by Alana Khan
When he makes no effort to follow my thinly veiled instructions, I say, “I think maybe it’s starting right now.”
He looks so worried and stricken I take pity on him and shake my head. “No, Voxx. I don’t need inoculation right now.” I wince as I sit up to cup his handsome face with my palm.
“Let me take care of you, zara. Even with the pain meds, it looks like your muscles must still be screaming as they recuperate from what happened yesterday. Perhaps my tending you will help you understand what this relationship is supposed to be about.
“Roll over on your stomach.”
He goes to the bathroom and returns with a tube of something. As soon as I hear the spurt of cream onto his palm I feel excited expectation. Is my Sir going to rub lotion on me? Am I dreaming?
I hear him rubbing the lotion into his palms. He’s warming it for me? Is this how people become hypochondriacs? They get all sorts of yummy attention for being sick? Count me in.
His hands lodge at my waist and begin their slow slide up the muscles of my back to my shoulder blades.
“Good?” he’s bent low and his deep voice rumbles in my ear.
“Mmm.” I don’t want to spoil this with words. It’s divine.
“Let me explain. Yes, I’m dominant, and yes, you’re submissive. Now that you’ve discovered that part of yourself, you’ll see that you’re happiest when serving.
“Mmm-hmm,” I still don’t want to spare the effort to say actual words. I want to melt into the mattress.
“Do you understand why?”
“Mmm-mmm.” I wonder if he understands I’m saying no.
“Because that’s how a submissive’s mind works. You’re a giver. It’s what you do. And maybe the part you don’t understand is that I’m not a taker. Those aren’t the two sides of the coin. It’s not giver and taker. It’s giver and commander. I have a need to be in charge. As you would say, it’s how I’m hard-wired.
“We’ve been together one of your weeks, zara. You must have noticed by now that I like to give, too,” the seductive tone of his voice reminds me of the way he likes to give to me the most—in the bedroom.
His hands continue their delightful, relaxing ministrations as I think about that. He can be so dominant, but he gives me so much, always taking care of me, feeding me, giving my body endless pleasure.
He bends to nibble my neck, then sits up and works out the deep muscles under my shoulder blades.
“Mmm, right there, Sir,” I mumble when he digs deep under my right scapula.
His fingers work that spot for long moments, then slide to my sides, caressing the edges of my breasts. Interesting how my lazy, comfortable massage is morphing into an arousing awakening.
“So, little zara,” he says as his fingers sneak underneath me and pluck my nipples, “is there anything in particular you’d like your commander to give you?” His question is clear.
“If we… if you come inside me again, will it hurt?”
“Not according to the principles of inoculation. The doctor advised a regular schedule.”
“Well in that case, Commander, do whatever you want. Surprise me.”
“My little Earther wants surprises. Surprises she will get.”
Voxx
We were making gains in our relationship, our bond, before her allergic reaction. I want to reestablish her trust, allow her to let herself relax into my hands.
“Trust me?” I ask as I hold up the blindfold I just retrieved from the other room. I don’t imagine this piece of fabric is a reminder of good times. She woke up on board this ship wearing it before I realized that overpowering and forcing sex on her as instructed in the manuals was a bad idea.
“You’ll use it for good and not for evil?” She tosses me a sexy smile.
“Define good.” I slash her a smile of my own.
“Consensual.”
Actually, I didn’t expect an answer, but that’s a good one. My female is so strong, so resilient. She wants to trust me, which is perfect. It’s what we need to establish a deep, long-lasting relationship.
“We will always be consensual, Victoria. I do whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want, and you enjoy it. If you don’t enjoy it, say ‘red’. Easy.”
“Okay.”
“You forgot something, Victoria.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Better.”
I keep the bed hooked to the wall in case we run into space debris during our sleeping period. Stepping to the head of the bed, I unhook first one side and then the other to have 360-degree access to the bed. The metal-slatted headboard stays attached to the bed as it swings away from the wall. After tying her blindfold, I ask her how many fingers I’m holding up.
“Can’t see a thing,” she assures me.
“The meds should have kicked in by now, but I worry that your muscles may still hurt. I want you to be still while I pleasure you. You don’t have to move a muscle. Promise me you’ll say ‘red’ if it hurts to stay in one position too long.”
Her nostrils flare and her muscles tense. I’ve frightened her. That’s an interesting response to my attempt to calm and reassure her.
I stand behind the bed waiting for her response.
“Yes, Sir.”
“What?”
“I’ll say red if it hurts.”
I tap the pad of my finger to her forehead with every word, “I’ll punish you if you don’t.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I lean to kiss the top of her head, then her forehead, and then her lips.
Stalking to the foot of the bed, I pick up the spreader bar I brought in from the other room. After I caress her ankle, I attach a padded cuff. She sucks in a sharp breath.
Even though she’s afraid, I’m going to follow through with my impulse to do this. I know after she gets over her fear she’ll love our play. I want her to trust me over her own fear. It will make our bond even sweeter.
I snug her back against the headboard so she’s sitting up, then lean over to breathe in her ear. “Is your back comfortable, Victoria? I don’t want you to strain.”
“You’re tying me up, but you don’t want any strain?” her voice is strident.
“Ask again with less petulance and add an extra three letters at the end of the question.” I’m firm.
She takes a deep breath in and out and I can see all the anger and fear seep out of her.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I trust you. I can always say the magic word.”
I place one pillow under each knee so her legs aren’t straight and uncomfortable, cuff her other ankle, then take a step back to admire her. My cock kicks and I feel a twitch deep in my balls when I look at the object of my fantasies willingly spread open in front of me.
“Good.” I run my hand from her inner ankle to the seam of her sex, then cup her mound. She presses against the heel of my hand. Her responsiveness reassures me I’m doing this right, forging the relationship I’ve dreamed of.
“Sorry, Sir. I know I’m not supposed to—”
“Don’t worry about it. In a few minutes, you’ll be tied open for me. Any movement or wiggling you can do once I’m finished will be allowed.”
I attach cuffs to her wrists then connect them with leather straps to the spreader bar. Now her back is comfortably braced against the headboard, her legs are spread wide, knees bent over the pillows, and her arms are immobilized and connected to the bar at her ankles.
“Report to me, Victoria. Your muscles were abused by your allergic reaction yesterday. I don’t want an iota of muscle strain. I want you completely under my control, but I want you comfortable.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m fine in this position.”
“Tell me how it feels to be blindfolded, spread open, and completely at my mercy.”
She pauses for a long moment, then, “I don’t want to admit it, Sir, but I’m completely turned on.”
“Very good, Victoria. Spread wide for me like that, you couldn’t hide that from me anyway.”
&
nbsp; Victoria
I only told half the truth. ‘Completely turned on’ doesn’t begin to reveal the whole picture. I’ve never been this horny in my life.
It’s hard to believe that two days ago I had never given thought to the fact that I might be a teeny tiny bit submissive, and today I’m spread so wide I feel the breeze on my labia and I’m dripping wet from the thought.
“You’re beautiful, Victoria. If it doesn’t hurt, I’d like you to sit up straighter and thrust out those perfect breasts for my enjoyment.”
I sit up and thrust, with alacrity. Funny, ever since I’ve had them, I’ve never felt my breasts were perfect. The right one is clearly larger than the left, and they’re definitely not as perky as the runway model ideal. But when Sir says it, I believe it. Maybe that’s one of the bennies of him being the ‘commander’.
He sits next to me, his hip nudged against mine. His hands move wherever they want. They lodge in my hair, caress my breasts, and roam up and down my legs at will. There’s one little spot I’m thinking about, though, that he keeps missing.
My core clenches in need. I realize what it is that has amped me up like nothing before. It’s the feeling of being owned. Owned and completely out of control.
It dawns on me that he could do anything he wants to me right now. If he really was a purple asshole, I could shout ‘red’ and he could run roughshod over me. But I don’t worry for a moment that he will.
I’ve given him power over me, and it started with giving him my trust. It’s a startling revelation: I trust Voxx. I mean Sir.
He squeezes my nipple a bit too hard as he says, “Stay here with me, Victoria. Don’t go away.”
How’d he know I was daydreaming? He’s totally tuned into me. I have to admit, I like that.
He bends to lav my nipple, the one he just squeezed. I picture him, luscious purple skin, hair white as snow, that sexy, glowing tattoo on his bicep. He’s lavishing attention on me.
“Thank you, Sir.” Oh shit, did that blurt out of my mouth? That thought was for me alone. And I don’t believe for even a minute it will go unnoticed.
“For what, little Earther?”
What do I tell him? Thank you for abducting me? Thanks for shining a spotlight on all these kinky desires that have been lurking under my conscious thoughts? Thanks for all the orgasms?
“You’re introducing me to a part of myself I don’t think I would have ever met on Earth.”
“This part?” He plucks my nipple. “This part?” He mimics his action on the other. “Or how about this?” He trails one finger from between my breasts, down my abdomen, over my navel, to my mound.
“No, Sir. Not that it’s my place to give you direction of any sort. But I believe the part you’re looking for is two inches to the south.”
He gives a vigorous tug to both nipples; that smarts. “Someone’s forgotten her place. I’ll have to remind her who is in charge.”
One finger slips into me, all the way to the hilt, then retreats as quickly as it entered. That one quick moment makes me ache to have it back again. I want to beg, but I won’t. I bite my bottom lip. His fingers pull my lip from between my teeth. “Don’t mar your beauty. It belongs to me. All of you, Victoria, all of you belongs to me.”
“Yes, Sir. I belong to you.”
He presses two fingers in and finger fucks me for long moments, taking care to nudge my hungry clit on every thrust.
“I’ll always reward you for that, little Earther.” I feel his hot breath caress my ear.
“Yes, Sir. I belong to you,” I repeat, hoping for more of his fingers.
“I’m not quite that predictable, Victoria,” he scolds.
“This is a nice look for you, Victoria,” he says as he flicks each nipple. I should hate being his little fuck-toy. Isn’t that what I accused him of making me my first day on the ship? But, oh my God, I love it. I love that he just rearranged me as if he owns me, body and soul.
He can flick my nipples and slip whatever he wants inside me and leave me wanting or fill me up. He can make me edge for hours, and make me come for hours, and whatever he does, I love it.
If I stumbled onto him as a boyfriend on Earth, I would totally go on a week-long trip with him, spreader bar and blindfold in the trunk of his car, and while away the hours in our little Dominant/submissive playground. Then, when we arrived back at my apartment, I’d tell him to lose my number. Who wants to have to face the aftermath of their walk on the wild side?
I relax as I realize that’s just what I’ll be doing. In what, seven days, I’ll be deposited back in Des Moines and waltz into my classes none the wiser. Somehow between Zinn technology and the long arm of the Feds, my absences will be excused, my ‘missed’ grades will miraculously be changed to ‘A’s’, and my life will keep spinning seamlessly.
“I’m going to make lunch. I have very specific instructions for you, Victoria. While I’m gone, I want you to keep those breasts thrust out, and your pussy wet. You’ll do the latter by thinking of your Sir. When I come back, I will feed you, and then you’ll tell me some of your favorite fantasies.
“If any of your muscles or joints begin to hurt, you will say ‘red’ as loud and as often as you need until I come running. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Fantasies? I used to have a lot of ‘go-to’ fantasies. Law school didn’t give me a hell of a lot of time to search for guys, or date, or even sport fuck. My bedside table drawer contains several sturdy, reliable sex toys. My mind had several sturdy, reliable fantasies that were often fueled by the latest Marvel comic big-screen hero.
I mentally scroll through my usual fantasies. Let’s see, top on the list was in an unusual place, although as much action as I was getting, my bedroom would have qualified. But sometimes I met Hugh Jackman in a club and utilized the bathroom for quick, hot sex. Or imagined some anonymous guy sitting next to me in one of those comfy lounge chairs in a darkened theater and doing what he wanted to me.
Come to think of it, that’s a subby little thought. I guess if I had been paying attention I might have at least noticed the tip of the iceberg of my submissive tendencies.
Another fantasy was going to the campus doctor as a virginal freshman and agreeing to be part of his scientific ‘studies’. I would meet him secretly at his house and do whatever he wanted all in the name of his learning female sexual responses.
Hmmm, that was more submissive than the last fantasy. Little old me doing whatever the male authority figure wanted. If Voxx from Zinn hadn’t literally arrived from out of the sky, I guess the obvious never would have occurred to me. But I admit it now—I’m a submissive.
Voxx returns with a turkey sandwich. Why was I never inventive enough to put the entire dinner on bread? Turkey, dressing, gravy, even the cranberry sauce. I’m skeptical, but after the first bite, I’m a believer.
It’s an interesting experience to eat without sight. I read there are restaurants that serve you in the dark, and now I understand it—every aspect is heightened.
I smell the warm turkey and savory dressing. The sweet tartness of the cranberries bursts in my mouth. A trickle of gravy slides down my chin until he leans in and licks me clean. Holy shit, this male smells better than the sandwich.
He feeds me with care, wiping my mouth, offering me sips of water, making certain I get the best morsels. I’m completely at his mercy, but he’s tending to me as if I’m the most important thing in the world.
He ‘accidentally’ drops some cranberry sauce on my nipple, then licks it off with infinite care. My hunger vanishes; I only want him.
“Thank you for feeding me, Sir.”
“Did you do your homework?” he asks, his voice smooth as velvet, as if those mellow words could take my shame away.
“If I told you I didn’t have any fantasies…?” I leave the rest of the sentence hanging.
“Your Sir would have to punish you for lying.”
I wish the blindfold was off, I’d like to read his exp
ression.
I hear him set the plate on the bedside table, then one finger swipes back and forth across my clit. I picture him in my mind, his face innocent as if he had no idea the movement of that one lone finger was making me burn for more.
His lips graze my ear as he coaxes, “You’re going to tell me, Victoria.” His fingers press a millimeter harder. “You’ll either tell me now, or after I make you desperate. Which do you think you’d prefer?”
