Chapter 16

Winter had settled in, the sky grey with cloud, and rain striking against the glass almost continually, and the wind seeming to sway the building beneath it s might. It would be bitterly cold outside, but it wasn t much better in the apartment. Her owner seemed indifferent to the temperature as he had not activated the heating and he sat shirtless on the couch whilst he worked through his tablet-like device. She curled at his side, her head on his thigh as he had directed, the warmth of his body that permeated the fabric a mockery of her discomfort. Her breath hung on the air. He had taken her clothing as punishment for trying to touch the lead. She should have been grateful, she told herself sternly, that the punishment wasn t worse. She was, after all, just there for him to use, to breed, and nothing else. She was a slave, a part of the plan to colonize the world, a weapon against her people, in the form of a walking womb. He could have taken her as he had at the beginning, making the act hurt and bruising her body. He could have forced her to her knees in the shower and made her gag on him as he took her mouth. He could have bound her to a bed and used his tool kit to mutilate her in some other way than the three piercings he had already placed. There were any number of uncountable horrors he could have punished her with, too many for her mind to picture except in her deepest, darkest, most terror-filled nightmares. It was hard to be grateful, however, when she shook from cold. She wanted to burrow into the covers of the bed for warmth, but he insisted that she remain at his side whenever he was in the apartment, and the windows which had been a reprieve from her slavery, a view onto a world beyond the apartment, were now hated because of the cold air that seeped through the glass. It was another battle of wills, she knew. When she slid her eyes up to his face, his eyes watched her with amusement despite his apparent focus on the tablet. He knew that she was cold, and they both knew that if she seduced him, he would take her back to the bed and warm her with his body and the blankets on the bed. It wouldn t take much effort on her behalf to seduce him because, if anything, his appetite for sex had increased since she had bitten him. He only resisted his urges now, because of the battle of wills between them. He wanted her to seduce him, part of her apology for trying to touch the lead, part of her penitence, and he was willing to hold off his own gratification in order to force her to comply to his wishes. But if she seduced him, and if they then spent hours tangled in each other, she would enjoy his touch and forget that she was just a slave, a part of the plan to colonize the world, and a weapon in the form of a walking womb. One that didn t matter enough to him to remember or use her name. She knew what was happening to her, and she knew that he was to blame, that it was part of his plan, something to do with the Bond between them that she was becoming more aware of every day, that she couldn t resist prodding with her power trying to work out what it did, like poking at a sore gum with her tongue. There had been stories, before the aliens had come, of people stolen and held prisoner, who had grown fond of their captors, grown reliant on them, had seen their smallest provision as a kindness, and had pleaded for the mercy of the justices when their captors had been captured and they had been set free. He was systematically reducing her to the role of grateful captive. He controlled every moment of her life, from when she ate or drank, showered, used the bathroom, or slept. He controlled what she had, how much and when. He controlled whether she received pleasure, or pain, whether she was comfortable or, as currently, in extreme discomfort. He. He had a name. Arken Rikash. A name as hard and sharp as he was. She had regretted asking him, but now she enjoyed having a name to curse him by in her mind. Arken Rikash, the name she would carve on his gravestone when she killed him. Arken Rikash, the name of her monster and tormentor. The name of her seducer, her lover. Because sometimes, oh, sometimes… She didn t want to think about those times. It was too confusing. A sign of mental illness, she told herself sternly. Like the captives who had pleaded for mercy for their abductors. She could not trust her own mind, at the moment, under these circumstances. But if she did not trust herself, her mind, who would free her? No one was coming to her rescue. If she wanted out of this mind-bending sexual slavery, she had to find her own exit. Survival was all very well, but if she was just a slave, just a womb by which to birth his hybrids, just a weapon, what happened when he got bored of her and decided to try another? What happened after she conceived and gave birth? What happened if she didn't conceive at all? He d had his doctor examine her that morning. She suspected from the rather humiliating and intrusive inspection, that they had been trying to determine where in her cycle she was, though neither man involved had deigned to speak to her about what they were doing to her body. She was still sore from that examination, and knew that even Arken Rikash had found it offensive, his nostrils flaring and his lip curling in a snarl as the doctor had used a device similar to a speculum and taken his samples. When the man had used his fingers within her, the examination had been interrupted, Akren Rikash s growl audibly hostile, causing the man to murmur and sweat, his eyes on the ground, his posture submissive. She could have answered the question - if she had been inclined to do so. She had not bled or ovulated because she was preventing her body from doing so. A small matter of power, but a big win against her alien owner. Not a win without cost, because it put a ticking clock behind her. If he did not succeed in impregnating with her soon, what would he do? She shifted against him, trying to win more body heat from him to combat her shaking. He was getting impatient with her, rumbling deep in his throat, not quite the sound that made her body melt and ache and plead for his against it, but working his way towards it subtly. Upping the stakes, applying pressure. He was going to win. She knew that she was fighting a losing battle against the tolerance of her body to the cold, and her resistance to his growls. She blew out a breath, fighting to the last moment. There were two options before her, one was submission, and the other was to try to win through losing by making a risky move that might result in his anger. She pushed her knees under her and saw him place the tablet to the side as if her movement was a signal of surrender, his lips curling snidely. He inhaled sharply when she straddled him, taking his face between her hands, and kissing him, her tongue taking advantage of his surprise to sweep into his mouth, before thrusting a hand between them and releasing him from his trousers, taking him into her before he had time to react between the two assaults. She tore his top open along its front seam as she forced her unco-operative body down on his c-k, her body fighting her, not onboard with her plans or intentions. She lifted, and tried again, taking him deeper, feeling him groan into her mouth. She pressed her cold body against his warm torso with her own moan of bliss as she worked her way down him until her arse kissed his thighs. His hands closed on her hips, and he slid back on the couch, his head against the backrest, angling his hips to enter her deeper, and rising into her. She thrust her hands into his hair, nose to nose with him, her attempts at kissing him interrupted by her trembling breathlessness as she rose and fell against him. She reached back to her hips and took one of his hands bringing it forward and pressing it against her clitoris. She felt his laugh shake his ribs against her, and he said something in his own language, his lips against hers, as he complied with her demand, pressing his fingers in a v around the sensitive nub of flesh, compressing it between them. "Oh, f-k," she cried out, throwing her head back. His mouth found her left breast, the metal through her nipple striking against his teeth, and he caught it there, pinching it between his blunter front teeth and growling as he worked his hips up, thrusting his c-k into her, the abrasive tip of his tongue stroking against the sensitive flesh. She gripped his hair, tugging it back so that it pulled against the roots, and took his mouth, sucking on his lips and grazing them with her teeth, before thrusting her tongue against his. He couldn t make his crooning sound, because she stole his air, keeping his tongue busy, as she plundered his mouth and slammed her body down brutally over his. She felt the slide of his palms against her back, but he did not hold or try to control her. When she lifted her mouth from his, his head hung back against the support of the backrest, the brilliant blue of his eyes drugged and trapped beneath the heavy fall of his eyelids, his mouth slack with pleasure. Too far gone in the demands of his own body to try to manipulate hers. She continued to drive herself against him, reaching between them to stimulate herself, arching back and taking him, until she felt the curl of pleasure build and she came, the rip of it through her surprising in its fury, and the cords of his neck stood out, his body arcing below her as he followed, his toes digging into the carpet and the thrust of his hips almost unseating her until his body did what it did to lock them together. She could feel the trembled spasms of him within her, the race of his heart against his ribs under the palm of her hand, and the sweat on his skin. His head lolled against the backrest of the couch, his eyelids almost closed, the blue a glimmer fighting for freedom, and his sides heaved against her thighs as he fought for air. "I win," she decided and started, realising that she had spoke out aloud.