Virile (2 page)

Chapter One

“Your form is exemplary, Adara, but any Dominant worth his flogger will sense your
attitude
.” Samuel paced in and out of her peripheral frame of vision, his large, muscled form clad in tight leather pants and a silky, white shirt. A short-handled quirt dangled from his right hand.
 
“And he would be forced to correct it. You reek of rebellion and insubordination.”

She was kneeling in a
present
position, legs spread wide, back straight so her breasts thrust forward, hands resting on her thighs, palms upwards, and her eyes trained on the floor. She’d insisted on underwear, although Samuel warned her the Freestar brothers, or Freestar
pervs
as she not so secretly referred to them, would likely strip her the instant she entered their home or maybe when she disembarked from the star craft. The idea made her quake, because she was self-conscious about her body, hiding behind determined modesty, and being naked in front of gods knew who disturbed her stomach. What if they had visitors or people who worked on their farm?

The idea of being scrutinized…she was well aware of her flaws. She knew her body carried the additional pounds separating her from the norm of her world—thin, toned and calorie-conscious women. So the idea of having all and sundry catalogue her imperfections was yet another cross to bear.

The small images attached to the contract weren’t large enough for her to get a true picture of her soon-to-be ravishers, but they all appeared to be big men. The brother who had won her, Thorn, was ominous in appearance, his dark eyes and unsmiling face giving an indication as to what she might expect—unrelenting dominance. He was darkly handsome with a full head of thick, dark, curling hair and sported a strong nose above chiseled lips set in a straight if sensuous line. The other two were twins or seemed to be—there was no statement of their age in the contract, although that was the only thing missing. Everything else had been spelled out carefully, in meticulous detail. Everything they expected from her down to the last assertion she attend them without any body hair or piercings or tattoos.

Samuel calmly suggested that might be because they wished to mark her body themselves. In any event she resentfully allowed a horridly efficient woman to divest her of any form of hair below her chin with a laser and remove the one tiny tattoo of her family crest from her hip. The thought of having her nipples or clit hood pierced made her shudder, and she tucked it away in the recesses of her mind along with all the other things she feared and expected from those men. She could only hope they had pain killers and medical care available to her and would show that mercy. Samuel didn’t seem to think piercing and tattooing were particularly sadistic although her suggestion that a certain part of his anatomy might look attractive sporting a stud was greeted with a dark, Dom glare. Ha.

The twins were fair where their brother was dark, and their startling blue eyes danced with what appeared to be mirth in their handsome faces. She dared hope they might be playful as some Dominants were, according to Samuel, with more of an interest only in erotic spankings and such. All the reading she’d done the night before, books and articles he’d chosen for her to peruse—the better to prepare her—had explained an extraordinarily wide range of approaches and behavior in the BDSM scene.

Samuel asserted it was the same on Virile but didn’t say how he knew so she assumed he was trying not to scare her further. There was a continual theme in the material she read of the submissive holding all the power, with the Dom having only what the sub gave, but Adara knew there were exceptions to every rule. And then there were the stories of total subjugation and slavery, of real dungeons and cells, real beatings and branding. One month could be a life sentence if that was their interest. Adara wondered if she could trust in the contract despite Sammy’s assurances.

A slap of leather against her flank made her flinch and whirl on him, her knees grinding against the floor. His grimly amused visage settled her instantly. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

“And that will get you into the worst kind of trouble, my love. You will have three Dominants to focus on. If you drift off, aside from sinking into sub space, they will…correct you.”

“Punish me, you mean,” she said miserably. “I’ve never been hit. Ever. Not by my parents. Not even in school when girls fought all the time. I used my wits to fight back and defend myself.”
And start things too, so I could finish them.

“So use those wits now, Adara. Use them to take on this situation with your usual intelligence, tenacity and grace. Who knows? You might actually learn some things about yourself.”

Oh no. He wasn’t going to insinuate—“I’m not submissive, Samuel. Don’t even hint it. I’ll try to remember your lessons and behave like one, but I’m nobody’s sub.”

His jaw clenched, but he let it go. “There is no mention of giving you a safe word, Adara, but I added it as a caveat and certified your innocence to sweeten the pot.”

“I’m hardly innocent,” she said wryly. She wasn’t a slut, by her society’s standards, but she wasn’t a virgin either. Sex was fine, if overrated, and she was busy with her education and planning her career so eschewed the dating scene for the most part. Besides, the majority of men were either spineless or so bossy they made her teeth ache—and they mostly preferred those thin, toned girls.

She was far more effective in pleasuring her body than any man, anyhow, and if she had recently taken birth control prevention guaranteed for a year, it didn’t reflect anticipation of sexual activity, but as a means to manage her cycle. And as it turned out, it was a good thing because that damn contract demanded skin to skin contact. They were healthy according to medical certificates, as was she, but she wouldn’t risk pregnancy. They would expect access to a child and once she was off that planet she would never go back.

“You’ve never been with a Dom, my love. That makes you an innocent and one worthy of a safe word.”

“Will they hurt me?” The question emerged from her lips in a hopeless whisper.

“Most certainly, Adara. I assure you it will be right kind of pain, mostly.”

“The right kind.” Pain was pain, but Sammy quibbled, obviously.

“Yes, my love. The right kind, combined with pleasure. If you allow it you will enjoy it because you are—”

“Don’t. Say. It.” She gritted it out, and he shut up, hopefully for good on the subject. She continued, “What about the wrong kind? Is there…”

He shrugged. “Subs are punished for a variety of reasons, depending upon infractions or sometimes at the whim of their Doms. Behave yourself to the best of your ability, do as you are told and serve. Come to me when it is over. I’ll be waiting. I will make it right.”

She cried then, cried for what was to come and wept for the selflessness of her friend. Samuel drew her to her feet and sat with her in his lap until she settled.

After a time she pushed upright and wearily shoved her hair away from her face. She could feel the hard length of his cock against her hip and once again recognized his interest in her, but she didn’t return it. Perhaps it was because he was a Dom. She simply didn’t see him in a romantic way. She didn’t judge him for his proclivities and had attended a couple of his educational scenes in his club.

Observing him bring a sub to the most outrageous pleasure, the woman restrained, naked and exposed to observers, had spoken to something inside her, but Adara denied that pull. She had worked too hard to become the independent, respected woman she was and refused to change that fact. She needed the persona if she was to take her place in the family business, and assured herself the thought of being in that woman’s position hadn’t made her panties wet.

Pressing a kiss on his cheek, she extricated herself from his hold and made her way to the room he had put her in, one like he expected she might find waiting for her when she arrived on Virile. It was sparsely appointed, if adequate, and was probably geared to make her long for more. Like a small cell. At least she might be able to retreat to it.

Her little suitcase lay on the dresser, open to receive the meager items allowed by the contract—it was specified the farmers would provide for her. Samuel tried to put a positive spin on that, suggesting they wanted to give her everything. Adara thought they just wanted to cut her off from her life here with nothing to remind her of home.

Personal toiletries were allowed, as was her profiler for electronic books, although communication without proscribed consent of her captors was prohibited. That last point chilled her to the bone. If they meant to sever contact even with her few friends, it didn’t bode well.

She was taking the transport in the morning, woefully unprepared for the months ahead. She still railed against the lack of choice, but she’d crammed for the test, much like she did in her university classes, and would try to pass this one without losing everything because of failure. She’d take a shower now and leave the really nice lace bra and panty set to drip dry in the bath before she ate the contents of the tray she knew Sammy would have sent to her room. And then she’d go to bed and study some more. Maybe sleep would ease her if she read until her eyes couldn’t stay open any longer—if her brain would only get the message. She’d need her so-called wits about her tomorrow.

Showered, her skimpy laundry hanging to dry, she donned a nightgown before checking out the light meal the cook had prepared for her. She managed to sip some of the broth before her stomach clenched in rejection. Setting it aside she slipped beneath the covers and turned on her profiler. There was yet another apologetic message from Elliot for her to delete.

****

The plan of reading until her brain surrendered—nothing to read into that particular verb—bore fruit. Adara woke to the low vibration of the alarm, profiler on her chest and her hair a mass of tangles because she’d failed to dry it properly the night before. She sat up and tried to pull her fingers through it, wincing. She’d look like a hoyden and not the carefully groomed woman she showed the world. Her hair was her one real vanity, the one physical attribute she’d inherited from her mother, a woman she had vague, if fond memories about. But it was a trial to keep it contained, and she hardly wanted to present as someone who wasn’t calm and controlled, ladylike.

“Morning, honey. You have an hour before your transport to the station.” Samuel lounged in the door frame, holding a chocolate protein shake in his big hand.

Suppressing a shriek, she clambered out of bed and ran into the bathroom, relieving herself as she tried to tug a brush through her hair. If she missed that transport…gods knew what those farmers would do to her. The contract had been very specific about the date of her arrival—if she was late a week would be added for each day. Tossing the brush at the counter she washed her hands and decided to wear the underwear she’d laundered. The contract hadn’t stipulated she appear without any. Maybe she was pushing her luck but that little demon inside urged her to do so, and she tugged the bits of lace on.

Makeup was apparently frowned upon as well, but she touched her lashes with dark kohl after applying moisturizer to her face and neck, and added a hint of color to her lips. Her green eyes stared back at her, veiled by her intense need not to think any further about her lot in life. A judicious use of detangler loosened her curls, and her dark red hair shone as she worked the brush through it. She tied the mass high on her head and secured it with several pins, effectively giving her that professional look. A bite of dental cleanser took care of her teeth, and she spat the detritus into the sink.

Scooping up her soaps, hair products, creams and cleansers, as well as a little bottle of scent, she headed out of the bathroom towards the closet, dropping her armful of toiletries into the suitcase. They sadly outnumbered her clothing, but the contract indicated she would have everything she required provided there. Perhaps Virile lacked such things as shampoo and soap—no surprise to her. She moved robotically, not thinking, and saw Sammy had left her shake by the bed, so stopped to drink a few swallows. The cold beverage tasted good against her tight throat then curdled in her belly, but she kept it down. There was no need for stasis during her trip because of the new star drive engines, but she would need the energy to sustain her because of the toll of quick travel on her body, not to mention what would greet her when she arrived.
No thinking.

She stepped into a pair of navy trousers and pulled a top in a vibrant shade of lime green over her head. It might be the last time she would get to wear her favorite color.

“You have underwear on. And makeup.” Sammy spoke quietly from the hall.

“Jeez. You walk like a ghost.” She scowled at him.
 
“And I’m wearing it. I know that fucking contract word for word, and there’s nothing in it to say I can’t wear underwear until I get there. And a little makeup boosts my confidence.”

“But you will please them if you don’t wear either.”