Chapter 2 #9
It smells like bacon and eggs and Sunday morning and a flea market where you buy a baguette and some fresh butter that was churned by hand and had garlic salt added to it by a ruddy-cheeked farm maid.
I want, more than anything, to eat his breakfast.
I know he already said no, but I suspect that it’s going to be good for me. I wouldn’t want to eat this so badly if it wasn’t. He’s being overly overprotective about everything. He’s trying to stop me from enjoying something yummy.
He gets up to deal with something business-y, and I take my opportunity. I am good at thieving, I remind myself as I sneak my hand across the table and…
“No!” he says, picking me up by the scruff and swinging me about. Two of his hands land on my ass at the same time, delivering two hard, simultaneous spanks.
I cry out in shock. I can’t believe he’s just smacked me. The pain isn’t really that bad, but the fact he did it is setting my whole body aflame.
“I told you not to do that, and you did it as soon as you could,” he lectures. “Unbelievable.”
He has me up off the floor, dangling from his powerful hands, and two more slaps land.
“Here I was, thinking you could behave properly and be obedient and you were waiting for the first opportunity to poison yourself? You are going to be caged for your own safety.”
“No! Please!”
He swings me around to face him and I look into his face, then wish I hadn’t because the expression there is thunderously disappointed, as if I have betrayed him in a way he cannot forgive.
“I cannot trust you to act in a way that does not endanger yourself,” he says. “The collar and leash are going back on.”
“No,” I whine.
But that does not matter. He carries me through to the bedroom where he left both of those items from the ship.
“I will have to get a proper set of these for you,” he says, murmuring more to himself than to me. “And a proper cage. And some kind of tracking chip. Better to have something embedded. And obviously being lax on the discipline was a mistake…”
I try to squirm out of his grip, but I fail. He is holding me close, he is much stronger than I am, and he has all those extra hands with which to keep a hold on me and put the collar around my neck.
It’s not done when that thing snaps into place though, not like I hoped it was. Then he pins me down on the bed, one hand on the back of my neck as he rustles around in a drawer looking for something I know I’m not going to like.
“Stay in position,” he says, his voice deep with authority. “Hips up, legs spread, face down.”
He puts me into that position with three of his hands while the fourth holds the thing that’s concerning.
I whimper excuses, but they stop when one of his hands wraps around my mouth. “I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” he says. “I was very clear. Very reasonable. And I was trying to keep you safe. You decided not to listen, to test me, and now you get to discover what happens when you disobey.”
I feel a crack against my ass. A finger-thin strap has just been applied to my cheeks hard, and it is not the only one.
A dozen of them have made rough contact with my ass before I can take a breath with which to protest. My ass feels like it’s aflame.
There’s a pulsing ache where each of those slaps landed.
“Pain is an excellent teacher,” he says. “And I will give you plenty of pain if you deserve it. Learn that now, human, and learn it well.”
It is at this point that I realize he doesn’t use my name.
I am a human to him, a tool he sees fit to use and punish if he doesn’t like what it does.
I let myself think he wanted me in a romantic way when I fell asleep wrapped in his arms, but now, as the lash lands again, it’s anything but romantic.
“You will not put yourself in danger,” he says, emphasizing his words with slaps. “You will never disobey me. If I say no, I mean no.”
He’s repeating himself, but there’s no point complaining about that when it’s my rear that feels like it’s burning.
“I’m sorry!” I wail. “I let my impulses get the better of me!”
“You do that a lot, don’t you,” he says, pausing for a moment. He lets his hand run down over my sore cheeks, squeezing lightly in a way that makes it feel so much better.
“Uhm… Maybe.”
“You got into trouble the moment you walked onto the transport vessel, and now here, again, impulsive trouble. You don’t want to poison yourself, but there’s something in you that tells you to do whatever you shouldn’t. Am I right?”
He still has me completely pinned, my ass is still burning, and the heat and the pain are doing some kind of alien alchemy inside me and I can sense…
“Oh, my god,” I mumble as I feel him rub between my legs, the tips of his fingers finding my soaked sex.
“That’s not an answer to my question, little human,” he purrs.
“I, uhm…” My voice trails off into a moan as I feel him slide the tip of his finger inside me and stop at that barrier that hides in me. He toys with the entrance to my embarrassingly virginal body.
“Hmm? Still not an answer,” he growls, though his voice is softer and warmer and more amused and I think he is enjoying driving me to distraction while he stimulates me in this lewd fashion.
* * *
Arkon
This is actually all part of the training. The human will be used in experiments as a stand-in neural pathway for the machine. We believe that the human sexual response is the most appropriately complex and entirely repeatable interface for such an experiment.
When I spank her ass, she reacts one way, when I stroke her clit, another, and when she feels me entering her, her brain activity seems to drop almost altogether, though I am sure our instruments will read it differently.
I was admittedly furious when she first defied me. Fear was my first response, and that was followed quickly by the determination to punish that act out of her. But I don’t think I will be able to remove all her defiance. I think that is baked in.
Touching that thin membrane inside her, knowing how delicate it is and how easily it will be broken when I inevitably claim her gives me even more patience with my fallible human brat. Her temperament is not her fault, but she will be held to full account for her actions.
“Yes,” she finally admits in that soft, mischievous voice of hers.
I know I pushed her hard with that flurry of swats.
The tone of her cries became desperate fast. The instrument I used was designed to handle creatures like her.
There is not much in the way of heavy impact that would bruise or damage her, but the wicked lash of the strap leaves red marks on her round cheeks.
I am pleased that it was effective the way I needed it to be.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur. “You need to yield to me. Your own impulses cannot be trusted and will get you killed. This leash and collar may feel like a punishment, but they are protection.”
I pull my finger from inside her and lightly swat her cheeks. She could do with more color. She could do with being filled by my cocks, but not now.
There is much to be done with her, and I am doing it one step at a time.
“I need to get you into the training bay,” I tell her. “There is a lot you need to learn. So. Are we done now? Do you understand that what I just did was merciful compared to what I will do if there’s a single instance of insubordination again?”
She squirms and I know it is because she wants more touch, more sex, more release. She will not be getting any of that yet. What I have planned for her is much more along the lines of more discipline.
Her mind will be uniquely tuned to me by the time I am done with her. I will not need a collar, a leash, or a cage. She will act as I desire, she will do as she is told, and she will be mine in every way possible, including ways she can’t even fathom yet.
My mercy is also due to the fact that I know this is my fault.
She should be in containment in the lab where she cannot access our food, or get into any kind of deadly trouble.
If the others knew I’d almost let her ingest poison for the fun of it, there would be a discussion to have that I very much do not want to have.
I shouldn’t have taken her home. I should have put her into containment the moment she arrived.
We should get going.
I slap her ass one last time. “Get dressed,” I tell her. “We need to go to work. They will be wondering where you are.”
I dress her in her uniform, which she protests at every turn, but I want to make sure she is dressed properly, and I want her to understand that the world she came from and the rules she learned there are gone forever.
“I can put a skirt on,” she says as I snug it into place around her waist, after pulling on a pair of sleek underwear that cover her sore bottom and needy sex. It is particularly satisfying to give her fabric-clad pussy a gentle pat while she complains.
But we do have to go to work in spite of how fun it would be to keep her at home and keep exploring her body and reactions. I could probably sell that, actually. Tell the others I need to get her trained to my directions first. They’d buy that. It might even be true.
“Do I really have to have a leash on? It’s so embarrassing,” she grumbles as I clip the tool to her collar.
I smile to myself as she complains. The leash is likely to be the least embarrassing thing she experiences today. But she does not know that yet. This work is going to require a lot of humility and vulnerability from my little human brat.
“The least of your worries, I assure you,” I tell her.
She blanches a bit, then her expression turns to excitement because her wiring for intensity means that every time something scares her she also becomes inexorably fascinated by it. That will also come in handy for the work I need her for.
This little human is not going to be easy to handle, but I do suspect she is going to be perfect for the job.
“Are we walking to work?”
She asks the question as I lead her out of my home away from home.