She sighed, hoping this would be the end of it, hoping that he thought he’d taught her the lesson she needed and would get on with whatever he intended to do next. Shame was creeping up the sides of her neck, into her face, hot and wild. Her hair stuck to her skin, and as the heat of her orgasm ebbed away, she felt a slight chill on her damp skin, the cooling liquid between her legs.
Rychor stepped to the side and set the wand down on the examination table. She watched him, moving slowly and methodically—causing a stir inside her that was part anticipation, part dread—over to the attendants and their floating table. He surveyed the implements on it, and the coolness of his gaze as he selected a new device to torture her with was unexpectedly erotic. Her cheeks flared with shame, and the sore, hot skin of her bottom flared up again, like a match had been taken to it. She couldn’t believe that these aliens were witnessing her degradation, and her own body was as much a part of it as Rychor was. The scent of her arousal was wafting up to her nostrils and exposing the lie she wanted Rychor to believe, and that she wanted herself to believe: that she didn’t feel aroused by any of this at all.
Nothing could have been further from the truth as it snaked down her thighs for all to see.
Rychor chose a balloon-like tube from the array of instruments and held it up, pantomiming an inspection. But Sonya sensed that he wanted her to see what he had chosen, wonder about what he would do to her, squirm in her restraints with the anticipation of pleasure or pain. He picked up the wand again and walked back over to where she was suspended.
Her muscles had gone stiff again when she realized Rychor wasn’t finished, and now they ached with the strain. There was more to come, and she didn’t dare imagine what thatmoremight be.
Rychor seemed intent on making his point: he was in control, whether he used pain or pleasure to control her. He wanted to see her squirm, make her understand that he had this power, and that he would use it, until she gave him what he wanted.
She heard a squishing sound behind her, and she jerked her head over her shoulder to see a clear, gooey substance oozing out of the tube and onto Rychor’s finger. Her eyes went wide at the sight, as her mind processed the purpose of the gel—the only plausible purpose, a lubricant, and all the implications therein.
What in the hell is he going to…
Before she could finish the thought, Rychor summoned an attendant without so much as a flick of his fingers, and the attendant collected the tube from him, stepping away with wide and interested eyes. The creature looked intrigued in the way Sonya imagined her own attention to the specimens she examined. She wasn’t sure if this made her feel more humiliated or less.
Rychor stepped up close behind her again, one hand smoothly moving around her waist to hold her in place. His skin, so human-like that if she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was a large, human male manhandling her, was warm and dry. He didn’t apply much pressure to her, but the size of his grip was enormous, and the strength that coiled in his muscles could be felt even though he wasn’t exercising it.
She caught a whiff of his scent as he moved her with one hand, adjusting her body to his liking. The bare skin of his muscled torso brushed against her back and slipped in her sweat, sending a ripple of pleasure through her unbidden. A spicy, musky smell—masculine and familiar as it was foreign—filled her nostrils. Her sex throbbed at the smell, and she squeezed her eyes shut again, as if she could squeeze all of her senses closed along with them and stop melting at Rychor’s touch.
Through her trepidation, though, a soothing calm seeped into her body. It seemed to travel through his body into hers, like a topical drug. There was something about his presence being so close, his giant, muscled body hovering over her like a protector.
She shoved the thought away, dismissing it as a stupid, girlish fantasy she should be ashamed of entertaining. She was doing it again, assigning human intentions and feelings to an animal because she was afraid.
“We have learned something interesting about your species,” Rychor said, leaning over her shoulder to growl next to her ear. His warm breath grazed her earlobe and sent goosebumps in waves down her right shoulder and along her arm.
She held her breath, eyes closed, waiting for what he was about to say next.
“It seems the human anus can be as sensitive as your sexual organs,” he went on. “I can stimulate it to excite your pleasure and gain your submission.”
Her eyes popped wide open, and she looked up at her restraints, bucking against them, knowing it was futile. Rychor’s thick arm was coiling around her torso, moving like a thick snake, lifting her easily, elevating her bottom and forcing her to fall forward into the cradle of his bicep. She was forced onto her tiptoes, and then they, too, were swept off the floor and swung at the air as she kicked them, looking for the floor.
But Rychor held her so easily and so firmly in his grasp that she quickly concluded there was nothing to do but relent.
She sucked in a breath, her weight careening forward into his solid muscle, when she felt the cool, wet, lubricated tip of his finger press against her bottom hole.
Rychor calmly drew her back to him, pulling her body against his back, the solid contours of his muscle hot and damp against her skin. “Do not resist me,” he stated plainly, “and you will not experience pain.”
She swallowed, her breath quickening as the pressure on the ring of muscle between her cheeks increased. A wave of humiliation joined her panic, because therewasa small part of her that held curiosity, that fantasized about anal sex… She had just never been brave enough to try it. And none of her lovers had been like Rychor. “I… I don’t…”
What, Sonya? You don’t do that kind of thing?
She walked back her panic, talking herself down from the urge to scream and thrash her legs. She was his. He could do as he pleased with her and there was nothing she could do about it, she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax her muscles.
As she did, his finger made a lazy circle around her anus and pushed slowly forward, making her gasp. Her body reacted by clamping down tightly on his finger, and he moved his mouth close to her cheek and made a sound that was alien, but sounded closest to the soothing purr of a cat to her ears.
“Do not resist. I will not harm you. You will experience pleasure.”
She closed her eyes, hoping she could forget the indignity of being watched while Rychor probed her. She drew in a deep breath as the tip of his finger slipped into her.
She hated her body for its reaction: instead of tightening, she felt herself opening up. More fluid flowed from her pussy, dripping between her legs. An arousal response—identical to the one Rychor had described in advance—to this taboo situation made no sense, and yet that was what was happening. Even as he pushed deeper, her body was preparing itself for another entry.
An entry she found herself craving desperately.
She winced at the tightness in her backside as his finger filled her. He moved it inside her, pressing out in different directions, seemingly searching for something. She had to remind herself with each breath not to cave to her feelings, to be disgusted by this intrusion. But she promptly forgot that same thing when he twisted his digit inside her, striking something—a patch of pleasurable nerves inside her, and a strange ecstasy flooded her brain again.
“And now you will tell my assistants,” Rychor said, his finger stroking the bundle of nerves he had located. “Do you enjoy this sort of penetration?”
