Chapter 7 #2
He doesn’t ask for a response. He slides his hand underneath me and starts toying with my clit as he picks up the pace, driving his thick cock inside me over and over.
I have taken a lot of fucking lately. I let Thor use me like a toy.
I wonder how enraged Drako would be if he had any idea that I am in no way pure?
“That’s right, up on those tiptoes. Arch that ass. You’re hungry for this really, aren’t you,” he says. “I shouldn’t have told you to stop running when I was trying to catch you. I should have told you to bend over and expose your pussy because it needed a fucking.”
He pinches my clit and rolls it between his fingers as he pounds me toward a mutual orgasm that I know he demands of me. I have to come for him, I have to take his seed, and that is what he wants of me, so I have no choice but to give it.
I cry out as I am overwhelmed by sensations. He has started to bump the vibrator back and forth inside me, so now I am being stretched in almost every hole I have.
“Here we go, sweet captive girl. Your first dose of your new owner’s seed.”
Drako comes inside of me, keeping me firmly in place as he fills me up.
I pant and gasp and moan and come along with him. There’s no choice. I have to do what he wants, and what my own body wants. That traitorous flesh of mine is almost as much trouble as the brain who gets excited at the prospect of this kind of use.
We only just met, and I can feel the heat of his cum in my bare pussy. This is not a romantic thing. There is no pretense of love. This is a breeding and a using, pure and simple.
“Very good girl. I don’t think you’re going to be that hard to train after all,” the stranger who just filled my pussy up says. “You weren’t handled properly in that soft, decadent society you come from. But I know how to deal with you.”
He pulls out of my pussy, collects some of his seed and my arousal on two fingers, and grips the back of my neck with his other hand, while offering those fingers to my mouth.
“Clean them,” he says simply.
I shake my head.
“I like it when you resist,” he smirks dangerously. “Now, open your mouth, or I’m going to fuck it with my cock. This is the easy version.”
I obey him, because I do not want the consequence he is naming. I part my lips a little, and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I taste myself, a little. But mostly, I taste him. I have never tasted a man’s cum before. I’ve never let anyone do anything this crude.
“Good,” he says. “Now you know the taste of your bond to me. Now you understand.”
He stands back and looks at me up and down.
“You are going to need more appropriate clothing,” he says.
“Not black and red, though. You don’t have the temperament for that.
Something blue, like those pretty, watery eyes.
Something pastel. A little skirt easily raised for use.
But you need leggings in this environment, and warmth.
So you can keep that uniform. It’s a good reminder where you came from. ”
It’s a good reminder that I am from the ship. Why does he care about that?
Wait.
I hadn’t put two and two together yet.
“Why did we crash?”
He looks at me, and a slow smile spreads over his face.
“Well, dear. When a vessel doesn’t have shielding, and it slides through our territory like it owns the place, sometimes we take it down. Now, to be fair, most vessels are more resilient. I am not sure what yours was made of. Cardboard, perhaps, given the way the front fell off.”
“You killed nearly a thousand people.”
“Sweet thing, I have killed ten times that a hundred times over.”
I am not the greatest at math, but that is a lot of zeroes.
“You’re a monster,” I say, my pussy still throbbing from the ravaging he gave me, and leaking his seed.
“Yes. Probably,” he replies, sounding almost bored of the notion. “But it is less important what I am, and far more important what you are.”
“What am I?”
Drako looks down at me with gleaming eyes, a gaze lit with triumph. “You’re a captive,” he says. “And that means you’ve no rights besides those I choose to give you, and I choose to give you none.”
I’m going to fucking kill him.
The glow of the orgasm has well and truly faded, and all that is left behind is loathing for someone who believes he can actually hold me captive.
Me.
Who never submits, never gives in. Me, the daughter of a founder. Me. The one who fled to the country and then to the stars to avoid this precise captivity?
“Come,” he says. “And stay at my feet at all times. If you are more than three paces from me, you will be beaten.”
He does not ask me my opinion on that order, and I do not give it because I am looking to escape, not to be thrashed.
As Drako and I leave the medicine shanty, he is accosted by one of his many underlings, a man with a scruffy beard and what looks like a healed axe wound in the middle of his face.
“We finished combing the crash site. We thought we’d have prisoners to execute, Jarl. But we’ve got nothing besides that scrap of a girl. Hardly a worthy sacrifice.”
“Collect the bodies, put them on a pyre, and burn them,” Drako orders. “Send their souls to whatever weak hell they deserve. We’ll feast and celebrate our victory. Another territory spared their wicked expansion.”
A cheer goes up from those nearby, and hasty preparations are made for what is obviously going to be a victory feast combined with what I can only describe as a sacrifice, because that’s what they called it.
I try not to think of the people I know who are going to end up on that fire.
I try especially hard not to think of Thor, who was brave, strong, and who deserved a better end.
They all did. The man who took me is the worst kind of demon.
We had no intention of starting a fight, but they didn’t care.
There was an opportunity for a shot and they took it.
It’s so unsettling to be the only one left out of a crew of a thousand. I feel a sense of solitude that I never experienced before, not even when I was alone for dozens of miles when tending my herds.
I traipse around at Drako’s heels, thoroughly exhausted. I just want to sit down. I try to keep up with him, but he has long legs and he moves quickly.
“What did I tell you would happen if you did not keep pace with me?”
“You’re going to beat me,” I yawn.
I half-expect him to lose his mind. I haven’t been the captive of a Vikar jarl before, but I have annoyed people in authority before, and generally speaking yawning when someone is threatening you is treated as an act of disrespect.
Instead of whipping my ass again, he gives me a hard look and comes to a decision. He wraps an arm around my waist and picks me up, putting me over his shoulder.
I am carried around like that for a few more stops, kept in close proximity by his strong arm and his even stronger back.
It’s not the most comfortable situation, but it’s better than walking.
I start to get lulled into a half-sleep somewhere in the midst of everything, though I wake up every minute or so to overhear some more heinous talk and general celebration about the destruction of our vessel and crew.
“Are you going to sacrifice that one? Blood must be spilled,” someone says.
“We’ve spilled the blood of plenty,” Jarl Drako says. “This one I am keeping for myself as a breeding mate.”
“You’re going to mix the bloodlines?”
“I am,” he says. “There’s no rule that says we can’t. And even if there was, I would not follow it. No man tells me who I can take for my mate.”
“I understand, Jarl,” the interlocutor says with a placating tone. “I just wondered, given you have turned down so many female suitors over the years, why this scrap of soft humanity has earned the honor of your seed?”
“It’s none of your fucking business, Rakir,” Drako says.
I don’t get to hear why I am more special to him than all the other ladies he rejected, but I already know I’m not.
He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t love me. I am a trophy.
The living embodiment of all the death he has recently inflicted.
He’s keeping me like some barbarians keep an ear, or a finger. It’s gross. He’s gross.
As the day begins to wane, and preparations for a grisly feast are almost finished, a long table is set up in a semi-circle sort of arrangement.
It is big enough to allow several hundred people to eat at it.
In the center of the circle, at enough of a distance that the smell isn’t immediately off-putting to the diners, the bodies of the crew of my ship are being stacked alongside dried wood.
I cannot bear to watch. I close my eyes, turn my head, and I think of literally anything other than this moment I am in.
My father’s face swims before my eyes. I just fell in the river, and he dived in and pulled me out. I am coughing and spluttering and crying with terror from the experience of being swept away by the current, unable to fight it.
“You’re brave,” he’s telling me. “Sometimes, things happen that you can’t help right away. When that happens, you let the current take you to the side, understand? Swimming against the river will only tire you out.”
That advice applies as well now as it did then.
I can’t fight right now. I can fantasize about grabbing a weapon from one of the warriors and attacking these people, trying to avenge the crew, but even if I were to kill a few of them, I know they would bring me down in short order, and I also know that they would probably not give me the honor of a kind death.
I am carried to the head of the table, but of course I am not accorded a place there. The seats are for Vikar only, not human prisoners of a war they never agreed to engage in.