Chapter Seven
When her trainer camefor her some hours later, Lana was still awake. She had perhaps slept a little, but not much. For hours she was propped in the position of submission, her thighs dripping, her pussy throbbing, and the sensation of the plug inside of her occasionally roaring to life in her senses, making her want to howl and relieve herself, or at least move the object around with her fingertips.
By the time the doors opened and her trainer appeared in her room, she had given herself over to the punishment. His words had echoed in her mind as her knees became sore, and her pussy throbbed even more fitfully with each passing moment that she was restrained there, exposed and helpless, aware that someone was watching her, waiting to see if she would be disobedient.
Now that he had arrived in her room, she had resigned herself to whatever he would do to her. She had abandoned her physical resistance, and when the weight of her restraints released, she remained as she was, obedient, determined to show that she had been broken. She could not fight them now, not here: she was at the mercy of her captors and they would do with her body what they pleased.
The commander gave her time to use the toilet and eat a bland food, and promised to return shortly to take her to her next training session. She ate, sitting on her bed, not wanting to admit how ravenously hungry she was, or betray that fact to whoever was watching her. But there was no hiding it. Her bottom still burned when she moved it over the fabric of her bed, and her pussy was throbbing, aching, right within her reach, but she was determined to convince her captors that she had submitted fully to their slavery and humiliation.
Lana followed him from the room, led on a leash, with less trepidation than she had imagined she would possess, and the conflict inside of her was more overwhelming than the humiliation she felt sheshouldbe feeling. She could feel her own body responding in ways she would never have expected to the training she was receiving, betraying her mind, craving the complete submission that she had been forced to endure.
Her mind, though, was still resolute. At least she wanted to believe it was. Shewouldremember her original plan, no matter how much she gave in to the training she was receiving. She would not let herself be brainwashed.
She gave her body over to her trainer and to submission. She had to fight constantly against the tendency, ever stronger, to enjoy what was happening to her: the baths, luxurious and hot, the tender care of Anasi, the humiliation and fullness of the cleanings, and the ever-enlarging plug that they placed inside of her bottom.
She fought hard to still the disquieting feelings that fluttered inside of her as she was instructed by her trainer in the arts of pleasuring an alien male. After several days of her quiet submission and anal training, the commander took her to a new room, and instructed her to get on her knees.
She obeyed, waiting for the pull of the weights to contort her into yet another submissive position—craving it, in fact, with the same hope that, somewhere in her training, she would be allowed the release she had been craving for days. She had been given release by the trainer after her first full day of cooperation, but he seemed to enjoy making her throb and ache for relief, and then withholding it.
The days went on relentlessly, until she had no real sense of how long she had been captive or how far she had traveled from her home. She repressed, with great difficulty, a disturbing feeling that she felt for Commander Golan—a desire to please him, to feel his hand on her burning bottom. She fought to keep her desire to escape alive, but it was so much easier to simply relax into the ordered world of training.
Anasi was the one who, quite accidentally, snapped her back to reality.
“You’ve been sold,” he whispered to her excitedly one morning, ushering himself into her room nearly bursting with the excitement of his secret.
“You have been auctioned off to a Galleon, a prince,” he whispered, his eyes lighting up with almost as much pleasure as though he himself were an Atrix and promised to a prince. “So now, you will begin your training for Galleon males.”
Lana looked at Anasi, her eyes wide. “Ga-Galleon?” she whispered.
Galtor—the home planet of Galleons—was lightyears from her home planet. It was in the Imperial Realm, but it was well-rumored that the Galleon species was fairly untamable, vicious, and feral, and that the Realm had made a mostly mercenary agreement with them to broker a cease-fire. It was not the sort of place where a human could easily make allies or plot an escape. And though she had never even seen a Galleon male, they were reputed to be enormous, strong, and violent. More beastly than human.
Anasi smiled. “Galleon,” he repeated. “You are so lucky,” he whispered. “Let’s get you dressed.”
* * *
In the corridors outsideher cell, Anasi was silent and somber, so by the time Lana had recovered from her shock and formulated the questions she wanted to ask him, he had turned her over—with some giddiness—to the commander, who was waiting for her in place of a trainer.
“You have been sold,” the commander informed her dryly. “Your training must be sped up and I will oversee it. I expect complete obedience, or I will have no choice but to punish you severely.”
She implored the commander with her eyes. Her heart had sped up, and was kicking furiously at her chest: she was afraid of the news she had heard about Galleon, strangely excited by it, and had an even stranger feeling in her chest—a desire to be trained and punished by the commander, and a melancholy that he would be leaving her to another male. Unsure of what she was about to say, she started speaking. “Sir, I—”
The commander stepped forward and put a finger to her lips. His skin was soft, dry, and warm. Lana’s eyes became heavy with pleasure in spite of the situation. “Slaves of the Imperial Realm do not speak,” he admonished. “It is expected that if you open your mouth, it will be to pleasure your mate. And that is what we will learn today.”
Lana’s eyes went wide, and her gaze dropped to the sizable bulge in her commander’s pants. Heat burned her neck in a wave that lifted her neck hairs with it. So far, the commander’s treatment of her had been clinical, and while she knew that it could not remain so forever, she was suddenly afraid of what he would do.
But unexpectedly, the commander turned to a storage compartment in the wall, opening it with the wave of his hand. “Galleon men arequitepossessive of their females,” he said. “So, they have requested that your training be conducted entirely on surrogate forms. No real males. Lamentably, this technology is not as developed as we would like it to be...”
He selected a large phallus from a collection inside the compartment. Lana stared at it. It was big, far bigger than a human member could possibly be, and the surface was strange, almost as if covered in ridges and bumps.
“This is an approximation, of course,” her trainer narrated coolly, putting a hand to her forehead and tipping her head back so that she was looking up at him. “I suspect that if you have been purchased by a prince, who was once a warlord, you may find him to be bigger than this. But it will do. I assume you have no training in orally pleasuring a man?”
Lana had been through such depths of humiliation that she was surprised this question could make her blush. She shook her head, still staring at the phallus.
The commander used his wrist console to summon, from an instantaneous yawning in the floor, a pole, several feet in front of her. With the flick of his hand, probably using the same strong, invisible forces that bound her hands and feet, the commander attached the giant phallus to the pole, almost four feet above the floor.
“In reality,” he said, beckoning her to walk on her knees to the pole, which she did, trembling. “Your mate will be much taller than this. But for the purposes of training, we will assume that you will learn to navigate his height of your own accord and simply require that you learn the skills of pleasuring a Galleon male properly, in generalized terms.”
She was in front of the pole now, the blunt thickness of the phallus before her eyes. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that she was imagining not a synthetic replica, but the real thing, pulsing and hot, and attached to a warlord of towering muscle. Excitement tingled up and down her spine, and she resented, for the umpteenth time, her body’s betrayal of her mind.
