’s thighs were still damp and raw where her orgasm had flooded through her bunched-up tunic and onto the governor. It was strange...for all the feral magnetism the encounters had, Deborah had never felt herself slip into the zone of ultimate unity. Even that was eluding her now. Moments alone with just the book yielded no spiritual spiraling. She was completely lost and alone. If only he would come for her.

  Grasping her balled-up fists between her thighs, Deborah tried to conjure up the memory of his touch, his smell, his taste.

  * * * *

  “Here, you’re not quite the same size as him but they should keep you warm enough.” Katja looked around furtively before bundling the canvas rucksack into Marcus’s arms. “I’ve put in some oats, matches, and a tin cup. If you can light a fire in safety, it should keep you going, at least until you find a haven of some sort. I’ve also put in a hunting knife. You know how to trap rabbits and stuff, don’t you?”

  Marcus nodded. Katja was whispering urgently, her nervousness rubbing off, and he felt nauseous. Katja had done everything she could to make this work for him and had even rushed home on her break time to gather a stash of her absent lover’s clothes. They both knew the risk she was taking but neither spoke of it. She’d managed to smuggle in a rope in the hope that it would be long enough for Marcus to somehow clamber over the imposing outer wall. Once on the other side, he would hopefully be able to hide in among the hustle and bustle of the visitors to the oxytocin bars and the other, all-too-familiar services.

  Marcus shivered. It was time.

  His skin bristled with fear and adrenalin as they walked steadily together down the corridor, taking the usual route to the servicing rooms. Passing his locked chamber made his stomach lurch. All the women he’d taken in there in the belief that it would bring him closer to his Deborah… His brain crawled with guilt and self-hatred, and he quickened his pace, urging Katja to do the same. At last they reached a shadowed alcove with a large wooden door.

  “This is our stop,” she said, taking a huge breath before punching in a code on the keypad.

  “Couldn’t you have just given me the number?” Marcus hissed incredulously. She’d put herself in harm’s way for no reason.

  “No.” Her voice was even as she heaved the door open toward them. “It logs each time you go in and out. One girl was beaten for coming back to get her cloak one day.”

  “Beaten?”

  “Yes, beaten. It’s not as peace-loving out there as it’s made out to be. Much easier to beat someone and leave them to die than spend precious resources on rehabilitation.”

  “She was left to die?”

  Katja turned to face Marcus, her eyes flashing in the dim light of the evening. “Nobody is free in this place. Quick—you have to go. I only have three minutes to get to the residents’ compound before the alarm is raised.” She reached up and cupped his jaw. “Now go. Find her.” And she ran off into the darkness.

  Marcus quickly scanned his surroundings. He was in the garden area at the side of the main building. This was good. It was shadowy there in daylight, so would be even better now in the dark. He hoisted the thick coils of rope fully up onto his shoulder and padded off into the cover of the trees.

  He strained to hear above the sound of his own panicking heart beating ferociously in his ears as he crept through the undergrowth to the outer wall. As he reached the perimeter he let out a long breath as quietly as he could. It was hard, and he felt like he might suffocate, so he let his lungs go in a long, wheezing sigh. His senses pricked as he thought he heard something move nearby. He waited and waited. Nothing. Must be a bird or something, he managed to comfort himself, even though evening song had long been over.

  Looking up, Marcus was overjoyed to see that a limb of the nearest tree reached tantalizingly close to the top of the wall. He carefully took off the rope and fashioned a noose at one end. Swinging it around and around like an awkward cowboy, he released the loop and it swung in a high arc up and over the branch, catching on a spur in the bark. Marcus tensed. He’d wanted to catch it and loop it through the end. He gave a sharp tug but the rope held fast. Fuck! He’d have to try again. Whipping the end of the rope, he tried to release the loop but it was completely stuck. He forgot him
self and groaned.

  The same flutter of movement happened again and he froze. Idiot. Waiting a few minutes, until he was sure whatever it was had gone, Marcus pulled on the rope once more, trying it out with his full weight. It held fast. It was now or never. He began to climb up a little less gracefully than he’d assumed he would, until his fingertips grazed the bark above. He hauled himself up and over the thick limb and just lay there for a moment or two, hugging onto the hard, scratchy wood.

  Thoughts of Deborah in the forest danced in his mind, renewing his vigor and resolve. He sat up and pulled the rope free, coiling it around his elbow and fist before hooking it back over his shoulder. Only then did he allow himself a peek at what lay over the wall. In the glowing moonlight, he could make out trees, with hills stretching out beyond. He’d expected a town to be nearby. The traffic of ladies being brought to him was constant so he’d assumed they’d all come from a city or village at least. They must just be brought in by the coachload every day.

  Marcus shook his head free of the thoughts of the farm. He was almost out. Soon this place would be a distant memory. Just a glitch in his life with Deborah. The act of shimmying along the branch while holding it tightly between his thighs brought with it a longing for his love. His groin ached with need for her tender caress.

  As he moved closer to the wall, the bough began to bend very slightly and Marcus imagined he heard a crack. He stopped, senses on high alert, bracing himself for the crash as the branch split—but nothing. Everything stayed still and quiet.

  He shook his head at his own terror. He’d never get anywhere with this attitude. Edging along once more, he made it as far as he dared before he thought he really would snap the arching wood. Taking off the rope again, he tied one end around the branch and flung the other over the wall. He was no climber, so his guesswork would have to suffice. Using all his strength and might, he pushed his weight off the tree and sprang out. Regret pulsed through him as he fell through the air, anticipating the cracking of bones. He slammed abruptly into the coping stone of the high wall. Scrabbling to secure a good hold, he twisted his body around and managed to grip the lip of the stone. All his tension and strength was anchored only by his fingertips. Shaking, he pulled himself up and over onto the masonry.