what he’d been fighting for, and facing a political battle he’d never counted on.
“General, good welcome.” His genderless servant, Jollin, walked over and beside him he heard Phaedra gasp. It was understandable, as she’d never seen an Areptoid before.
“It’s good to be home, Jollin.”
“And you’ve acquired a pet. How nice.” Jollin’s eyes blinked, first the nictitating membranes, and then the scaled eye covering, and he cocked his head as he studied his master’s newest acquisition. “She is so lovely.”
“And she is hungry, although she denies it. Can you please use the new conversion program to fashion something she’ll enjoy? The menu boards have a wide variety of information on Earth food.” He turned to Phaedra. “What do you like to eat? In my reading, I understand some things called ‘hamburger’ and ‘pizza’ are common there?”
“I told you. I’m not hungry.”
“Make her both.” Bron replied, and Jollin bowed before turning to walk away.
“Come with me.” He waited until the servant was out of hearing range before taking Phaedra into a side room where he sometimes received guests. Here there was a low seating platform. Phaedra was still wooden in her posture, her body tense and resistant as he led her to it. He knew all the signs of passive resistance—had seen it in recruits who felt too helpless to fight back conventionally and hoped that just shutting down would earn them a ticket home. They did not know that the cure for this was the kind of sudden and swift discipline necessary to jar them from their cocoons. It was a lesson that Phaedra was about to learn as Bron sat down and pulled what looked like a piece of string from a pouch at his side.
“No!” She did seem to know when she went over his lap that she was about to be punished. Panic gave a brief burst of strength, and she struggled against him. But there was no hope of escaping a large, muscular captor with superhuman strength. He easily restrained her, and Phaedra wailed in frustration as he raised the shift, baring her bottom.
She looked back, and he could see the reality of her predicament in her frightened face as she realized he was going to spank her. Bron knew how innocuous the implement must look to her; he also knew as soon as she felt it, she’d realize the effectiveness of the tool designed to bring near agony to the nerves of her soft, female flesh.
The impossibly painful burn of the flexible, string-like metal designed to sting without leaving marks would be more than she could bear. When the first blow fell, she screamed from surprise at the sudden searing pain that had been compared to branding. Since there were no welts, Bron was careful to make a mental note of where the loop fell; this was an expert’s implement, and used incorrectly could lead to the miscreant’s passing out from the pain. His goal was to take her nearly to the limit of her endurance, to make her sob and wail and submit.
She bucked on his lap, her hips bouncing up and down, jiggling her firm bottom cheeks. Bron remembered the feel of that springy flesh between his teeth, the taste of her essence as he’d sucked it off his finger. A lesser man would have fucked her right away, as punishment. But he would teach her to crave his touch, not fear it. When he took her publicly at the assembly, her reactions would be genuine, not rehearsed, her excitement real and not faked.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” She was wailing the word over and over, and when he finally put the loop aside, Phaedra was rocking back and forth on his lap, her breathing ragged and shallow. Bron turned her over in his lap, pulled her to sitting despite her howl of resistance and barked an order for her to face him that was so fierce that she stopped crying.
“You will not hide from me,” he said. “Not even in your own mind. Understand?”
And he could tell by the look of fear in her eyes that he’d gotten her attention.
“Answer me!” he repeated.
“General, good welcome.” His genderless servant, Jollin, walked over and beside him he heard Phaedra gasp. It was understandable, as she’d never seen an Areptoid before.
“It’s good to be home, Jollin.”
“And you’ve acquired a pet. How nice.” Jollin’s eyes blinked, first the nictitating membranes, and then the scaled eye covering, and he cocked his head as he studied his master’s newest acquisition. “She is so lovely.”
“And she is hungry, although she denies it. Can you please use the new conversion program to fashion something she’ll enjoy? The menu boards have a wide variety of information on Earth food.” He turned to Phaedra. “What do you like to eat? In my reading, I understand some things called ‘hamburger’ and ‘pizza’ are common there?”
“I told you. I’m not hungry.”
“Make her both.” Bron replied, and Jollin bowed before turning to walk away.
“Come with me.” He waited until the servant was out of hearing range before taking Phaedra into a side room where he sometimes received guests. Here there was a low seating platform. Phaedra was still wooden in her posture, her body tense and resistant as he led her to it. He knew all the signs of passive resistance—had seen it in recruits who felt too helpless to fight back conventionally and hoped that just shutting down would earn them a ticket home. They did not know that the cure for this was the kind of sudden and swift discipline necessary to jar them from their cocoons. It was a lesson that Phaedra was about to learn as Bron sat down and pulled what looked like a piece of string from a pouch at his side.
“No!” She did seem to know when she went over his lap that she was about to be punished. Panic gave a brief burst of strength, and she struggled against him. But there was no hope of escaping a large, muscular captor with superhuman strength. He easily restrained her, and Phaedra wailed in frustration as he raised the shift, baring her bottom.
She looked back, and he could see the reality of her predicament in her frightened face as she realized he was going to spank her. Bron knew how innocuous the implement must look to her; he also knew as soon as she felt it, she’d realize the effectiveness of the tool designed to bring near agony to the nerves of her soft, female flesh.
The impossibly painful burn of the flexible, string-like metal designed to sting without leaving marks would be more than she could bear. When the first blow fell, she screamed from surprise at the sudden searing pain that had been compared to branding. Since there were no welts, Bron was careful to make a mental note of where the loop fell; this was an expert’s implement, and used incorrectly could lead to the miscreant’s passing out from the pain. His goal was to take her nearly to the limit of her endurance, to make her sob and wail and submit.
She bucked on his lap, her hips bouncing up and down, jiggling her firm bottom cheeks. Bron remembered the feel of that springy flesh between his teeth, the taste of her essence as he’d sucked it off his finger. A lesser man would have fucked her right away, as punishment. But he would teach her to crave his touch, not fear it. When he took her publicly at the assembly, her reactions would be genuine, not rehearsed, her excitement real and not faked.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” She was wailing the word over and over, and when he finally put the loop aside, Phaedra was rocking back and forth on his lap, her breathing ragged and shallow. Bron turned her over in his lap, pulled her to sitting despite her howl of resistance and barked an order for her to face him that was so fierce that she stopped crying.
“You will not hide from me,” he said. “Not even in your own mind. Understand?”
And he could tell by the look of fear in her eyes that he’d gotten her attention.
“Answer me!” he repeated.
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