This time I’ll be strong, I determine. This time I won’t let him see me cry—
“You will tell me who you were shouting at through the window,” his voice says above me. “You will tell me if he is the one who helped you figure out your little stable scheme. You obviously had help of some manner to hide so well.”
I keep my eyes squeezed shut, refusing to correct his assumption that I was trying to get the attention of a man, for I will never snitch out the only Xalthurian who’s tried to help me on this three-moon planet.
There’s a long silence, during which I wonder if he’ll hit me or fuck me.
But then instead of feeling fists, I hear heavy footsteps and a soft thump. Then the voice says, “You cried like a youngling when I tried to mount you. I did not like that.”
I pause, then carefully open my eyes.
The alien king is no longer looming but sitting down across from me in one of the chairs I couldn’t even begin to lift when I was looking for things to throw at that window.
“You didn’t like that,” I repeat, so confused by the sudden turn this non-conversation has taken. “I didn’t like it either. Not that you care. Is that why you got a translator? So you could make me defend myself? You want me to atone for my actions?”
“Yes, that is why,” he answers without blinking. Truth be told I’m not even sure he can blink. Then he says, “You will tell me why you refuse to be bred as agreed upon for females of your age in the New Terrhan Accord.”
I stare at him. He actually seems to be waiting for my answer to his…well, I wouldn’t quite call it a question. More like a demand for information.
But he’s not on top of me, trying to take me against my will. So, I guess, play ball?
“Um…” I start then stop, trying to put my thoughts together.
“This word you have said is not translating to anything but a noise in my head,” he says, somehow sounding harsh, even though his words come across in my mind as completely monotone.
“I was thinking,” I tell him. “Um is, like, a holding word, something people say if they don’t have the words they want yet.”
“It is similar to a holding word,” he repeats with another ridge furrow. “You will tell me why you do not use the holding word itself, instead of one that is similar to it.”
“Because sometimes the words don’t come quickly enough to our brains, so we use holding words to buy us more time. That’s why we say um. And like is something we say to mean both similar, and, exactly as—, and also in place of said.”
He stares at me for a long unblinking second, then informs me, “Your New Terrhan language is confusing even with a newly installed translation chip.”
Even though I’m sitting here vulnerable and naked in immobilization cuffs, I have a weird urge to laugh. “You think my language is confusing? Your language is made up entirely out of clicks and hissing sounds.”
“Yet, you are able to understand what I say, whereas so far I have had to seek clarification for everything you have said to me,” he answers. Then before I can argue with him, he once again commands, “You will tell me why you seek to break the accord between our two planets with your actions.”
“My actions?” I repeat, wishing to the moons I could fully roll my neck. “You’re the one who kidnapped me. Where is kidnapping in the New Terrhan accord?”
“I would not have kidnapped you, had you shown up to the breeding ceremony and complied as agreed upon in the—”
“I didn’t sign that accord!” I point out. “A bunch of our leaders—who by the way, will never have to be herded into the ship and bred like animals—agreed to that.”
He stares at me, his ridges furrowed with a look that I think might signal confusion, even though I don’t see how my words could have been any clearer. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You spoke before I was done speaking. This has never happened to me before.”
“Wait,” I say. “Are you trying to say you’ve never been interrupted?”
“I am not attempting to say this, I am telling you no Xalthurian has ever dared,” he answers.
I roll my eyes. “I guess that’s what you get for kidnapping a human, then. Interrupting folks is, like, our national pastime.”
A beat of cold silence. Then he monotones, “You will interrupt me no more, hu’man, and this latest infraction will also be punished.”
“Also…?” My stomach knots with dread, as I wonder exactly what this punishment of his will entail. If the immobilization cuffs are an example of the technology he has at his disposal—I shiver, not wanting to finish that thought.
Instead of answering my unspoken question, he says, “Hu’mans voluntarily breed with each other. I know this as fact.”
“And?” I ask, not understanding what that has to do with our conversation.
“And you will tell me why you ran and hid from what you would voluntarily do with another male.”
I swallow. “First of all, I’ve never done that with another male—”
He suddenly holds up a large blue hand, interrupting me this time. “You claim to be untouched by any other male. You will tell me if this is true or another frustrating example of your words that mean either nothing or something different from their translation.”
“Second of all, human women have sex with human men because these men actually ask us to,” I continue, ignoring his latest question-command. “Usually by putting in some actual romancing effort. Human men understand that sex is supposed to be pleasurable for both parties. They know we’re not just wombs to be bred.”
His ridges once again furrow.
Oh moons, he looks even more confused now. It’s possible I’ll have to explain this all again, breaking it down point by point.
But then he abruptly stands, his face becoming a hard mask as he walks forward to loom over me. “It is now time to mete out your punishment for your many infractions.”
9
D’Rek
My diijo has never been harder.
She sits in the chair naked and completely at my mercy. I am determined to mete out her punishment, make her understand that she is never to run from me again. But I indulge myself a few moments to simply look at her while she is unable to move. Unable to fight.
Dear moons, she is magnificent. Her full breasts jut forward and are capped with nipples as dark as sorka berries. Would they taste as sweet? And is the rest of her as soft as the breast I stroked when we were in the gamma shower? My palms tingle with a desire to explore her smooth brown skin. Touch her everywhere to find out.
“Well? What are you waiting for, you big bully?”
I flare my nostrils, my ridges vibrating with vexation. Though she is unable to move any non-essential muscles below her neck, she still finds ways to defy me. With her challenging words and her gaze, blazing fire as she awaits my answer.
“Your wayward tongue has added to your punishment,” I inform her.
Her eyes narrow to angry slits. “Do your worse, asshole!”
She dares to challenge me? To call me the hole from which excrement issues?
With an impatient click, I pull her out of the chair.
“You will receive ten strikes on your bottom,” I inform her. The immobilization cuffs prevent her from moving herself, but I am still able to position her body any way I please. Taking advantage of this power imbalance, I turn her around to face the chair and bend her over until her palms touch the seat.
My diijo pulses, reminding me that I could mount her now in this position.
But instead, I force myself to step back and admire my handiwork.
Her plump bottom is in the air and her legs are slightly spread, giving me a clear view of her womanhood. The flash of pink between her brown folds surprises me. I would have thought the inside of her breeding slit would have been the same color as her skin or perhaps even the fur I ordered removed while she slept. The unexpected deep pink color creates an appealing contrast.
/> Too appealing of a contrast.
Instead of delivering her first swat, I breathe hard through my nose. Willing my aching diijo to calm so that I might administer the defiant hu’man her punishment without falling on top of her back and rutting her like an animal.
“What are you doing? If you’re going to hit me for not just laying back and letting you use me as your personal womb. Get on with it!”
The hu’man’s rebellious words pull me back from the edge, reminding me of what I must do to quell her.
I place my palm on the fattest part of her rear and marvel at the softness of her skin. Even as I tell her, “You may cry as much as you like. Your tears will not dissuade me from this punishment.”
“If I could move, I would kill you,” she answers, her voice low and raspy with the threat.
“Now you have earned eleven strikes.” Then, before she can offer up any more protest, I raise my palm and bring it down with enough force to make the smack resonate throughout the entire room.
“Ow! You FUCKING alien asshole!” my little defiant hu’man screams as I watch, fascinated by the way her bottom jiggles from the impact of my slap.
Somehow, I discern that fucking is not a verb for sex as it has been translated, but like ‘asshole,’ meant as a condemnation.
Another rule broken… “You would blaspheme your Kel. Now you have earned twelve strikes.”
“Asshole, you are not my anything—”
Her words cut off when I hit the same spot to observe the tantalizing ripple once again. Then she cries out when I hit her again, and again.
A deep purplish hue now colors her left cheek, and guilt washes through me.
She deserves every bit of this punishment to be certain, but I must keep in mind she is not built like a Xalthurian. She is smaller. More fragile.
I rub her silky flesh before transferring my attention to her other cheek. This time when I hit her, I hold back. Just enough that I will not cause bruising upon her beautiful skin, but still applying enough force to impress upon her the error of her ways.
She gasps instead of crying out this time. And to my surprise, something akin to a moan escapes from her throat. The scent I can still remember from when we rutted on the red forest floor, suddenly appears in the air, intoxicating and ominous.
Ignoring it, I slap her again. Another gasp, this time accompanied by an “Oooooh…” I am not versed in the tonal differences of the hu’man language, but it seems to me that her voice has lost much, if not all, of its defiance.
I give her another swat, and, dear stars, the intoxicating aroma becomes even more intense. I owe her several more swats but that scent…I can no longer ignore it.
I am her Kel, whether she wishes it or not. Yet I find myself bending down behind her, compelled into kneeling with the need to find the source of this overpowering scent.
I still. Her breeding slit is leaking.
What is the meaning of this? Had I broken her? I know hu’mans are fragile, but I hadn’t expected my strikes to draw blood…or whatever this viscous fluid is. I run the pad of my finger along her slit to check her, careful not to graze her with my claw. And to my great surprise, she releases another moan. Helpless and aching.
Yet I no longer have the sense that she is hurting. Could this liquid leaking from her breeding slit be the cream of which the Breeding Ceremony participants had spoken? The source of her intoxicating scent?
I bring my damp finger to my nostrils and shudder. Yes, it is the source, and by the stars, it is amazing.
If her cream smells this good, I wonder, how would it taste upon my tongue.
“What are you doing?” she demands, when I bring my face closer to her weeping slit.
I am a proud Kel. I kneel for no one, yet here I am, felled by the scent of a hu’man. A desperation takes over me as I push her legs farther apart to gain better access. Uncovering more pink, I inhale sharply at the sight of her.
“You said twelve swats. I counted seven. What are you doing?” the little k’vani protests, as I run my nose along the back of her sweet hot, understanding fully now why the breeding Xalthurians named it that.
“The deal is whatever I say it is. It would do you well to remember that.” I slide my finger along her entrance and notice a small engorged piece of flesh peeking from out of her folds. Intrigued, I press it.
“Oh, mooooons!” This moan is throatier than the others, and I get the sense my little k’vani likes this.
Triumph swells my chest as I continue my exploration…sliding my finger along the puffy folds…watching how her intoxicating juices leak from her breeding slit, until her entire sweet hot glistens.
I must…must taste her. Gripping a cheek in each palm, I lean forward and run my tongue along her slit. Hesitantly at first.
But her taste…it is exquisite. More divine than anything I have ever eaten. Soon I am not just tasting her, but also running my tongue along her folds to lap at the delicious treat between her thighs.
The more I lick, the more she leaks, and I cannot get enough. My ears soon become entranced by the way she whimpers at the press of my tongue and cries out when I lap at the swollen flesh at the top of her slit.
Knowing that she is pleased only increases my need to continue my tasting exploration. I slide my long-pointed tongue inside her hole, pressing deep.
“Oh moons! Oh moons! What are you doing to me?” I vaguely hear her moan, but I am too preoccupied with my task to answer.
I push my tongue in and out of her as I rub her little button with the pad of my thumb. These two combined actions produce many more wild cries from her. I relish the pleased sound she makes as I do this to her, even as I wonder at its oddity.
Xalthurian females derive neither pain nor pleasure from breeding. Why should they? Only males need experience pleasure to complete the reproductive act. This was our Great Designer’s way of ensuring we spill our seed.
However, these hu’man females are designed much differently than ours it would seem. If what I am observing is correct, they derive pleasure from touch upon their genitalia, and perhaps even from the act itself.
It goes against everything I know to be natural and true, but I enjoy how she responds to my tongue. And for reasons I cannot explain, I find myself hoping my hypothesis is true…that she will rejoice in our breeding act as much as I will.
Her moans become louder as I slide my tongue in and out of her. I bury my face against her slit, letting her juices coat my ridges.
This act seems to drive her wild, even as the cuffs keep her completely still. “That…your ridges feel…so good. I can’t take it,” she exclaims, her voice throaty and tight. “I’m going to come. Don’t stop. Oh moons, what am I saying? But don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
It is against the law to command her Kel. Another rule broken. Yet it does not matter. I could not stop even if I wanted to. And I truly do not want to. I could go on consuming the liquid from her delicious breeding slit for hours. She tastes even better than she says my ridges feel against her folds.
But then, without warning, her breeding slit starts clenching so hard that she screams. Or perhaps there was warning. As her womanhood contracts around my tongue, I suddenly comprehend the real meaning of the imprecisely translated word “come.” Her strange female pleasure has arrived, in much the same manner as my seed spills into consorts.
Her juices are even more pleasing to my palate than the most delectable Xalthurian desserts, but they are no longer enough. I want to feel her body beneath mine, her sweet hot wrapped around my diijo.
Would she come also in that position? Beg me not to stop, as she had refused to plead for her life or even my mercy before.
The fantasy unrolls in my mind, raw and alluring. “I will take you now,” I declare, coming to a stand behind her. “Then I will deliver the rest of your punishment after.”
She does not respond this time, and when I place my large blue hands upon her exotically curved hips. There comes no defiant insults
or ill-advised taunts, daring me to do my worse.
It does not matter. I could breed her in this immobilized state. Could plunge myself into her sweet hot and rut within her until I spill my seed deep inside her womb.
But something stops me. She is not just unmoving, like she’d been when I consumed her breed slit, but unresponsive. Nothing like my feisty k’vani.
For some unfathomable reason, I find myself not liking this.
“You are silent,” I note, caressing my hand down her smooth brown back.
“Does it matter? Whatever I say, you’ll just take what you want,” she answers. “Your kind always does.”
“My kind…” She makes the Xalthurians sound like some kind of savage beast, as opposed to one of the most advanced civilizations in the known universe.
“Yes, your kind! You think that accord entitles you to treat us any way you feel like. We have little choice in this matter. I didn’t ask to be brought back to your palace to be brutalized by you.”
“Brutalized…”
I stand her up and turn her so that she can see my face when I point out, “You enjoyed it. I heard your moans. You begged me to bring about the arrival of your own sexual pleasure.”
The hu’man looks away, most likely ashamed as she should be by the dichotomy between her words and her actions.
But then she says, “It was just my body. For a moment, my body clouded my senses, because I wasn’t expecting…that. But it wasn’t my mind, heart or soul.”
“I am not interested in your mind, single heart, or realm spirit. Only your body,” I answer with a hard flex of my ridges. Yet, the words feel untrue, even as they issue from my mouth.
I frown. This situation is the opposite of the fantasy I made as I watched her come down from her own pleasure spill. I think about bending her back over. Taking her as I wish without a care for her feelings…only to feel my diijo start to soften. Essh!
With a frustrated hiss, instead of returning her to a mounting position, I reach for her cuffs and press the code to unlock them—then catch her when she immediately falls over.
Kel D'Rek; His To Claim Page 7
