Chosen by the High Judge (Under Alien Law Book 2) Read online

  The mattress shifted underneath her as he spread himself over her body once more. This time, he let the shaft of his cock lie between her ass cheeks. He was thick and possessed a substantial girth. He pressed his cock down, forcing her buttocks apart to allow him access. With his warm breath on her back, he began to move. She imagined him swinging his hips, rocking them back and forth. His cock swung too. He used her furrow, making it a channel to fuck. It was painless and strangely satisfying, as if he’d awakened some secret erotic spot around her sensitive anus. However, he wasn’t holding back with his hands. He reached beneath her and sought out her nipples, tweaking them with his fingers. He interspersed these moments with the odd slap of her thigh or the rough handling of her hair.

  Galen was making a point. He could be kind with his cock, control it for her benefit, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t his to use. The first orgasm of the evening had been hers. The next would be his.

  Zara was sandwiched between his mighty body and the ungiving bed. She was hot, paralyzed by the bindings, and yet, his ceaseless movement electrified her. Not once did he pause to catch his breath or allow her respite. He had a hunger that surprised her. Yes, he probably wanted to fuck her properly and thoroughly, nevertheless, he held back from taking her fully. Galen magically expended his energy through touch. He kissed and probed, and brushed her hair to one side so that he could nibble on her earlobe. The palms of his hands briefly rested on her shoulders, pushing her deeper into the bed. All the time, he drove his cock between her buttocks, using the friction to excite himself to a climax.

  He paused, juddered, and released a hot gush over her back.

  The thick liquid slid down her furrow and into her slit.

  Zara lay there and waited. He’d gone to bathe himself—she heard the familiar gush of water. When he returned, he wiped a cloth over her back and between her bottom cheeks, then he released her legs and removed the blindfold.

  She blinked in the bright light. He’d re-dressed, although the clothes hung loosely on him as he’d not bothered to tidy himself. His roguish locks of hair were disheveled and his cheeks glowed pink from his exertions.

  He leaned forward and released her wrists. “There,” he said quietly. “They weren’t too tight, were they?” He examined her arms. “They’re not designed to be like prison ones. I suspect,” he smiled as he rubbed her wrists with his hands, “you could wriggle out of them in an emergency.”

  She probably could. They hadn’t been tight at all. She said nothing to confirm his suspicion. She understood what he meant. Yes, she could release herself if she had to; however, her punishment was about obedience and the willingness to accept whatever he chose to do to her. If she failed to submit, she flouted the rules of her punishment and she would suffer other consequences, she suspected.

  “I’m going to go now. Bisma will come and bathe you properly, and then put you to bed. Tomorrow, while I’m at work you will be inked.”

  “What!” she started. “Oh, no, you can’t—”

  “Not a permanent tattoo. You must know inking is a requirement for the Vendu. Are you not a cultural exchange student?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, but… what kind of inking?” She didn’t want to admit she was curious about Vendu tattoos.

  “A special one. Temporary. It will last a few weeks. You’ll be inked across your back, around your breasts and inner thighs.”

  Why those places? She groaned. He meant a smutty kind of tattoo. No doubt designs that would embarrass her. Perhaps cocks or things like that.

  “If you refuse to be inked, you’ll be punished.”

  “Nobody else will see these tattoos, will they?” she asked.

  “Only I will see them as they should be seen. If others do, then that will be of your own making. You’ll understand better tomorrow.”

  She no idea what he meant by his remark. A more important matter was pressing for attention.

  She sat up, conscious of her nudity. She had no way to cover herself and he wouldn’t permit it anyway. She lowered her eyes and tried to appear as demure as possible.

  “Please, sir, might I ask a favor?”

  He stepped toward the door, collecting his jacket along the way. “What?”

  “Clothes and a few things from my quarters. When you’re working, would I be allowed to dress and study?” she asked as sweetly as possible.

  He hesitated.

  Please don’t say no. Please.

  “Very well. Bisma will take you tomorrow before your inking begins.”

  “Thank you.” She beamed.

  “Good.” He appeared a little uncomfortable with her display of gratitude. “Tomorrow evening, I shall come and inspect you again. We shall continue to progress toward claiming you fully. Oh, and not forgetting, the first stage of your whipping, which will be conducted in a few days.” He clutched the door handle.

  Zara swayed. He still planned to whip her? How could she convince him not to? Was there anything she could do to lessen the punishment he’d chosen to inflict on her?

  She knew exactly what she had to do. Obey him. Please him. Do anything to distract him from punishing her.

  With a brisk nod, he left the room.

  Chapter Five

  Zara slept through the night without stirring. She awoke a little after sunrise and for a few seconds she was disoriented. Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head and knocked against the chain links. Reality hit immediately. She was here, locked inside a room belonging to a high judge. Usually she would be up and making breakfast in the communal kitchen of her block. The Vendu liked to rise early and many would go to the gym or combat zone to train, both men and women. Zara found it hard to accept that a Vendu female could learn to fight, hold down a job, then behind closed doors become this doe-like creature who submitted to her man. Zara thought she liked the idea of the alpha male in the bedroom. However, as last night revealed, if she was to be the submissive Galen desired, she had much to learn.

  Bisma had completed the bedtime ritual with a further cleansing. She’d covered Zara’s naked body with a blanket and switched off the light. Zara had been exhausted and the details of what Galen had done had been lost in her own confused mix of emotions. If she dwelt on it, she would have to admit some uncomfortable truths: she’d had an orgasm and enjoyed it. She’d also had an intimate sexual experience with an alien. No, best to move on and deal with one day at a time.

  She listened to the kookaburras and other birds sing their chorus until Bisma unlocked the door and brought in a tray. Breakfast had arrived.

  Bisma clucked her tongue, a now familiar admonishment. “You’re still in bed. You should be showered. Dressed.”

  “I’ve nothing fresh to wear,” Zara protested, sitting up in bed.

  “The judge has given permission for you to be escorted to your flat for your things. But, we must hurry. The inkers arrive in two hours.”

  Inkers! More than one? Zara opened her mouth to protest.

  “Move, girl,” Bisma urged, her arms flapping in agitation.

  Zara darted into the bathroom. She didn’t want to start the day on the wrong foot. She saw her reflection in the mirror. Cautiously, she twisted to inspect her behind.

  Nothing!

  Her bottom was unblemished by bruises and any hint of redness. Whatever Bisma had applied to the skin was very potent.

  She showered, combed out her hair, and slipped on the previous day’s clothes. She felt instantly grubby.

  Bisma tapped her foot on the floor while Zara wolfed down her breakfast. The porridge was filling and tasteless.

  Waiting by the front door was a guard holding shackles in his hand.

  “No,” Bisma said. “Those won’t be necessary. Zara is going to be good, aren’t you?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, miss,” Zara said.

  The guard blanched. “Mistress Bisma, I’m supposed—”

  Bisma shot him a barbed glare and he backed down.

  The shuttle z
oomed over the rest of the traffic in a dedicated fly zone for the senior-ranking Vendu. It gave Zara a bird’s-eye view of the city. She should be spending the summer months familiarizing herself with the city and not locked up in the judge’s private prison cell.

  The campus was quiet. Most students had taken the opportunity to attend special training camps and a few had gone to Halos to visit relatives. Those who remained behind were taking extra classes or conducting research like Zara. They met nobody she knew, which was fortunate.

  Inside her pokey room, she grabbed as much as possible and stuffed it in her suitcase, the one she’d brought from home. The surface was covered in stickers from vacations she’d spend as a child with her family. She threw in all her clean clothes, a pair of running shoes, and a few personal items. From her desk, she collected the research pad, the device containing all of her notes. Flicking it on, she spotted an urgent message from back home.

  What progress are you making? D

  There was a 3D hologram video attached to the message. She dared not open it.

  Bisma, who’d been watching from the door, coughed. “No. Leave that. No electronic devices.”

  “But… how am I to do my research?” More important, contact people and reply to messages. She switched it off before Bisma could see the screen.

  “No. The judge strictly prohibited electronic devices.”

  The Vendu shunned paper. How could she study without her device?

  “I have to study,” she fretted.

  “You’ll have to discuss that with the judge. Come, it’s time to go,” harried Bisma.

  As an afterthought, Zara grabbed the teddy bear from off her pillow. It was the twin of the one given to her sister. They’d promised to keep them safe for as long as they both lived. Zara sealed the suitcase and dragged it off the bed.

  Back at Galen’s house, she didn’t have time to unpack. The case was dropped off in her room and from there, Bisma led Zara to another part of the house.

  “The judge has authorized the use of his chambers for the inking. There is more space,” Bisma explained.

  Galen’s quarters were immense in scale with a high domed ceiling and a skylight, paintings of distant planets on the walls, and a vast mirror. Other than a few chairs and a box-like cupboard, there was nothing else in the room bar the bed. And what a bed it was—wide enough to sleep four or five people abreast and long enough for two. Bisma laid a plain sheet over the sumptuous covers and flattened it out.

  “Strip,” she ordered.

  When Zara hesitated, she clucked her tongue like a mother hen. “You may wrap a small towel around your waist,” she conceded. “I’m going to fetch the inkers.”

  Again, the use of the plural alarmed Zara. Two of them? Two ogling Vendu jabbing her with needles and ink?

  She peeled off her clothes and nearly threw them on the floor in frustration. This was not a punishment. She’d been turned into some kind of artwork for the pleasure of one man. It was unfair.

  She draped the towel around her midriff and folded her arms over her breasts, hiding them.

  Four white-clad women floated into the room behind Bisma. They were hooded and one carried an elaborately carved box in the way a priest carried the vestments. They bowed to Zara.

  She didn’t know what to say. Were they priestesses? Thankfully, they were women, but why four of them?

  “Four,” she said with temerity. “Won’t that mean four times the pain?” She’d never had a tattoo before.

  Bisma clapped her hands and pointed at the bed. “No, no, silly girl. This is not some ghastly human inking with sharp needles. We Vendu practice a painless version. Now lie down. I’ll put some music on.”

  Zara crawled onto the bed and sank nose first into the mattress, which shaped itself around her forming a shallow tomb. She made sure the towel stayed firmly in place and covered her bottom.

  What kind of design had Galen chosen? The Vendu might be an advanced civilization but their culture was archaic and barbaric. She feared it would be something grotesque. One of those battle scenes when the Vendu slaughtered their foe. She’d heard the warriors who fucked captive slaves were tattooed with depictions of their conquests. One friend back home told about a warlord who had covered his girl with erotic scenes. One of her fellow students at the technology university had laughed such things off, claiming it was a myth put about by Earthlings to discredit the Vendu and spoke of poems or exotic creatures inked onto skin.

  Zara was about to find out which story was true.

  She lay stiffly, her arms snapped to her sides and eyes squeezed shut. The four women must be close; she heard their movements as they prepared themselves. They were chanting softly in time to the music.

  Zara felt a tiny pinpoint of pressure in four places on her back. The faintest sensation of something touching her. It tickled a little a first, then even that became too subtle to notice.

  Time passed. She drifted, feeling sleepy and the rigidity in her limbs dissolved. The combination of music, chanting, and the gentlest of probing was strangely affecting. She had to admit she enjoyed being the center of attention.

  “They’ve finished the pattern. You might feel a small scratch as they inject the ink,” Bisma warned.

  The scratch was sharp but brief. The Vendu created changes in the skin cells with special instruments, then injected the dye into the cells. Humans knew the technique; however, the exact nature of the inks was a closely guarded secret.

  “There. We’ll break for refreshments. You must be stiff, Zara.” Bisma tapped her shoulder and helped her up off the bed.

  Zara couldn’t wait to see the tattoo. She ignored her rumbling stomach and hurried to the mirror. With her back facing it, she twisted and looked over her shoulder.

  There was nothing there! Her skin was the same pale color it had always been. No patterns, no pictures. She was blank. They’d spent hours doing nothing more than tease her. If this was supposed to be one of Galen’s humiliating punishments, it had worked.

  Furious, she rounded on Bisma. “Is this some kind of cruel joke? I’ve laid there for hours while these silly women chant their mumbo-jumbo over me and there is nothing to show for it.” She stamped her foot on the floor in frustration.

  Bisma’s cheeks flushed red. “How dare you, Earthling, accuse these sacred women of wasting your time? This is not some pathetic human inking where you’re stabbed with needles and gaudy colors. This kind of tattoo is one of the most prized. Your insolence has been duly noted.”

  “They’ve not done anything!” Zara repeated, exasperated.

  “Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean there isn’t anything there. You are not the one to see. You will find out what purpose the ink serves in due time.”

  “What the hell does that mean? There is nothing to see. It’s not worked.” Zara ran her hand up and down her back—the skin felt smooth.

  “Your lack of faith in the abilities of these inkers is going to land you in trouble.” Bisma flashed her a warning glance.

  The threat was there in the tone of her voice. Zara couldn’t afford to risk upsetting her or especially Galen. She needed to convince him to give her access to her computer.

  “Special inks?” she asked.

  “Yes. Lord Galen is more than a judge. He is a wealthy lord who can command such privileges.” Bisma pointed to the platter of food that had arrived as if by magic. She must have left the room to prepare it while Zara was undergoing the tattoo. “Eat.”

  She was famished. Thirsty, too. After she and the silent inkers had eaten and rehydrated themselves with water, she was told to lie on her back.

  “You must be very still,” Bisma said. “Keep your arms to your sides and don’t wriggle.”

  One of the inkers had a small projection device that cast a shadow of patterns over Zara’s upper torso. It looked like rings were circling her breasts.

  “Close your eyes and relax, Zara,” Bisma instructed.

  There was nothing els
e to do but obey. As she closed her eyelids, she saw nibs of the pen-like devices used to alter the structure of her skin cells hover just above her nipple. They would work fast; the window of opportunity for the inks to take was brief. Within a few hours, the cells would return to their natural state, locking in the dye. The invisible dye.

  The last stage required Zara to part her legs. She shoved the towel between them to hide her nudity and attempted to lie still. It was difficult. She was bored. Her legs trembled and sometimes she could feel a ticklish sensation. The chanting was no longer relaxing. The drone of incomprehensible words was irritating and monotonous. She’d heard the same sequences over and over.

  The Vendu liked rituals. Zara liked fun. The lack of compatibility was stark. However, the need to come together to resolve their differences was essential if humans were to survive. The Vendu needed them, too. Nobody back at New Phoenix was entirely sure the extent of the alien’s population decline or how quickly their home world, Halos, was dying. Given that the Vendu had occupied Australia decades again, the aliens weren’t in a hurry to explain their plans. It was part of Zara’s mission to encourage greater openness between the two species in the hope the Vendu would be more forthcoming.

  The inkers proclaimed they were finished by ringing small chime bells over her. When she sat up and gazed down at her breasts and legs, it came as no surprise this time that the tattoos were invisible.

  What exactly had they done to her and why the mystery?

  “Excellent.” Bisma was pleased.

  Zara hoped Galen would be too.

  “You’ll return to your room and await the arrival of the judge.”

  After the tattoos were completed, Bisma escorted her back to the room and abandoned her there, muttering under her breath. Zara heard one word: Halos.

  Bisma was not an easy person to impress. Would Galen be any easier? Probably not if Bisma complained to him about Zara’s behavior during the inking.

  Zara traced the outline of her face in the bathroom mirror. What had happened to her? Somewhere, hidden out of sight, was the woman who’d come to New Ayers Rock. That girl had been full of optimism and determined to prove to everyone, humans and Vendu, that she was a good ambassador for her people. Look at her now. Imprisoned, disgraced, and the property of an alien lord. She’d fucked up.