Rychor whipped her around and pressed her body close to his, twisting her hand in his own and then pinning her arm behind her back. The motion was forceful and graceful at the same time, was executed in less than half a second, and took her by surprise so much that she didn’t know what had happened. She blinked up at him in astonishment.
“I am going to punish you now, Sonya. But this time you will really feel it.”
His breath was warm against her neck, his fingers moving over her skin where they touched her, stroking her with sensual caresses. Even as the implicit promise of pain in his words made her tremble inwardly with fear, ignited her already sore skin, and shook her confidence, she couldn’t deny that the musky scent of his skin and the hard muscle against her body occupied more of her thoughts. And those thoughts were… dizzyingly carnal.
“I know,” she said, and it was a mystery even to her what tone she said it in.
She almost sounded sassy.
Rychor replaced the leash, which he produced from seemingly nowhere, while holding her tightly to him. “You do not know, human. You do not understand what you have done.”
His words were ominous, and a very real chill poured over her, rattling cold in her bones. She shivered, now experiencing the cold she’d lied about.
“What will—”
Rychor handled her roughly, lifting her whole body easily to face her toward the door. Then he turned his back on her without answering and pulled on the leash to lead her to the corridor.
She followed behind him, fear pouring into her bloodstream through every available pathway. She had gone too far, she was realizing, and she had presumed too much confidence between herself and Rychor.
He stopped at the door and moved his hands over the wall to summon an interface—which Sonya watched with keen interest. She was, after all, not dissuaded from her plan of escape, and maybe if she mastered the functioning of the walls, she could help herself out.
Rychor, always sensing her thoughts, swiveled his head, the great bulk of his body rotating slightly as he did. He gave the leash a tug to emphasize his point before he said it. “The walls will not respond to your cells. You willalwaysbe identified immediately and punished for attempting to circumvent your security,” he growled. He had the impatient tone of a father who had repeated an admonishment several times.
She looked at him and moved her head slightly to nod.
“Because you have misbehaved, Afina has instructed me to increase your humiliation profile. This is a direct result,” he growled, even more annoyed, “of your…petulantbehavior.”
“Okay,” she hissed. “I get it. I just wanted to—”
“It is very important to me that you understand that everything that is about to happen is going to happen because ofyourpetulant behavior.”
She looked back at him, suddenly very irritated herself. Instinct made her place her hands on the leash, in case he attempted to pull her along by it in a surge of violence, which seemed to be brewing beneath the surface of his skin. She was suddenly very aware of his power—not just his physical size, but a deeper, psychological power, the power that made the other Ryvokia scatter from his path as he strolled through the corridors of the cave.
“I just wanted to see what it was made of,” she squeaked, grasping the leash. His eyes followed her hands, eyeing them warily. “And if you insist on assigning blame, then actually everything I’m about to experience is a direct result ofyourkidnapping me, just so you—”
Rychor appeared to grow suddenly larger as he moved even closer to her. Her neck pained her as she tipped it to an uncomfortable angle to meet his eyes.
“You will kneel now,” he barked. His hand was suddenly on her left shoulder, a touch at first so light she shifted her eyes to look at his hand, just to be certain she was feeling what she thought she was, and hearing what she thought she heard.
Then the pressure. Slow, building, insistent. For a few brief seconds, she thought she could resist it, and her knees locked in an act of defiance that her brain definitely had not cleared. But Rychor’s strength was bottomless, and the pressure simply continued to build, until her knees buckled and her legs went wobbly, no match for the stern gaze that he beamed from his eyes, which was the real force that drove her sliding down to the floor.
Kneeling. When her knees hit the floor, her face barely arrived at Rychor’s mid-thigh, his muscular legs disappearing into the strange material that covered his sexual organ. The psychological effect—humiliation—was immediate, and her shame burned like a raging fire, fed further when the whole humiliating experience reverberated in her lower abdomen as a spreading, intensifying desire.
Her curiosity wandered to what lay beneath his clothing. Was he going to force her to please him orally? Saliva welled up at the back of her tongue, Pavlovian and humiliating in and of itself, when she had the thought. A brief lapse of her self-control allowed a visceral thought of feeling his hands on the back of her head, his cock filling her mouth and her throat, a fleeting curiosity about the taste of him and his seed.
He wasn’t going to do that here, though, surely? In the doorway? She dared to look up at him, and when she did, she caught him staring down at her with a look on his face that she could not read at all.
“You will crawl, on your hands and knees, to your punishment chamber. All will watch your humiliation. Then you will be whipped publicly until you beg me for mercy.”
She looked up at him, but found no recourse in his eyes. The idea he had just conveyed to her was playing a strange duet with her emotions.Of courseshe was pissed off about it, and dreading it, and didn’t want any of that to happen… butof courseher body was reacting in a different way. The cool slither of humiliation in her belly was telling a different story, and in some dark corner of her mind, she was playing with the idea, drawing out the imagined sensation of another humiliation before the Ryvokia.
“And if I refuse?”
Had she really just said that? It was reflexive, but it wasn’t a reflex she was aware she had. She supposed that was because no one had ever kidnapped her and tried to humiliate her into consenting to breeding before.
“Obey, human. Or you will be sorry.”
This last sentence almost sounded like a plea. She knew it was bullshit that she thought that—she was playing tricks on herself to make her situation more bearable. Her stomach lurched, and she felt the trickle of liquid that her pussy refused to stop producing on her thighs.
