Master of the Galaxy (3 page)

I said nothing because I knew it was not my
place to, but I felt an expectant thrill at this, a quiver of
readiness, an excited flutter stirring inside. I was humbled by his
confidence, by his faith in me.

He had me rise and then he lightly stroked
my cheek, my body instantly aflame at his touch, my eyes liquid,
glowing with desire and anticipation, my heart pounding at his
nearness. He always seemed to have this effect on me. I do not know
why.

He gathered my hair in his hands and without
warning, he lowered his head to mine, tasted my lips and then
parted them with his tongue, gently at first and then with more
hunger, until I was drowning in his heat and desire, driven mad by
his greedy possession of me, his voracious pillaging of my mouth, a
fever burning inside me that I felt could never be
extinguished.

If you have not guessed yet, since
Jiikorians have no need for sexual activity, it was my first kiss
and the pure, unadulterated power, heat, wetness, and animalness of
it raced through me like a torrent of fire. I whimpered into his
mouth, galvanized by passion and craving, his ravishment so
overwhelming, so absolute, it was as if I was consumed in a blazing
tempest of lust.

When he stepped away from me, I was panting,
my eyes closed, my breasts heaving, having never known such a
complete primordial awakening. I felt him fasten the cuffs around
my wrists, familiar, comforting now. This time, however, he
stretched them over my head and began to attach them to a single
ring which hung low from the ceiling.

I opened my eyes, still effulgent, still
dazed from his kiss, but panic began to arise in me as he ratcheted
my wrists higher, stretching my body up, pushing my breasts out. I
struggled a little, feeling more and more defenseless, this new
position unfamiliar, completely at his mercy. He met my eyes; they
seemed to smolder with arousal and then they softened, he gave me a
small smile and kissed my forehead and I relaxed a little with this
gesture. I believed I could do this if he thought that I could but
it would be untrue to say that I was not apprehensive.

He walked toward the pegs on the wall where
he kept the contrivances that he prized so greatly. He came up
behind me and the first stroke landed across my buttocks. I
immediately recognized it as His flogger. But the lash was harder
than any he had previously given to me and I winced against the
sting. I knew it would leave welts.

Another came and another and soon he was
lashing my buttocks and thighs, leaving angry red marks, before he
moved up to my back, swinging his tool in an intricate dance as he
marked me in an exquisite criss-cross pattern while I struggled not
to move away from his reach, trying not to cry out. I had nothing
to rest against, I turned slightly from side to side, it was hard
to be still, in the center of the room, having little balance, my
arms strung high above my head.

He stopped and I slumped in my restraints,
knowing he was not done. He had many other implements, but he was
to choose only one more to use on me this time. He seemed to always
know my limits, even if they were beyond what I thought they
were.

I felt him sift through my hair and then he
wrapped his fingers around my throat and forced my head against his
strong, muscular chest. I leaned into him, my breathing stuttered,
acutely conscious of his careful, but steady pressure, around my
windpipe.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured against my
ear.

I felt a gush of wetness slide out again at
his words. I felt I must be a river now, the floor running slick
with the helpless evidence of my arousal.

“This next one will hurt, it will cause you
pain, do you understand?”

I could not find my voice, but nodded
mutely, as much as I could given his grip around my neck.

“It will please me to give this to you,” he
said. “Will you accept it?”

I did not know exactly what it was I was
supposed to accept, but it did not matter. I managed to croak,
“Yes,” and I meant it.

He released my throat, tilted my head to the
side and kissed my neck, his lips lingering against my skin. He
stepped behind me and I heard him pick up a different implement.
And then, for the first time, I felt the cruel caress of his whip.
He stood back from me, I do not know how far, but I could tell he
was much experienced with it, each stroke landing precisely where
he pleased it to. If the other implements were like fire on my
skin, this was an inferno, the pain dancing over my back, buttocks
and thighs like white-hot bursts of living embers.

I tried to turn away from his mastery, so
intense was it, but as I twisted away, it would catch around my
sides or my belly sometimes wrapping around my breast, flicking
onto a nipple. I shrieked and cried out. I could not help it. He
moved in front of me and I could not look at him as he continued
his deliberate, methodical almost graceful strokes, this time
lashing my breasts intentionally, striping my belly, the front of
my thighs, while I mewled and whimpered and cried, trying not to
beg him to stop. And then one stroke landed hard and calculated
across the front of the patch of soft hair above my thighs and I
screamed with agony.

I did not realize he had tossed aside the
whip and moved into me until a moment later, so consumed with pain
I was, tears falling from my eyes. He knelt before me which, even
in the recesses of my pain-dulled mind I thought was strange, but
then my wits worked no longer as I felt his tongue lap gently where
he had just laid his lash, where some part of my anatomy, a tiny
bud buried within soft folds of pink, was hardened, engorged with
blood, throbbing and aching.

And I needed only one soothing touch and I
exploded, screaming and lost, immersed in the most intense,
unendurable sensation so far beyond belief, I cannot even describe
it to this day. I knew not where I was or who I was, only that I
shook as the foundations of my body were rocked from their very
core, pleasure soaking me, drenching me, dragging me under a
merciless current, as I spun, spiraled and whirled caught up in a
hurricane of bliss, torrents of euphoria coursing through me until
I thought I had fallen unconscious from the intensity.

But he did not stop my torture then, as he
continued tasting, nibbling, licking and sucking at my button,
drinking the release from my core and then returning to tease
another gush from me mercilessly, completely without remorse, as he
dragged another and then another climax from me as I screamed and
screamed again until I finally broke down and cried and pleaded
with him, begging him to stop the pleasure.

He finally kissed my aching nub and rose,
smiling as he ran his hands over my breasts and belly, soothing my
inflamed skin, whispering his approval of me, even while I hung
from my restraints, drenched, drained, faint.

And then dimly I became aware of something
so inconceivable, so extraordinary, so incomprehensible, I was
bewildered, stunned, riveted by this new perception. I had thought
I could not experience anything further with Him, but I was wrong,
so shamefully, utterly, morally wrong. It was the sensation of
being filled, of being pleasured inside, and not just my skin, but
something that swallowed me so fully it blotted out my thoughts,
eclipsed my reality, gave me entirely over to a new delirious
hedonism. I felt his shaft, soft silk over hard iron, caress inner
walls I did not know I had, and then power as he began to drive
into me deeply, fiercely, almost viciously and my body bounced and
battered under his stroke and I cried out brokenly. It was like
nothing else I have ever experienced.

He lifted me from the floor then, taking the
pressure from my wrists and I wrapped my legs around his waist as
he held me in aloft easily in his strong arms. I felt connected to
Him, as if he was literally a part of me, more than his
affectionate words, his sensual touches, and now I understand, of
course, that in fact he was.

Each piston of his cock, each pounding of my
gripping, pulsating orifice, each plunge into my wet friction was
like a flood of bliss, of rapture, a flurry of turbulence and I was
drowning in his dominance, freed by his control, longing and hunger
flowing through me like a blizzard of fire. I was inundated,
overcome with delight, my body thrumming with desire, my hair in
tight, damp ringlets, perspiration gleaming on my skin like a sheen
of oil. I felt the slickness of his chest as well, the sweat of his
exertion, heard the grunts of his pleasure and I could feel his
delight in me.

I have little remembrance of him unsnapping
my wrist cuffs, but my hands suddenly fell around his neck and I
shuddered at the pain as the blood rushed back into my arms. He
carried me to my bed and withdrew his huge organ, leaving me
gasping with shock. I tightened my hold around his neck, desperate
this time, willing at this point, to risk his ire, his retribution,
anything if he would only not abandon me. I may have babbled this
to Him. It is entirely possible although I would not recall if I
had.

He looked at me and said, “I’m not finished
with you yet,” with a growl in his voice.

He flipped me over onto my stomach and
jerked my arms to the head of the bed, pulling my body up with
them, as he locked my wrists to an attachment in the frame leaving
me prone.

I remember then his hands running reverently
over my back, caressing my buttocks, tracing the lines he had
inscribed with his whip. I know he spoke softly to me and I believe
he may have whispered something of praise or appreciation, but my
beautiful, intelligent mind was floating so far distant in a corner
of the universe of my essence I could not focus on the words he
said, only their tone.

Then, much to my tremendous relief, he
entered me again from behind. He continued to take me aggressively,
fervently, almost brutally, as if he could not get enough of me. I
could feel his body above mine, his muscles taut and defined, his
breathing fueled by passion and desire and I could feel his lust
crashing over me in waves. He plunged into me, filling my warm,
tight tunnel with the enormity of his hot, rugged, pulsing rod, a
breathless tempo, unappeasable, and again something within me began
to swell, an inflating balloon of delight, overtaking me, gusting,
speeding me to a pinnacle and I did not try in the least to fight
it.

“No,” he said harshly. “Not now.”

I gasped, astonished, I understood, but
could not believe it. I was not to be permitted the explosion I had
experienced earlier. If I had thought anything unendurable before
this moment – the blows of his whip, his unrelenting stimulation of
me, the unimaginable pleasure of release – this was far, far worse.
He pulled me to him hard by my hips, thrusting powerfully into my
blazing sleeve and yet permitted me no liberation, no release of
the intense, consuming pressure, continuing to stimulate me, over
and over, pounding into a spot deep within me, until I finally did
not think I could hold back the tide of bliss that threatened to
engulf me. I began to quake, the sensations excruciating, wresting
my climax from me and then I heard his voice, intractable, cold,
unforgiving.

“Not. Now.”

His words themselves were far more ruthless
than any lash, far coarser, fiercer, more severe. I had no choice
but to obey Him, the unspoken consequences too terrible to
consider. But oh how difficult it was, you have no idea.

He sped up his possession of me then, a
ravenous, bestial, demanding, driving that only made me nearly
hysterical with my need for him. As I wavered on the brink between
release and pressure, hanging only by a sliver of control, I began
to think I had truly died, only to be resurrected, and then made to
die again until finally I felt the struggle turn to pain and an
unbearable pressure even greater than the last and I nearly
collapsed, my body wracked with silent sobs, slowly slipping from
awareness.

I felt him shudder above me, felt a rush of
ecstasy pour from his body and then he commanded, “Come for me,”
and I surrendered, my climax ripping through my body like a torrent
of fire, racing, rolling, speeding through my soul, splintering me
apart, streaming, gushing, pouring through my mind and body,
screaming soundlessly, until I knew nothing.

Nothing but Him.

Sometimes, He would come to me and ask my
advice about a particular matter in the galaxy. It was usually a
political or military incident, but it might be a source of unrest
in which he would never say exactly how or why he was involved. We
would discuss these and other subjects over a glass of pluit,
sometimes outside under a flowering tree, endlessly debating and
laughing like a silly couple. He had a beautiful planet and there
were many places to sit and talk.

He always listened respectfully to my
opinions, at least on topics such as these, and challenged me on a
number of occasions. No one had ever challenged my expertise. I was
a Jiikorian, my logic flawless, my approach perfection, my
intellect unmatched. I was of the purest bloodline. We were born
brilliant and honed this genius through careful study and
nurturing.

But I found he knew things I did not, he had
vast experience in both the charted and uncharted portions of the
galaxy, and he did not always agree with me. He confronted me,
openly disputed my assumptions, pointed out flaws in my reasoning
and flaws they were. I gained insight from Him I had not gleaned
even in my many decades of study on nine different planets. He
stimulated me, pushed me, compelled me to grow in ways in which I
never thought were possible.

And then he would turn those dark eyes on me
and the way he looked at me would make me forget who or what I was.
In fact, it did not matter then who or what I was, as long as I
could please him, serve him, be a willing vessel for his needs, his
pleasure, his use. I cannot say that I did not also derive pleasure
from his attentions, no matter how severe, although I do not think
that was always the point.