Sensations, too, came to her, but more like the idea of touch or temperature, as though in a dream. Words blossomed in her subconscious. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she succumbed to closing them and letting her muscles relax. She didn’t seem to have much choice but to be force-fed the stimuli.
Thoughts of whips, restraints, the fullness of a male organ in her mouth, the taste of salty cum, a sense of fullness in her pussy, in her anus. Heat, ice-cold, ideas about obedience and discipline, Rychor’s hand rubbing her bottom. She felt as though she were on her knees, supplicant. The intense, fulfilling, and humiliating sensation of her hair being pulled and her eyes being bored into by the gaze of a male she pleasured.
Her pussy throbbed, clenching against the speculum. There was no stopping her body from responding, no hiding from even herself that most of the dream-like sequence was arousing her intensely. She was lucid enough to remember that the attendants—and Rychor, somewhere—were watching her, seeing for themselves what she responded to.
However the images were being produced in her mind. They were like a probe, going deeper, even as she resisted. Her darkest desires began to surface: the sorts of sexual fantasies that she had never shared with anyone, that she only thought of in the dead of space and night. That she was ashamed of even having. Leashes, collars, the control of men, whippings, humiliation.
Sometimes the ideas strayed away from things she’d ever imagined, and fear or revulsion would creep into her body. This seemed to alert the aliens, and the images changed, returning to her comfort level.
And then, once she was worked up, her face red, her pussy throbbing, her whole body feeling the need to writhe and obtain release, the images stopped, and the attendants began to peel the sensors away from her. The speculum was removed, her head placed gently back on the platform.
The restraints were left in place. She opened her eyes to see the attendants leaving the room. Leaving, and she was still spread out on the table like a buffet, aching for release.
She howled, and started to call out, but as soon as she made a sound, she realized she had nothing to say. No request to make. So she moaned instead and pulled at the restraints, just to confirm what she already knew. And then, utterly humiliated, she lay still, throbbing with intense desire and trying very hard to reject it from her mind.
* * *
She lay like this a long time, yearning for release, wondering if that, too, was being observed. She turned her head to look around the cave, but with the attendants’ departure, the computerized portals had disappeared, and the cool blue color had returned slowly, seeping into the white.
She tried to get her wits about her. She needed to focus on her plan… but what plan? What did she intend to do? She didn’t know, but simply acquiescing to the creatures seemed insane. She had so many questions, and they didn’t seem willing to answer them. She wanted Rychor to return, as much as he unsettled her.
It was crazy that this was happening. Again, she was overcome by the idea that she was only dreaming, and she tried to will herself to wake up. Had she not had dreams like this before?
When she opened her eyes again, after being unsuccessful at “waking up,” she yelped. Rychor had entered the room silently and was standing at the foot of the platform, looking at her face.
“Do not be alarmed,” he said. He glanced at something above her. “Your pulse is elevated.” His features took on a look of interest, and he dropped a hand to her ankle, caressing the bone in a slow, arousing circle.
As with his touch on her wrist, Rychor’s fingers seemed to connect to a series of strings that led directly to her throbbing sex. They pulled taut, winding up tighter, screaming for release.
She dared to speak. “Can I… will you let me out of this?” she asked, glancing at the stirrups.
Rychor looked at her, his fingers making wider and wider circles on her ankle. They traveled along her calf, sending shivers through her body. Part of her wanted him to continue up to her knee, to her thigh, to the slick wetness between her legs.
But that was nonsense. And Rychor seemed to be assessing something, his stoic face impossible to read. Surprising her, he suddenly stopped touching her and unclasped the restraints, freeing her feet.
She closed her legs together and swung them to one side. She blushed when a flare of pleasure burned inside her as she looked at Rychor’s face. He seemed pleased with her body as she lay there.
His hand went to her leg, and barely touching her skin, he dragged his fingertips along her outer thigh, over her rump, down to her waist, and then along her ribs, tickling her wickedly as he traveled to her inner arm and up to her bound wrist as he walked to the head of the platform.
Though his caress was gentle as a feather, the implication was clear: she was his to do whatever he wanted with. Caress or spank, arouse or use.
He loosened the restraints with the touch of a finger and they retracted and disappeared before she had her hands down to her chest. She started to sit up, but he put a hand to her chest, right at her sternum, and pressed down against the force of her rising. It was gentle but insistent, and she lay down, placid.
He stared down at her. “Your profile indicates that obedience will make you most ripe for breeding. It pleases you to be submissive.”
Her mouth fell open. She was, again, at a loss of what to say. “That’s… ugh,” she said, exasperated. Even as she resisted the thought, though, a cloud of heat bloomed in her lower abdomen. That word again. Obedience. Like “discipline” when it left Rychor’s mouth, it burned through her slowly and then cooled to a delicious, hollow well of desire. She decided to fight back anyway. “I assure you that it isn’t—”
Rychor glared. “You will request permission before you rise,” he told her, and drew a line from her sternum to her chin, which he closed between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting it slightly. “You will request permission for all that you do, and you will do as I command. This pleases you, so it should not be difficult. But when you fail…” He had moved around to the foot of the platform and leaned to breathe into her ear, the heat of his words igniting a fire that ran down her neck and seared her shoulder blades. “You will be disciplined.”
Her breath had caught in her throat, and she had been detached from her sense of reason. “How?” she heard herself ask.
Really?A voice screamed inside her head.That’syour question?
But it was. It was her question, and she wanted the answer. She wanted to hear him tell her, to feel the words reverberating in her ear, his breath carrying them over her skin like a caress. She wanted the sinking feeling that filled her chest and then dripped into her limbs, sliding through her pussy and lower abdomen like a cool gel.
She was sure she felt Rychor’s lips form a smile. “I will spank you,” he said, in a low rumble. His fingers moved over her shoulders, down to her elbows. “And if you continue to be disobedient, I will find a cane and whip you.” He slid his fingers under her elbows and cradled them, lifting her to a seated position. She rolled to the side and dangled her feet over the edge of the platform.
Rychor moved behind her, his fingers gliding all over her skin, making her shiver. He traced slowly down her spine to her tailbone, where he lingered. The heat of his finger seemed to sink through her skin and fork, like running water, until it found and pooled in the places his finger had probed in her bottom. She squirmed and wished herself silently to stop reacting to him the way she was.
