Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories (85 page)

“What about that one?” His ensign, Markov Corsun, normally a taciturn, icewater-in-the-veins pilot, always perked up when they made their regular refueling stop in the Pseiti system, the slave markets of Pseiti IV being some of the most popular—and infamous—in the entire galaxy. Though slavery was illegal—in theory—in the Colonies, the authorities, hopelessly addicted to the kickbacks from slavers and smugglers alike, turned a blind eye to most operations. It was only when a particular market became just a little too obvious that the CSS would step in—and an instructive lesson meted out.

Keeping one’s head down was always a good idea when it came to CSS thuggery.

Rill stopped along the line of cages stretching along one wall of the flesh market, a most popular section of the Pseiti IV bazaar.

“The one with the dark hair?” Rill took a step closer, the filthy naked creature confined behind the steel bars peering up at them, her eyes wide with fright.

“Yes, good plump sex on that one,” Markov said. “Should take the whip—and cock—well, I should think.”

Rill grinned at his ensign. Markov rarely used profanity of any kind. The flesh pits of Pseiti IV brought something out within him, it seemed.

The Commander nodded to the waiting attendant. “Let’s have that one out. I’d like a look at her.”

In moments, she was standing between the three men, her petiteness emphasized by their comparative great height. Her luminescent eyes flicked from Markov then back to Rill, as if by keeping tabs on both, she could ensure her safety.

Rill touched her cheek and she jerked away, snarling in the distinctive high-pitched gibberish he’d only heard once before.

“Terran. I should have guessed.” Rill shook his head, even as his cock began to rise. He’d never actually seen a Terran in the flesh, and though significantly smaller than his species, the Terran females were indeed as beautiful as the rumors said. They were exceedingly rare, even in the teeming central bazaar that prided itself on having just the thing to match any appetite.

“Price for her will go sky high as soon as she hits the block,” Markov growled, stroking the growth of thick black beard at his chin. “I don’t think most of the slime who crawl about here really understand what a Terran is.”

“Or how valuable one of them can be to the right buyer,” the attendant said, inclining his head with a wink. “She was brought to us not two weeks ago.”

Rill frowned. “You let her get this dirty in two weeks?”

“She has had many... suitors in that time,” the attendant quickly added. “But no buyers, as yet.”

Suitors.

Commander Rill grunted. A Terran with ripe, heavy breasts like hers would draw more than her fair share of “suitors” indeed. He doubted the bazaar would allow one of the punters to lay with her, but he could imagine many hands had fondled and weighed those buoyant globes, assessed them for softness, pliability. Her deep brown nipples were standing up nicely, perhaps out of fright, but the keenness he saw in her gaze made him suspect that wasn’t all.

Markov dropped to a knee, taking a fistful of her hair, and wrenching her head back, until she was forced to gaze up at the sky. She moaned just a little as his gloved hand investigated between her lush thighs, splaying the sex open, exposing the bright pink of her core. He smacked her plump, shaven mound once, then again, and she jerked each time, her bright white teeth gritting.

“Why have you shaved her?” Markov asked. “I would have liked to have seen the pelt on this one. Should be nice and dark like her hair, I would think.”

“Diseases, sir.” The attendant cleared his throat. “We find that depilation is effective against lice and the like.”

“You could try washing her once in a while too,” Rill muttered, stroking the grime on her cheek with his thumb. “She looks like she’s been rolling in muck.”

“We bathe them once a month, sir, but it’s been... dusty, of late.”

Markov rose to his feet, using his grip on her hair to spin her around until her back faced them. Her bottom shuddered with the pair of hard blows Markov’s palm laid down across each lush buttock, the SPLAT SPLAT sound echoing against the mud brick walls of the flesh market—

“What the hell was that?” Alisse hissed, her breath coming hard as she extracted her fingers from between her legs. Dropping the reader to the mattress, she quickly rose to her feet.

It had sounded like her front door had opened.

Calm down. It’s probably the wind.

She needed to close the window anyway. It was a good excuse to check things out.

Her heart rate picked up pace as she made her way down the hallway. Suddenly afraid to flick on the light—and silently admonishing herself for acting like a frightened child—she took a deep breath and turned the corner into the living room.

Nothing.

The front door appeared to be closed, just as she’d left it. The white tile of the tiny foyer showed no strange footprints, no signs of forced entry.

She looked down, shaking her head. “You... are an idiot.”

“Why do you call yourself this?”

Alisse screamed, clapping a hand to her mouth as she spun toward the voice. Her heart jumped into her throat as she beheld the man standing in her kitchen. He was the biggest man she’d ever seen; based on her eight foot ceilings, he had to be at least seven feet in height. The kitchen was still cloaked in deep shadow, the curtain at the window continuing to wave gently on the breeze.

Then he turned on the lights, and she took a stumbling step backward. He wore a white, form-fitting tunic with a high collar, the cut-out at the base of his throat exposing the tendons of the neck, the hollows of his collar bones.

The shoulders of the man seemed to go on forever, bespeaking immense strength—something the snug tunic did nothing to contradict. Heavily muscled, he appeared to be devoid of hair with the exception of thick, dark eyebrows. His eyes, slightly larger than one would have expected, were blessed with long lashes, a feature of strange—and not unappealing—softness that contrasted with the hard super masculine face. The strong brows and heavy, square jaw appeared hewn from granite, the eyes peering out at her like twin pools of blue flames. They didn’t quite glow, but seemed to gather and reflect every bit of available light. The tunic swept down, emphasizing the broad back, the narrowness of the hips. The clothing seemed to be one long garment, extending down the legs, ending just short of the tops of heavy shoes resembling stout boots the color of slate.

Alisse stared at him for a long moment, her higher reasoning apparently shutting down in her fright. Then she swallowed hard, holding her throat, unable to peel her eyes away from that brilliant gaze.

“Who... are you? What do you want?”

“I am called Lukanos.”

His voice was strange, very deep, with a timbre that seemed to vibrate in her chest, the sound of his words resembling two stereo channels that weren’t completely in sync.

One thing was for sure—it wasn’t a human voice. Not in the least.

“L...Lukanos?” Her mouth was so dry her lips threatened to stick together. She cleared her throat, willing her heart rate to slow down from scared shitless to merely frantic. “Why are you in my house?”

“I’ve been watching you, Alisse.”

“How the hell do you know my name?” Her voice squeaked on the last word, her pulse now pounding like a drum in her head. She was in trouble here. Her phone was on the far side of her bed. It was time to call 911. Like yesterday.

“Need to get my coat. Freezing in here with the window...” she said, as she took a step toward the hallway, wincing at the absurdity of her words. If she could get to her room, she’d have a chance. Lock the door, call the cops. Tell him to leave while he still had time.

You think your little bedroom door’s going to stop a man as big as him?

“I do not think you want to do that, miss.”

He moved faster than she’d have ever believed possible, crossing the large kitchen in an instant, looming even larger up close, towering over her. A hand the size of a dinner plate took hold of her forearm with a power that seemed to drain the strength from her limbs. A sharp point of heat flared at the base of her neck and she looked up into his face, her lips moving silently, her vision already beginning to gray. She dropped to her knees then, his hand still gripping her.

The last thing she saw before the blackness swallowed everything up, were the fingers of his hand.

They were long, and thick, and veined.

And there were six of them.

Chapter Three

––––––––

T
he Captain looked so enraged that, for a fleeting moment, Lukanos wondered if he might be shot.

“What has gotten into that thick head of yours, soldier? Do you realize what you’ve done?” Captain Maerata paced in front of Alisse’s house, the sun just beginning to lighten the horizon. He hadn’t even finished his transmission informing Maerata of the new... situation, before the comm line was cut.

Maerata had appeared on site in less than ten minutes, his eyes blazing with fury.

“I didn’t harm her. Gave her a dose of Verilim when she tried to contact her authorities. Seemed prudent, all things considered.”

“You mean prudent considering you’d just violated the Directive—and probably scared her half to death in the bargain.”

Lukanos glanced down at the soft, unconscious bundle of loveliness cradled in his arm. “I think I cut it down enough for her body mass. She might be a little groggy when she wakes up...”

“Command doesn’t issue us animal tranquilizers for use on
humans
, you dolt.”

Maerata pulled his helmet off with a hiss as the enhanced oxygen mixture escaped into the air. Maerata’s home planet had a two percent higher concentration of oxygen than that found on this world, so he preferred to replenish himself with his own supply of atmosphere from time to time. Like many Survey Team members, the Captain found prolonged continuous exposure to Terra’s slightly lower oxygen levels to be somewhat draining.

The Captain glared at him for over a minute, his jaw clenched tight, then finally he sighed. “I... should have known you’d try this. Stupid of me, really.”

“Come again, Captain?”

Of all the things he’d expected Maerata to say, that hadn’t been one of them.

“You’ve
always
been too interested in them, especially the females. Command has questioned more than once the reason why your survey routes have so often included these coordinates.”

“What did you tell them?”

Maerata slapped the helmet against his thigh. “Research facility.” He winced. “Not
technically
a lie, as she’s involved in their interferometer project. Primitive though it is.”

He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. He’d suspected, of course—the Captain had done far more than Lukanos had ever expected to accommodate his lieutenant’s particular... interests. He always wondered if his superior officer might harbor his own interest in the female of the human species...

Don’t push your luck.

“She’s... I couldn’t leave her, Captain. Not now.”

“And why not?”

They both knew the answer, of course. Human obsession was a known risk of survey duty on Terra. Just as they also were well aware that the Captain had been far too indulgent with his lieutenant’s case. The question in Lukanos’ mind though, was why?

“I suppose we’ve little choice. Damn you, this is going to get messy—and quickly.” Maerata fixed him with a cold glare. “You’ll be lucky if they
only
discharge you. I hope you realize that.”

Lukanos straightened himself, lifting his chin. “I know the punishment. I don’t care.”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to take her back in that house and let me give her a temp block? It’ll wipe the last week or so of her long-term memory, but other than that, it won’t hurt her.”

“No, Captain. It’s too late for that.” Lukanos clutched her soft curves closer to him, his cock stirring at the way her flesh yielded to his, her plump lips yawning open, the pink of her tongue just barely visible as her head lolled gently upon his arm.

“That’s what I thought,” Maerata looked away, cursing under his breath. Then he put his helmet on, stabbing a finger at his subordinate. “You leave me little choice then, Lieutenant. Our mission is over. You’ve got thirty minutes to make it back to the ship. We’re aborting, immediately.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Lukanos couldn’t help the sheepishness he felt, the regret that he’d disobeyed his commanding officer. But for the lovely creature in his arms, he knew he’d do just about anything—regulations or not.

“You just get back to the ship,” Maerata barked, slapping the opaque black of his visor down over his face. “I’ve got to report this mess back to Command.”

*****

T
he first thing she could remember was the deep, bone-vibrating hum. It was all around her, just below the level of audible, but felt nonetheless through every molecule of her body.

She opened her eyes, then snapped them shut with a yelp, the bright, white light stabbing deep into her skull. Slowly, she cracked open one lid, then the other, the blur slowly coming into focus. Her head pounded steadily, her thoughts sluggish, synapses firing at only half speed.

“Give it time to wear off,” a deep voice said, the pitch of it seeming to harmonize with the background hum. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “Should be clear of it in a few minutes. Then we can get a proper look at you.”

What?

Her eyes began to water as she opened them fully, the intense light still uncomfortable, but bearable. She couldn’t make out much of her surroundings save she was reclined on some sort of bench or long seat. Eyes brimming now as they burned, she brought her hand to her face—but was pulled up short.

Oh shit.

Something was wrapped snugly around her wrist.

She tried the other, yanking hard when it too proved to be bound fast. Her vision came fully into focus then, and she saw him.

Again.

Christ, this cannot be happening.

The same man she’d seen in her kitchen, the same one who’d... done something to her. Knocked her out, somehow. What had he said his name was? He was standing over her once more. This time, rather than the tunic, he wore only white trousers of the same thin fabric, the leggings so tight upon him that they outlined every inch of the massively muscled thighs—and the bulge of genitals the size of which made her mouth go dry.