The vague question made me take a mental step back, trying to assess what he actually wanted to know. In the end, I couldn’t figure it out, so I asked, “Are you asking about the politics, the overall organisation of it, or the Geshtoch attack?”
“I’m asking for your overall feeling about it. This was fairly typical of an Alliance mission, in so far as a lot of them start fairly routine, but shit can hit the fan very rapidly. And when it does, it’s up to us to figure out how we’re going to get through it, while still achieving the mission objectives. So is this something you can see yourself doing for the next ten years? Do you have any serious concerns about the things that went wrong? Or is there anything in particular that you didn’t understand that you’d like clarified?”
Ah. He wanted to know if I had liked it. He’d spent the past week or two trying to find every possible way to ask that same question, without me resorting to my rote response of wanting to please my master. I carefully considered how to answer the question, to create the impression I’d given him my opinion, while avoiding saying anything that might indicate I was merely following his orders.
“I find it very satisfying to be able to use my skills to help people,” I told him. To help my master in particular, but he didn’t need to know that. “I was rather baffled by the social occasions in Adavi. Dinner with politicians is not something I was ever trained for. But you’ve already said that’s not a normal part of a mission.” I figured it was safe to express concern about something that wasn’t likely to be a recurring problem. “The battle with the Geshtoch was dangerous, but within workable parameters. I’m more concerned about the Alliance’s overall strategy of letting them run rampant across the planet. But from the details I picked up, it seemseveryoneis concerned about that.” Again, it was a tidy issue to comment on, because it was ultimately neither my responsibility, nor my master’s. I paused, considering if there was anything else I should say. “Do you have any particular comments on my performance?”
My master snorted. “Associate Nors seemed to like you.”
I managed not to smirk. My master was as reticent about critiquing me as I was about giving my opinion. “Apparently, I was thoroughly impressive,” I told him, repeating what Associate Nors had said. “Maybe you should take me to dinner to say thank you?”
I’m not sure what response I was expecting to my sassy reply. But the heat suddenly flooding his expression was as surprising as it was welcome. My master stepped towards me, pressing me back until my ass hit the dresser behind me. He opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind… and then ordered, “Take your pants off.” He plastered his mouth over mine immediately after he’d said it, which made it significantly harder toobey his instructions. Nonetheless, I managed to toe off my boots, undo my belt and pants, and get them shoved down my legs. Getting them off my feet was harder, and I resorted to standing on whichever bits of them I could reach and yanking at my feet until they finally slid free. My master’s hand was on my cock then, and I felt it swell, responding eagerly to his touch.
He procured a tube of lube from goodness knows where, hastily slicking up his cock – which he’d somehow got out of his pants in the midst of our kissing and grinding – and then he lifted me, setting me on top of the dresser. It was fairly low, with only three drawers, which made it the perfect height for me to perch on. I parted my legs without being asked and drew in a breath as he pressed two slick fingers up inside me. “You are so fucking sexy,” he growled, almost as if it was a complaint, then he shoved a third finger inside me. I almost came on the spot, the pressure intense, making all my nerve endings jump.
“Do you like it rough?” he asked, and I got the impression he didn’t quite realise what he was asking.
“Yes,” I panted, because that was what he wanted to hear. He was pressing into me a moment later, and I let my head fall back against the wall, reminding my body to relax against the invasion. He thrust hard into me, his hand stroking my cock with an almost painful firmness. I’d been taught about this, back during my training; the possibility of a master wanting to use their dimari not as a companion, but as an object. I tilted my hips, allowing him greater access, revelling in the sensation of being used, being owned, being so thoroughly under his control and his command. I loved the feel of his body against mine, the slapping sound of his skin against me. I loved being pushed beyond everyday politeness into something wilder and more intense. I loved…
I swallowed down a scream as I came all over my grimy grey t-shirt. Though we were in a private room, if we were too loud, the neighbouring rooms would still hear us.I love my master, I thought helplessly, as I struggled to maintain my balance while my limbs wanted to collapse bonelessly. I loved him. My body continued rocking with his thrusts, my hands grabbing desperately onto the edges of the dresser as he pounded into me. He came a moment later, muffling his strangled groans against my shoulder as his hips spasmed and his hands gripped my thighs hard enough to leave bruises.
He stayed where he was for a long moment, panting hot breaths against my scales. I was blue again, I realised, having once more lost control of my colouring in the midst of his passion.
He pulled out, as careful as always, but he couldn’t quite meet my eyes as he regarded the mess I’d made of myself. In a thoroughly daring move, I reached out and tilted his chin, lifting his eyes to mine. And then I kissedhim until I felt him smile against my lips, and his hand came up to cup the back of my neck.
I love you, I wanted to tell him. And I desperately wanted him to love me. But a dimari was not permitted to spout effusive declarations of love to their master. We protected. We served. We obeyed. That was all.
“I…” He cut off whatever he’d been about to say and shook his head. “We need to take a shower,” he said instead.
“Yes, sir,” I said, hopping down off the dresser. My ass ached a little with the sudden move. But it was nothing quite so intense as the ache in my chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aiden
For once in my life, I had no complaints about spending the next three days doing administration work. Kade had another few sessions of training to complete, and he’d immediately been promoted to Sergeant, following Henderson’s review of his performance on our latest mission. Associate Nors headed off to attend to her meetings and political machinations, promising once again to look into the issue of how to deal with the Geshtoch. And on the last day before I finished my rotation, a message came through from the Parliament. The Nwandu had finally rescheduled their visit to the Rendol system, anticipating that they would arrive in about three weeks’ time. To say that the announcement created a stir on the base would have been an understatement.
The entire base was gathered on the rear lawn, as per Henderson’s rather terse ‘request’. “I know you won’t be pleased to hear this,” he rumbled, in his deep, no-nonsense voice. “But it’s going to be all hands on deck for the duration of the Nwandu’s visit, regardless of any rotation schedules.” A grumble of objections rose from the lines of soldiers, and the colonel nodded knowingly.
“Rest assured, you will all be compensated with extra time off once they’ve finished their tour,” he said, holding up his hands in a placatory way. “Rendol 4 is one of eight planets that have been selected so that the Nwandu can get a first hand look at the way life works for Alliance species. The Parliament has suggested a number of activities for the ambassador and her advisors. That includes touring a terraforming project, an afternoon at the Alliance History Museum, and a day trip on a fishing vessel to see the subsonic fishing methods we use to maintain sustainable fishing quotas.
“We’ll be running security details, in collaboration with the ambassador’s own security staff, and I’d like everyone to keep an eye on your messages for the next few days to see where you fit into thoseschedules. As always, we need to be on guard against Geshtoch attacks and interlopers through the wormhole, but there are also agitators in the civilian population who have objections to the negotiation process with the Nwandu. Our aim is to allow them a voice, but to ensure that that voice is a peaceful one. Protests are permitted, riots are not.”
That particular detail was one I always appreciated. The Alliance had been founded on a firm footing of democracy, and one of the keys to democracy was to ensure the people had a means of voicing their objections to government decisions. As Henderson had said, peaceful protest was a time-honoured tradition in the Alliance. But when things turned violent, the military moved quickly to bring about a return to order.
“I’ll be advising the details of the visit as they’re finalised, but for now, that’s all the information I have,” Henderson concluded. “Dismissed.”
As the crowd began to disperse, I wandered over to Bryce. “What do you make of the protests?” I asked him.
“It’s the usual political bullshit,” he said with a shrug. “People worrying that bringing a new species in is going to dilute the values of the Alliance by forcing us to make compromises with whatever the new species believes in. The same protests were held when the Sedgegeds joined twenty years ago. And, I’m told, before the humans joined, though that was well before we were born. It’s just people not liking the idea of changing the status quo, regardless of whatever benefits we might get out of it. At the end of the day, the Parliament is looking at this from a thousand different angles, and they’re not going to make any agreements with the Nwandu unless they’re happy that their values align with ours.”
Kade sidled up to us then, having been stationed in a different part of the field, due to his rank, and he caught that last part of the conversation. “Is this the same Parliament that signed a treaty with the Geshtoch?” he asked. “A species who now spends a considerable amount of its time trying to kill us?”
“The Geshtoch treaty was signed over thirty years ago,” Bryce said. “No one in the current Parliament was a sitting member then.”
“But the overall structure and function of the Parliament is the same?” Kade clarified.
“Point taken,” Bryce conceded. “And yes, I’ll admit that the Parliament isn’t perfect. They’ve made their share of mistakes in the past. But what else are we going to do? Declare ourselves isolationists and sit back while the Eumads and the Culrads and the Dologals keep chipping away at the edges of Alliance space?”
