The Freeman's Captive [Two Moons #2]
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by Chelsea Shepard
Category: Erotica/Erotic Science Fiction/Science Fiction
Description: Sexy B&D Scifi Set On Far Worlds! Back home on earth, Megan's sexlife was boring. That was before she was kidnapped into space and learned to love submission under the tutelage of Khiru, the fierce Rhysh Master. But, in Book 2 of the bestselling "Two Moons" saga, Megan is about to find ropes less appealing when she is kidnapped by a rebellious outlaw. Kidnapped and held hostage by a determined and dangerous freeman, she slowly learns to love, Megan must fight ruthless adversaries as well as the conflicting feelings in her own heart. At a time when she needs strength and resilience, will her love for Khiru, the fierce Rhysh Master, be help or hindrance? In The Freeman's Captive: Two Moons 2, the second novel of her intergalactic adventures, Megan finds herself in a battle she didn't choose, one in which the outcome will forever change her life. Cover illustration by Paul Sampang.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: April 2008
17 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [358 KB]
Reading time: 222-311 min.
It must have been close to midnight. Hanging in the sky like a Chinese lantern, Plya's white globe brought light into the Khyrian night, its blurry reflection shimmering on the ocean's surface. Under the full moon, the planet was asleep, lulled by waves gently rippling the sand like countless caresses.
Staring at this peaceful nocturnal scene, I remained silent and still, though not by choice. I was spread and chained between two tropical trees, my neck wrapped in a lilk corset that made even nodding impossible. Lilk restraints encased my wrists, shoulders, ankles and hips, all connected to the trunks and branches on both sides and above me. A waist belt, buckled tightly and linked to the trees, completed the harness.
As an elegant touch, Khiru had adorned my feet with high heels, but the spikes, absorbed by the sand, offered no support at all. The extreme stretching of my limbs compensated, keeping me perfectly balanced and immobile. As for being quiet, the neck corset was high enough to cover my lips, and Khiru had reinforced its efficiency with a wad of cotton inside my mouth. Singing under the moonlight was not allowed.
At least he hadn't blindfolded me, and I could enjoy the view.
Plya was my favorite moon. An old Khyrian legend had elected it to be the female satellite; it was therefore my protector and muse. When it was full, Plya also bore a long, white mark--a salt lake, I was told--that looked like a benevolent smile on her face. This, somehow, brought me comfort.
That night, Plya's lunar male companion, Mhô, was behind me on the other side of the sky. When Khiru had brought me outside earlier in the evening, I had observed Mhô's crescent grazing the roof of our cabin. In comparison to Plya's luminous globe, his thin quarter looked very humble, almost nonexistent. I imagined Khyra's male moon spying on his mate, awaiting the proper moment to join her.
In the manner of millions of Khyrians before me, I liked to create allegories based on the moons. They were so omnipresent, so unavoidable. How could you not turn to them for entertainment or support, cast them as characters in the destiny of the planet, or your own? Especially when you had nothing else to do.
Like Plya, I was waiting for my partner to join me, although I knew Khiru might have other intentions, like leaving me to hang alone all night.
Such solitary confinement was not new, but the situation gained intensity every time we played. On the Noncha, the starship that had brought us to Khyra from Earth, Khiru had started with bondage sessions that lasted for a couple of hours. After eight months on the planet, we were up to half a day, not counting a long preparation time. Sometimes he would leave me "entertained" with a vibrator, powered clips, or mental teasing programs monitored by a brain controller. Other times, his carefully planned bondage was my sole distraction.
Either way, my torment would start peacefully. I'd long stopped fighting the bonds, as pulling on them often made things worse. Once Khiru was gone, I tested the overall severity of my restraint, then forced my body to relax. When no buzzing, pinching or burning interfered with my yoga-like meditation, I would occasionally drift off to sleep. However, I suspected Khiru knew when to permit it. More frequently, my position was too strenuous to allow such laisser-aller. Then, I inevitably became restless and irritated. I longed for action, anything to stop the edginess rising inside me.
But there were sessions when action was amply provided. Prolonged sucking on my nipples, tiny shocks all over my flesh (with particular emphasis on the most tender spots), grinding vibrators inside my rectum, my vagina, or both. Because of the disastrous whipping scene I had provoked on the spaceship and the psychosis I had developed in relation to any kind of pain, Khiru was careful to select torture implements that never truly hurt. To compensate for his clemency, he would keep them going forever, with only one goal in sight: driving me crazy with lust. Khiru always reached his goal, and I would always succumb to bouts of infuriating madness.
Whether I was frantic from too much calm or too much action, I would swear it was the last time. I would talk to him. I couldn't waste my life like this, trapped in lilk or resina, chained or wrapped in sticky tape, my ears plugged, my eyes blinded, my mouth gagged, and my brain exploding with boredom and/or sexual madness. At this stage, tears or furious groans were frequent. Yet they were useless. Khiru never took mercy on me; I would have to endure his predicament until he decided otherwise.
After a frenzied stage that bordered on hysteria, I would reach a hormonal high where I disconnected from my bondage and floated in a world of hot dreams and scary fantasies. That was usually the moment when Khiru would return. At first, his touch was unreal, as if it belonged to my visions; when I recognized it, I welcomed it with rapture. Khiru would slowly bring me to climax. The myriad sensations, escalating in intensity, would leave me stunned with pleasure and gratitude. I couldn't wait to do it again.
My current predicament wasn't really a surprise. During the last few days, Khiru had been with me at all times, so I was due for a solitary scene. But I had never been left in bondage outside, where the sea, the trees, and the wind created a creepy atmosphere. I didn't think I could endure this all night, and wished upon Plya, my only friend in the dark, that Khiru would soon rescue me.
After all, he was officially responsible for me. Should anything bad happen, he would have to report to no less than the Global Council. Such was my importance on Khyra. When the wise men who run the pacified Global Zone realized my Earthling genes were their fastest route to restored Khyrian fertility, they imposed a strict quarantine and gave Khiru the responsibility of implementing it. Although the arrangement proved feasible and hardly as annoying as I'd feared, I reacted poorly at the time it was pronounced. My first day on Khyra wasn't the glorious advent of which I had dreamed.
Before reaching the planet, one of the officers on the Noncha, Nur, had confirmed that I would enjoy complete independence on Khyra. Nobody would bother me with public appearances, and I would be spared common duties and work. Pursuing a Khyrian education was, however, high on my list of priorities, as their advanced civilization would give me enough to explore and learn for the next five years. The idea of diving headfirst into a new society was daunting, but Khiru's presence by my side would be a great help.
Ironically, I first had to fight for the right to move in with the man who was later to become my de-facto warden. Nur argued it was too early to settle on one man, especially a Rhysh Master prone to possessiveness and stringent rules. Although lifelong commitment was an absolute goal, Khyrians frowned on the idea of exclusivity too early, preferring extensive trials and inevitable errors. However, Nur finally acknowledged I was entitled to live with the person I loved. I went through the last weeks of the year-long trip with a serene, if somewhat passionate, heart. The green planet, growing bigger every day, seemed more and more inviting.
My arrival was not as smooth as expected. On my first day on Khyra, the official reception at the Space Center ended in a petty confrontation between the Global Council, scientists, Khiru and me. Nur's promise of complete freedom was shattered when Council officers decided I should be kept under high surveillance for safety reason. Basically, they planned to enshrine me in a velvet cage with bodyguards attending my every need and escorting me everywhere. This was unacceptable.
"What could possibly happen to me?" I asked. "Who would harm the one person who can save your race?"
"We can't take any chances," said a tough-looking bald guy. "You're the first alien to set foot on Khyra. Who knows what kind of madness, collective or individual, it could generate?"
"Come on, you're more evolved than that," I replied, averting my eyes from the man's hairless head where the absence of ears was all the more striking. Even after a year, that particular Khyrian feature never ceased to amaze me. "I expect people to be curious, perhaps edgy in my presence, but it's not like I'm some mutant monster from outer space!"
Nobody laughed; Khiru barely smiled. Before he could add his two cents to the debate, another Council officer, a blond giant whose gaze made me feel like a troublesome dwarf, took the floor.
"You're right, Megan," he said. "I don't expect hysterics either. Khyrians have known about Earth for years, and everyone saw the holo-films sent by the Noncha. You're hardly a novelty anymore."
"Say that to the freemen," someone sneered.
"However," the officer continued, raising his voice to cover the unwelcome comment, "you are very precious to us. Thanks to your fresh DNA, we can advance our fertility program dozens of years. You are much more useful than all the samples we brought back from Earth. We simply can't lose you, or have you sick or wounded."
"I promise I'll be careful when I cross the street."
"I'm serious, Megan," the blond officer said. "You've already gotten into trouble on the ship."
There were assenting murmurs, and I bit my lip. Of course, he was referring to the whipping accident with Lodel, which had left me in a coma for two days. I couldn't deny I had behaved stupidly, if not dangerously. But at the time, my strategy had made some sense.
After one passionate night at the beginning of the trip, a night that would forever seal my passion for Khiru, the proud, dark-haired officer had seemed to lose interest in me. Aware of my turmoil and confusion, my new Khyrian friends offered contradicting theories. Naari, who had known him since college, explained that Khiru's heart had once been badly broken, and he was reluctant to fall in love again. Myhre argued that, as a Rhysh Master, Khiru required a level of submission and intensity of bondage play that I probably couldn't handle. In the end, I became convinced that if I could show Khiru I was as tough as the next slave, I would revive his interest and ultimately find a way into his heart. Hence my idea of a public whipping scene that I lured him into attending.
In short, the foolish plot of a besotted woman.
"The incident on the Noncha was my mistake," I told the Council. "I practically blackmailed Lodel into it. I only wanted to make a good impression."
Khiru smiled encouragingly. In a way, I had gotten what I wanted, although the price was higher than I expected. The drama was poised to haunt me forever.
Lodel, the eccentric exhibitionist who agreed to whip me for a few minutes of glory, was willing but inexperienced. He hit poorly, drawing blood without realizing the inflicted pain didn't yield any rewarding pleasure. Lodel had promised not to stop until I reached orgasm. I was so determined to succeed, I didn't want him to fail me because I whined a little too much. The audience, unaware of my plight, was enthralled, mesmerized by the performance. Only Khiru sensed the absurd drama developing on stage. His anger and pride got in the way of his best instincts, until he, too, finally surrendered. I had already fainted under the lashes when he climbed on stage and rescued me from Lodel's amateur hands. Two days later, Khiru confessed his love to me, and all was well. I had won.
But victory had its price. Since the accident, I had been terrified of pain, even the good kind. The sight of any whipping instrument provoked unbearable nausea. Khiru, who dearly regretted not stopping Lodel more quickly, had been patient and indulging, finding alternative ways to ecstasy. It was hard to tell whether he resented my fears or not. My guess was he did, but he hid his feelings under the sweet coating of love. As did I, although I couldn't fool myself. It was a terrible punishment for someone who'd dreamed of masochism her whole life, to rein back the first man who matched her desires.
"Well, we must avoid a repeat," said the bald Council man. "I'm afraid we can't have you messing around with S/N games when we need you available for scientific experiments."
"What exactly will you demand from her?" Khiru jumped in.
"She will need to donate fresh cells regularly," a scientist answered. "Probably once a month, in four different genetic centers, as we want to use various methods to widen our chances. One is in Mhoakarta; the others are half a day away. The procedure will be harmless, but the process will be time-consuming. And we can't afford any delays, or omissions."
"I can take care of that," Khiru said. "Megan will live with me, and I'll hold myself responsible for her. I'll organize her life in a way that doesn't jeopardize her health or safety. She will submit to my rules, and only enjoy the freedom I'm willing to grant her. Would that satisfy you?"
The Council members and scientists debated whether Khiru, who was both a Rhysh Master and a respected space officer, could be trusted as my jailor. An older woman wearing a brown lilk bracelet with the Rhysh initial argued that Khiru could not impose full submission on me because I was too inexperienced and could be easily misled. I remembered Nur had made a similar comment on the ship. Khyrians were extremely wary of non-consensual mistreatment. As expected, Khiru readily agreed to moderate discipline, promising to confine our Southie/Northie relationship to the bedroom.
Nobody asked to hear my opinion on the matter.
"There's another problem," said the tall blond man. "We want Megan's whereabouts to remain as secret as possible."
"I was told our address would be private," Khiru said.
"Yes, but there's the matter of public appearances and, er, outdoor activities. They should be restricted to a minimum."
"You can't keep me locked in the house!" I protested, breaking a much-too-long silence.
Khiru motioned for me to stay calm.
"The goal is for her to pass unnoticed," he said. "Her long hair keeps her external ears hidden, but she can wear a hat or a headband to conceal them completely. Her waist and breasts won't show underneath her clothes. And once tanned, her skin will look perfectly normal."
"What about her eyes?" the bald man asked. "They're so round. They don't look Khyrian."
"There are races in the North who have big eyes like hers," the Rhysh woman said. "She will look foreign, but not necessarily alien."
"Also, don't forget, no one's ever seen her face," said the scientist.
A global assent responded to him.
"Morphing her features in every film was a smart move," said the woman. "Wasn't it your idea, Khiru?"
Khiru nodded with false modesty.
Finally, the Council accepted Khiru's proposal to guarantee my safety, keep me incognito, and respect my independence within acceptable limits. They handed me over to him officially until the experiments were completed, which could take a year or more. In the course of an hour, my status on Khyra shifted from honored representative to lab rabbit.
I was of two minds about Khiru's idea. I didn't like being dependent on him, but living under his supervision was better than a custody house. He would probably enjoy plotting schemes to hide my body from public eyes, but he wasn't allowed to turn me into a full-time slave. All in all, it was a good deal.
With my freedom restricted, my life on Khyra wasn't what I had expected, but Khiru made the safety measures entertaining and even thrilling as a natural pretext for bondage and dress-up games.
There was basically one rule I couldn't break: leaving the house on my own. When Khiru took me to a densely public place like a tavern or a theatre, he covered my head with a hood, with or without a gag. A purple bondage hood had been Khiru's first present. Laced tightly in the back of my head, the soft resina, the Khyrian sap that offered extraordinary elasticity, covered my eyes, cheeks and, most importantly, my ears like a second skin. The mask came with an interesting range of options: in front of my eyes, two tiny holes gave me limited vision. Its rubber-like texture was permeable, allowing sweat to evaporate.
Once I got used to the firm wrapping around half my head, I adopted the hood as an essential item, much like shoes or the mediapin I wore on my chest when we were out.
As for the revealing curves of my body--the waist and breasts Khyrian women had lost with their fertility because of genetic mistreatment--he simply covered them with body suits and added chains, belts and other gadgets to hide my hourglass figure.
It was erotic wear in reverse. Usually Northies emphasized the feminine attributes of their partners. With me, Khiru used the opposite technique. The first time, I was afraid somebody would notice the uniqueness of my outfit, but camouflage was actually very popular amongst S/N players. It preserved the anonymity of a relationship, or created a spectacular surprise at a party when the covered person removed his or her clothes. When toys were hidden by the costume, it made it easier for shy Southies to be adorned with erotic jewelry, massaging body gel and dildos.
Khiru exploited the last advantage repeatedly. I've taken many naked walks with clamps chained to a vibrator, all concealed under a black cloak that billowed down to my oft-cuffed ankles.
Things were smoother when we met trustworthy people. Khiru didn't have to conceal my identity in the presence of his family, close friends, officials, or even the local shop owners who knew our secret.
In our travels--a favorite pastime--Khiru rented cabins in isolated locations and let me use a simple hat to cover my ears whenever we joined the crowds. In touristy places, people paid less attention to extraordinary looks, and I could easily pass for a woman belonging to a minority race.
A new sound broke into the tropical night, interrupting my memories. My well-trained ears perceived the flapping of the wings before my eyes caught sight of the pelican-like bird flying across the shore, an impressive shadow cutting through Plya's moonlight. My hearing had become very sharp lately. Prolonged sessions in bondage had led me to pay more attention to noises that were often my sole link to the world.
The presence of a living creature in my surroundings revived my apprehension. I pulled on my arms and fidgeted in the sand, but achieved nothing more than increased nervousness. A bird was harmless, but what if another animal showed up? A poisonous reptile or a deadly meat-eater? Despite the sea breeze, I began to sweat, my sex way ahead of my brow in terms of moisture. I attempted a cry, knowing that the pathetic, muffled sound I produced wouldn't serve any purpose, except inform Khiru that his evil scheme was working satisfactorily. I jerked on my bonds again. I couldn't think of anything but my naked body exposed to the dangers of nature. Fear crept up my spine as I strained my neck to look down and sideways. But the corset gave no slack, so any attacker would approach unseen.
I focused on the sounds. The bird had disappeared, leaving me acutely aware of the wind whistling in the leaves, the waves crashing on the shore, and bugs fluttering here and there. The night was full of murmurs. As I tried to distinguish them, I forgot my fears and calmed down.
Plya was still smiling on me. When it hung in the sky by itself like tonight, I could almost pretend I was on Earth. Stars probably looked different, but I had never paid close attention to constellations. More importantly, the sky was dark, as my instincts would have it, and that put my mind at rest.
When I set foot on Khyra's soil after the bleak reception at the Space Center, I was brutally confronted by a mid-day olive green sky. The color sent wrong signals to my brain, and, losing my balance, I had to lean on Khiru for support.
Vazgor Park, the artificial garden on the spacecraft, should have prepared me for this, but I had always dismissed the fake mint sky on the Noncha as a glitch, my mind stubbornly refusing to accept it as an evocation of the real thing.
But once I walked on new terra firma, there it was, daring me with its insolent jealous shade, refusing to turn blue. At dawn, promising peach tones would soon give way to a confusing aquamarine that turned stronger and greener with every passing hour. On cloudy days, watery green patches broke the reassuring whites and grays. When the sandy-gold sun shone high and bright, the sky would boast a glorious lime intensity. At sunset, the ripe-olive shade would be broken by deep coral streaks. It was beautiful, but unnatural. It looked and felt like pollution, or a chemical drama heralding the end of the world. For days, I avoided looking above people's heads.
Gradually I learned to love Khyra's sky and its myriad greens, the intensity the color gives to the oceans and rivers, which merge beautifully amongst meadows and trees. There are fourteen words for "green" in Khyrian.
Once my eyes were familiarized to a sky of a different tint, my acclimation became much easier. Oh, Khyra was a whole new world, but it was no more unusual to me than Africa would seem to a European. Different housing, different fauna, different clothes: those variations were easy to accept as regional peculiarities. Mhoakarta, with its thousands of white cubic houses spread over a gigantic green carpet (parks, gardens, strips of grass between sidewalks) was as exotic to me as it was to an inhabitant of Brega, a city in the north that Khiru and I visited for its famous art galleries. Brega was covered in snow all year long and single-story lodgings were built in grey stone, forming a network of tunnels across the white landscape. Before flying down closer, I had thought Khiru was taking me to a gas extraction plant.
Khyra was, however, resolutely alien. Many details, apparent or subtle, defied my instincts as an Earthling.
One of them was the absence of man-made noise.
Thanks to the use of silent technologies such as levitation for air transport or magnetism for escalators, Mhoakarta, like every other city in the G-Zone, was as peaceful as a country village on a Sunday night. Even in the early afternoon, when Khyrians left the workplace and spilled onto the streets, some of them hurrying to reach the closest underground or Lev-line station, others enjoying a sunny rest on the grass strips separating the sidewalks, it was easy to eavesdrop on conversations. You could also hear birds singing, raindrops splashing on the pavement, or a Lev-bus gently whooshing on take-off, a muffled sound you only noticed if you were standing on the platform.
Speaking of whooshing, an unexpected draft blew up between my legs, returning my thoughts back to my sandy situation. Where did that breeze come from? Just as I thought it was a whim of nature, a puff of cold air landed on my right nipple. The target was perfectly centered and made me suspicious. When my left nipple was teased in the same way, my doubts vanished; Khiru was playing with me. Was he hiding in the dark?
Unsure of how this would progress, I hesitated between anger and joy.
A long breath of air flirted with my labia, and a shockwave rippled up my body like a stroke of lightning in reverse. I knew where this was going to lead me and decided to fight it. The night was young. I might be out here until dawn, and I wasn't going to let Khiru torment me with unfulfilled desire for hours on end. He always said that his tricks worked on me because I allowed them to, because I wanted them to. If that was true, I could use the same willpower to resist. If I couldn't escape physically, I would escape mentally. Boys on Earth thought of baseball; I used similar exercises to curb my arousal.
While tiny needles of cold air pricked my breasts, I forced myself to revive more souvenirs of my first days on Khyra, smiling inwardly at the numerous shocks I'd overcome as I adjusted to the alien-ness of the planet.
One of them derived from the impressive ratio of men over women. My trip on the Noncha had done little to prepare me to the shock of being surrounded by such a multitude of males. After all, it was normal, though by no means fair, to find more men than women on a spacecraft.
The stories I'd heard about the genetic degeneration and consequent sterility of the Khyrian race gained much more impact when I was confronted with the reality of the species' number-one problem. Everywhere I visited on the planet, there were four men to one woman: not only in science labs or official administration buildings, but also in shops and beauty salons, in parks and farming grounds.
Slanted eyes, copper skins and a height difference of one or two heads enhanced the glaring sensation of being an intruder. During my first weeks on the planet, the presence of so many Khyrian men made me feel twice as alien, as both an Earthling and a woman.
Fortunately, Khyrians didn't abuse their supremacy. They respected women with the same urgency shown by animal lovers for endangered species. The few men I was allowed to meet were always perfect gentlemen, even though they often obeyed their particularly playful nature and gently teased me, the boldest of them daring Khiru's jealousy with minor flirting.
My fear of being overpowered by hordes of male giants subsided, only to be replaced by a warmth in my loins each time I was in public.
I wasn't very good at this arousal-curbing business. Thinking of a profusion of sexy men had the opposite effect. The wind blowing around and under my body was taking its toll. My nipples had grown hard and needy. With my legs, I pulled at the restraints anchored to the trees and tried to get closer to the source of teasing. Increased dampness between my thighs turned the wind even colder, which in turn created more spasms inside. The cotton gagging my mouth was drenched, but the neck corset held it firmly in place. My breathing accelerated.
How long was he going to leave me here?
As much as I'd learned to appreciate solitary confinement, I liked it better when Khiru played with me. When he entertained me, the scene was always more challenging, but his presence was a powerful aphrodisiac. I felt stronger and braver, not so prone to tears and despair. Alas, as the submissive element in a Southie/Northie couple, the decision was never mine.
Khiru took particular pleasure in complying with the obligations derived from the agreement with the Council. Keeping me away from the public satiated his need for an exclusive relationship with me. But my quarantine also created limits he was looking forward to breaching. He often teased me about how he would rather parade me naked than drape me in a black coat. He would have liked to participate in public scenes, organize our own play parties, and show me off to the world. But for the time being, he was happy to keep me as his secret, private toy because, he said, the delay gave me more time to adjust to my inevitable fate.
When he preached that way, I prayed the genetic experiments would last at least a decade. Between his real threats of public exposure and his underlying desire for more severe discipline, thinking about the future made me edgy.
Khiru insisted that obedience and patience were the first rules for Southies. He made it clear that he would train me relentlessly until even the thought of complaining would no longer occur to me. During the first weeks, complying with his rules was easy. In a world where I didn't know how to turn on the light or shop for bread, I needed his constant guidance and advice. But as I learned to cope with Khyrian ways, my rebellious nature took over.
Submission, I found, was a formidable challenge.
As both my genes and desires testified, I was a Southie by nature, a submissive woman who needed a dominant man to fulfill her, but I was also strong-minded and proud, inspired and occasionally hot-tempered. Come to think of it, there was nothing I resented more than being told what to do. Which was probably why it turned me on. The dichotomy of masochism was something I never quite understood.
Because I liked a good challenge, I resisted Khiru's decisions whenever I felt like it. Not often, but often enough. Khiru probably disapproved. He was not the kind of man who took no for an answer and, in his eyes, resistance was not a game. He was generally a good sport, though. He faked annoyance, punished me in a most pleasurable way, and moved on to other things.
Khiru was smart. He knew he could not claim my complete submission (yet) and had to respect my independence as ruled by the Council. But this moderation wouldn't last forever, and if I couldn't give him pain as a toy, I decided I must at least work on my obedience. Alas, in this case, willing it to happen was simply not enough.
Feeling worthy of Khiru was a recurrent problem. As a Rhysh Master, he was a professional in the art of bondage, discipline and pain for pleasure. I had long considered myself a poor match for a Northie who had taken his dominant traits to their limits, a man who had spent four years at the demanding Rhysh Academy for the sole purpose of turning his sexual heritage into a lifestyle.
Nevertheless, Khiru loved me and lived with me in spite of the contradictions he had to deal with. A skilled expert in the application of discipline, he knew I had become paranoid of any threat of pain. A graduated full-time Master, he couldn't rule my life as severely as his instincts urged him because of the Council's order.
Even though Khiru proved his love to me day and night, I couldn't get rid of the mixture of guilt and fear that he would reconsider his unspoken commitment to me. Making sure that day never happened was on top of my agenda. It was certainly worth a few hours writhing in sexual anguish.
But, by Plya, his hands, even at their naughtiest, would be such a treat compared to the elusive touch of the air.
Another unidentified noise caught my attention. It was close on my left, and sounded like a small animal scratching the sand. My heartbeat quickened while I listened more carefully. It was creeping closer. Without thinking, I pulled violently on my arms. The leaves rustled above me, but the chains held. I tried to lift my feet off the ground, but the sand kept a firm lock around them. Struck by panic, I struggled mightily in my bonds, determined to uproot the trees around me.
I froze when something soft and furry touched my ankle. I held my breath, afraid it would bite me if I moved. Brushing my leg with its paws, sniffing, the animal seemed to hesitate. When it moved away from me, my chest deflated like a balloon. At that very moment, a gush of cold air spurted under me, and a ball of fur on four legs ran next to my leg past my thigh, and gripped my waist belt. I screamed through the gag, and tried to shake the little devil off me. But the animal held on as if its life depended on it. I could feel its body quiver against my hip. The poor creature was as terrified as I was.
Fighting back murderous thoughts against Khiru, I controlled my breathing and regained some composure. I hoped that keeping still would appease whatever was clutching at my belt. Its fluffy tail was brushing against my pubis, and I bit hard on my gag until my jaw hurt. In the end, my patience was rewarded. The furry ball crawled back down my leg, jumped on the beach and scurried off in the night.
I had lost half the water inside me, in every possible fashion. My whole body felt sticky with sweat, and the chilly wind kept tormenting me.
I was tired, I was fed up, I was thirsty and, most of all, I was in need of my man's touch. I longed for Khiru like a castaway longs for a ship. But the ocean in front of me was empty. Even Plya smiled with sympathy.
Will you answer my prayers, Plya? I asked in silence. Did you witness my sacrifice in the temple today? I didn't die, I'll grant you that, but I fainted. Surely worth a wish or two? What paradise awaited the poor slaves who gave their lives on this spit of sand? Khiru had omitted to conclude the historical lecture he'd given me during his live and erotic rendition of a secular ritual.
Pichac Island, where Khiru and I were spending the week, had once been host to a brilliant civilization. Many temples and houses survived as a tourist attraction. Most visitors herded toward the better-preserved ruins, where mediaframes and animated holograms explained their historical meaning and use. Others were more adventurous and went to look for unattended ruins scattered in the woods and rocky plains.
Khiru had insisted on giving me the grand tour. Maximum safety was not required here, but he outfitted me with a funny red cap that looked like a hollow ball cut in half and flattened the top of my hair as well as my ears against my skull. It wasn't very flattering.
"This is a truly indigenous hat," Khiru said when I grumbled. "I want you to live the experience fully. Let's complete your costume."
He wrapped a short animal hide around my waist, buckled a heavy collar around my neck, and adorned my wrists and ankles with bracelets made of shells that clicked whenever I moved.
"Are you sure this is how women used to dress? Bare chest, bare feet, no underwear, and wearing a collar, not to mention a silly hat on their head?" I teased him.
"I never said you were top of the flock. These tribes had slaves, and you're one of them. The cap hiding your hair should make you feel humble. The collar represents ownership. And the noisy jewelry reminds you that you cannot hide, even in your sleep. Oh, I almost forgot one detail."
After fitting a backpack around his shoulders, he connected a leash to my collar and pulled gently.
"Off we go. Let's see how many old rocks we can find."
We wandered among wild plains and small hills for over an hour, then took shelter beneath a tree to have lunch, and resumed our walk. We saw few ruins and met no one. We mostly chatted happily, and I soon forgot my weird outfit. Finally, we came upon a more interesting site on top of a prominence: the remains of a temple, with enough walls and pillars standing straight to indicate what had once been six rooms surrounding a circle.
Along its border, two blocks suggested the presence of statues that had been broken or stolen. Between them rested an odd kind of table. It curved upward, like a tortoise shell, and was supported in its middle by a massive pillar. As Khiru and I approached the table, I noticed a multitude of eyelets screwed into it. They formed the shape of a body with its limbs spread out. They should have been rusty, but they shone brightly in the sunlight.
Without warning, Khiru scooped me up and laid me on the stone table.
"Hush," he said before I could complain. "Spread your arms."
Knowing when to keep silent, I obeyed and watched him pull out ropes from his backpack and lace them around my limbs. He tore the leather skirt off my waist and added more rope between my hips and my armpits, making sure my breasts protruded nicely between two very tight loops. Because of the inclination of the table, my sex stood out as the main point of interest.
"This is a sacrifice stone," Khiru explained. "Imagine the roll of drums, the chant of priests, and a masked sorcerer bending over your virgin body, painting it with sacred symbols, summoning the gods to welcome their offering. Then think of what he would do to you before he drove a knife into your heart."
I have a very good imagination and had no problem seeing the scene as Khiru described it. A recognizable heat radiated throughout my body. I thrashed convincingly.
"Oh, there's no escape. You're a slave. Your only value is a useful death.
"But as the shape of this table indicates," he added, "these people knew how to entertain their victims during their last moments. Let me demonstrate."
I had thought Khiru was just aiming for a bit of bondage thrill and would untie me after a few minutes of make believe. When he produced powered clips and a vibrator, I understood I was in for a real scene and I became anguished.
"Khiru, what if people come?"
He mimicked a sigh. "You never learn, do you?"
Seconds later, he had taped my mouth shut.
Then he started playing with powered clips, tiny suction cups that can be applied anywhere on the body. Once clamped, they emit irregular shocks, tickling, teasing or annoying. The clips Khiru used on me were not powerful enough to hurt, but he compensated intensity by quantity. Our current record was 153 clips.
While he decorated my breasts, I tried to look through the openings in the walls to see if we might expect company. Khiru didn't seem to care, but I did. Being comfortable about all things sex-related, Khyrians wouldn't be shocked at finding us here, but they would probably stop to watch, encourage, even advise. I was still jittery about this kind of intimacy.
Khiru went on fastening clips as if my concerns were unknown to him. My chest and waist were already flickering like a Christmas decoration, and more clips soon pinched my thighs. The electric shocks always took me by surprise, where I least expected them, and their repetition made me frantic. I started to pant, and grabbed the edges of the stone for support.
Once Khiru had covered my legs, he focused on my labia. Fold after fold, each clip created a turmoil of its own. Khiru counted them. He clamped six in total. Then held the last one in front of my pleading eyes.
"We'll keep this one till the end."
My whole body was shuddering frenetically, like a plane caught in turbulence. Again, I fought against the ropes, and pushed on the tape sealing my mouth. I kept banging my head on the stone and was, for once, grateful for the protective bonnet. Khiru had walked out of sight, but I knew he was watching me. I groaned like an enraged animal.
"I bet a knife would almost be a relief, now, wouldn't it?" I heard him say. "Well, I don't have one, but I have something else."
The vibrator found its way between my clamped labia and dug deep. When it roared to life, I lost consciousness of what was going on. My whole life took place in my vagina; nothing else mattered.
Finally, Khiru applied the last clip to my clitoris. Like a rodeo steer trying to buck off its rider, I arched back and forth, banding my muscles as if to loosen all the ropes at once. More spasms followed until I fainted. I came back to my senses in Khiru's arms, in one of the rooms around the stone circle. It was dark and cool. We made love before walking back to the cabin.
After hours of hanging between the trees, I was craving the same conclusion. It was a good thing the restraints were taut and strong, and that my feet were grounded in the sand. I was no longer trying to stand up; instead, I let the bondage support my body. My mind full of wet memories and dreams, I was vaguely aware of my constant humming and languid writhing. I felt drunk and surprisingly happy.
Soon, Khiru would come and ravish me. He was the man of my dreams, the master of my body, the love of my life.
I opened my eyes and wondered how much time had passed. Heavy clouds masked Plya, depriving me of its light, turning the night into frightening darkness.
Surely, it wasn't going to rain?