It’s so fucked up, a voice inside my head is screaming.
He snatches his finger away just as the buildup threatens to spill over into full release. I groan, involuntarily, with frustration.
“Won’t your general be mad at you?” I say.
The Kerz emits a huff of air in disdain and smacks my bottom again.
I feel the weight of his body as he climbs onto the bed. I hear the sound of clothing coming apart, though I can’t identify why I think that. I stare at the wall to my left side, picturing what he’s doing. He puts a hand on my bottom and rubs it. His legs are now on either side of my thighs, their warmth tantalizing. “And why do you think, little human, that the general would be displeased with me?”
I move my head and my eyes I so I can look back at him; I wish I hadn’t. His eyes are menacing, his marking glowing dangerously. His robes are open, baring the dark blue skin of his chest. A very large, fearsome yellow marking stretches out like the branches of a giant tree, its trunk somewhere between his legs. He holds his cock in his hand, but I can’t get a good view; I see only the vaguest outline of its shape and size.
It’s huge, darker blue than the rest of him. Like a human cock, it’s crisscrossed by veins, but his are the same yellowy-gold color of his markings.
I don’t answer his question; I can’t even remember what it was. I know he has asked me something, but my mind has turned off and the only thing I can think of is how much I want him to enter me. I remember the feel of the markings on his neck—their heat, the way they pulsed, and a deep longing to feel them inside of me fills me like a flash flood.
He slaps my right buttock hard, and leaves his hand on my skin, letting the hot pain of the spanking run into the heat of his hand and burn through my whole body. Between the folds of my pussy, I feel his cock, the bulbous head of it, as he slowly draws it along the ridge of my clit to my hole, then back up again.
I shudder. My pussy quivers uncontrollably, begging in a way I cannot allow my mouth to do.
“Aren’t you his cousin?” I squeak. This isn’t a statement I’ve made to deter him from entering me: Iwanthim to, I want it desperately. This is something I’m saying because I feel complicit now in this taboo act. Surely it’s a taboo act, if I’m supposed to be married to his general.
He laughs derisively. The head of his cock is at the entrance to the canal of my pussy, and it feels much too large for me. But I crave it with my whole body. My hips want to move, to push back against him and sheathe his cock inside of me. I only barely manage to resist.
“Perhaps you misunderstand the Kerz, Anya Mann. Iamthe general’s cousin. And his hand. This means,” he pauses to move his cock again in the wet folds of my pussy, “that you are my responsibility. He wants a properly trained wife, not an insolent, disobedient wench who doesn’t know her place or how to please a Kerz. He is far, far too important to dirty his hands with the tedious task of making you submit.”
I really, really want to hate these words, and this plan, and stand up for feminism and all that. My mind does, anyway. But my body has control of me now, and there is something mind-bogglingly delicious about the promises of this Kerz’s ‘discipline.’
I mewl. Like a feral cat in heat. I can’t stop myself.
And then, just like that, he gets off the bed, taking his pulsing cock and the promises of relief with him.
“Get up,” he tells me.
I roll over and sit on the bed, my face red. “Wh-what?” I say. I feel like my heart is beating between my legs, and the desire I feel there is all I can think of. Blood pours through me, hot and pressurized. I can barely hear anything over the thumping in my ears.
He is already clothed again. “You have no control,” he says. It seems like this sentence needs to be finished. Does he mean over myself, or in general?
I drop my legs over the side of the bed and stare up at him, trying to compose myself. My hands are still bound, and I lay them in my lap. The robe has slid down my shoulders and I’m naked in front of him. His eyes move over my body, and they might as well be his mouth; I feel his gaze as if it’s flesh, traveling over my breasts, grazing my thighs, burrowing between my legs.
He puts a finger under my chin and lifts it, tilting my head up to look him in the eyes.
“You have no control,” he repeats. “Now you will dress. And you will be presented to the father of my cousin. You will behave, and if you don’t, I will punish you until you learn what is known and cannot be changed: you are the property of the Kerz. You will serve Zethki and obey him, and he will take his pleasure from your human body in any way he chooses, and when he does choose to enjoy your body, you will take whatever he gives to you and show your loyalty and your obedience.”
I look away, breathing hard. Not because I’m afraid of him—though I am. But the intensity of his stare is like the burn of the last hard spanks that he gave me: too hot, something I cannot bear, even if I crave it.
I willnot, I tell myself, do any of those things.
He leans down toward me, and his claws, retracted beneath my chin, emerge. “You will do all of these things, Anya Mann.”
“Or what?” I breathe.
He stands up again, and I think I see a smile lurking beneath his lips. His head moves in a gesture of mild confusion, or interest, a barely perceptible circular motion that could be yes, or no, or the confused cocking of his head.
“You will obey,” he says simply. Confidently. My chest grows ice-cold and my heart plummets to my feet. It would be a lie to say there isn’t a deliciousness to this feeling.
But people—or aliens—don’t tell me what to do. They never have, and they never will. I resolve to remain unbroken, even if I have to fake it for a while.
“Stand up.”
