Chosen by the High Judge (Under Alien Law Book 2) Page 7

  “Yes. I am a man of my word,” he said solemnly. “Do not be afraid, my Zara. Because you are mine, you will be under my protection. For a Vendu, this is as close as we come to a marriage vow. I shan’t let anything harm you. This ink will be spent from your system in a few weeks’ time. I shall miss it. And think you will come to miss it, too.”

  Why did she believe him?

  He put her to bed, even tucked a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. “Sleep. Your trials continue tomorrow. Daily, the Ordeal of Astra will make you confront your weaknesses and your strengths, Zara.”

  She didn’t doubt that either.

  As he rose, he spotted the teddy on the chair. He chortled. “What is this creature?”

  “Oh, er,” His interest in Mr. Cuddles flustered her. “A gift. From my sister. We have one each.”

  Remembering her sister brought a flood of shame. She’d just had an amazing orgasm while back at home, her family waited for news. She’d nothing to give them.

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes. She’s younger than me.”

  His expression softened. Children were important to the Vendu, even if they raised them differently. At the moment, she was in his favor, so it was worth a try.

  “Sir,” she said sweetly. “My studies, my notes. I don’t want to stop learning. Please, may I have access to my computer?”

  Galen shook his head. “No.”

  Zara’s shoulders slumped onto the pillow. He was adamant, she could tell from the tone of his voice. What hope did she have if he refused to let her have access to the outside world?

  He glanced at her, and pursed his lips before speaking. “I shall speak to the university tech and arrange for your notes to be transferred to my private server. You may study using one of my consoles.”

  It was a start. It didn’t give her access to her emails, but she might be able to hack his computer and find some way to send a message. She dare not push him any further. His happy mood would quickly end.

  “Thank you, sir. Mr. Cuddles thanks you, too.” She grinned, injecting a little humor into the tense conversation.

  Galen picked up the teddy bear and squeezed its belly. “Humans,” he said with a shake of his head. “This need for props is not something we Vendu understand.”

  “He’s not a prop,” Zara said with indignity. “He’s… a kind of friend.” She grimaced. Hardly the best way to convince Galen the benefits of cuddly toys. It made her feel childish and pathetic. She shrugged. “I like him, okay,” she added lamely.

  He laughed. Lifting the blanket, he handed her Mr. Cuddles. “There, have him. He can keep you warm. I guess it’s harmless.”

  She still glowed a golden sheen. The tattoos were fading. Each swirl and dot of ink retreating, losing the saturation. Soon she would be pale and untainted by its mark. Until he touched her again.

  Glancing up, she caught his gaze. He was staring at her naked body, the corner of the blanket in his hand.

  “Beautiful creature,” he murmured.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. A shadow of darkness erupted around her nipples. The first of the concentric rings impregnated with ink was reawakening. She gasped.

  Galen smiled, briefly, then dropped the blanket. “Don’t touch yourself,” he said with a steely voice. “Or I shall spank you for coming without permission and chain you spread-eagled to the bed while I force you to come with my cock. I will know, won’t I, Zara?” He wagged his finger in her direction.

  She nodded.

  God, fuck, yes, he would know. She was an open book of emotions.

  He nodded in agreement. “Goodnight.” Galen left the room.

  Peeping under the blanket and using the dim light of dusk to aid her, Zara stared in disbelief at her body. Her traitorous body. The tattoos were black once more. All he had to do was mention punishing her and she was hot for him. What a horny devil she’d become in two days.

  Zara patted the blanket down and crushed Mr. Cuddles in her arms. Time to think about how she was going to break into Galen’s computer system. It would at least distract her from other thoughts.

  Chapter Six

  Zara woke to find Mr. Cuddles on the floor.

  Poor thing!

  She’d abandoned him with her tossing and turning. Regardless of her troubling dreams, she was determined to stay optimistic. Now that Galen had revealed the purpose of the tattoo, the circumstances of her agreement—she hated to think of it as a punitive sentence—weren’t likely to worsen. For one thing, he worked all day, and consequently, the opportunity to spend any time with her was limited to an hour or so in the evening. His demands so far, although challenging, were hardly an endurance. And soon, she hoped, she would have her research notes to keep her occupied.

  She shot out of bed and into the shower. The warm spray of water splashed off her body. There was no trace of the tattoo and her skin had returned to its normal appearance. She felt relieved and sang to herself as she dried her hair with a towel. With no need for nudity, she stood in front of the closet with a towel wrapped around her chest and selected a few clothes.

  Bisma arrived with a breakfast tray. Being in Galen’s house was like staying in a hotel with room service. Okay, maybe not the same given she was locked inside the room. But, Zara had a plan for that, too. If she kept Galen happy he might slacken off on the rules, especially keeping her stuck inside the room all day, and some of those other pesky requirements, like nudity and chains.

  Putting the tray on the table, Bisma straightened up and inspected Zara. “You’ve cleansed yourself thoroughly?”

  Mortified by the abrupt question, Zara held back from snapping a retort at Bisma. “Yes, of course,” she replied with forced courtesy, then sat at the table and selected the ripest piece of fruit on offer. She was ravenous.

  “Good. Because I have instructions to insert this inside you.” Bisma held up a glass bulb shaped like a thin pear.

  Zara dropped the half-peeled banana onto the tray. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and planting her hands on her hips.

  “Over you go.” Bisma ignored the indignant tone of Zara’s voice and pointed at the bed.

  Zara waved her finger through the air. “Nothing goes in there. No-thing,” she articulated before folding her arms across her chest.

  The nurse’s eyes widened. “You don’t wish to be prepared? Why ever not?”

  “Prepared?” Eek, prepared! How benign Bisma made it sound, as if Zara was an object.

  “For anal pleasuring. The judge is keen for you to be available to him as soon as possible.”

  “Anal pleasuring!” Zara’s jaw dropped. “His, I take it? Because look,”—she pulled the towel away to reveal her nudity—“not one dot of ink is magically showing when I think of anal pleasuring.”

  Bisma blinked. “I should hope not, since I am not the one you should invoke such feelings for.”

  “I’m not talking about that thing going up my ass. I mean, him sticking his… you know…” There was the tickle around her nipples. The prickly, slightly buzzy sensation. No, fuck no! Zara fanned her face with her hand. “Is it hot in here? Could we open a window?”

  “These distractions won’t work, Zara.”

  “I’m not distracting.” As she spotted the first hint of color entering her skin, she yanked the towel over her breasts.

  Bisma’s cheeks flushed bright red. “This is not a suggestion. You will wear this plug for the duration of today. Tomorrow, a larger one, then the day after—”

  “Fuck off.” The words left her mouth before her brain had engaged. Immediately, she regretted them. “I mean, no way. Just… don’t…” She closed her eyes. Too late.

  Bisma stormed out of the room with the plug in her hand. The bolt shot across the door with a clang.

  Zara stood in the middle of the room and cursed.

  Idiot!

  She would pay for that attack of bad behavior with her ass. Her poor, poor ass. Zara fr
owned. Her appetite sloped away. She picked at the food on the plate. She prayed Bisma would change her mind and come back, then she could plead for mercy and a little understanding on the part of the nurse. I’m a virgin, she would say. Didn’t Bisma realize how nervous she was about sex?

  Unfortunately, Bisma didn’t return and eventually hunger drove Zara to eat the breakfast, although she couldn’t be bothered to get dressed. Who cared about what she wore or what she did locked in a bleak room? The optimism she’d woken up with that morning had vaporized.

  The bolt slid back a couple of hours later. Zara sprang to her feet.

  Galen wore his judge’s uniform. The golden epaulets on his shoulders caught the light streaming through the open door. Around his collar hung the medallion of his office—a gold token stamped with the imperial crest. The outline of the black cloth accentuated the power he possessed in his arms and chest, and the length of his muscular legs. He planted his booted feet on the floor and pinned Zara down with an angry stare.

  Oh, my God, she exclaimed wordlessly. He’d left the courts to deal with her and what he held in his hands caused her legs to shake more than ever. The cursed glass plug in one hand and in the other, a strap, which was coiled around his knuckles leaving one end dangling.

  “You know why I am here?” he growled.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Then you will know that you are to be spanked. Over the end of the bed. Now!”

  She scurried into position. Any idea of resistance vanished instantly at the sound of his voice. He meant business with or without her cooperation. As she bent over the bed, he whipped off the bath wrap and tossed it aside.

  “I shall not hear one curse out of your mouth,” he said, taking up position by the foot of the bed. He nudged her feet apart and her back lower. “Maintain this position. Count each one.”

  “Yes, sir.” She dug her toes into the floor, hoping they would glue themselves there and not move.

  “You are not a guest in my house,” he said sharply. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yessir,” she wailed. Hot tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Please say sorry to Bisma.”

  “In due course you can do so yourself. Spread your arms out and hold the edge of the bed.”

  Spread-eagled, just as he promised when he’d threatened to spank her the previous day.

  She screwed her eyes shut and held her breath. The whoosh came before the almighty smack of the strap on her ass. The pain seared across both cheeks.

  “One!” she screamed.

  Her toes failed in their duties and she kicked her legs up and down.

  He waited for her to resume the correct position.

  “You are not to speak to my devoted servant like that again!” He unleashed the second strike in time with the last word of his sentence.

  “Two!”

  Tears fell. The strap left another stripe of raw pain and it radiated like a scorching fire, refusing to be quenched. If anything it worsened in the seconds after the blow.

  “You are to obey her, as you would me.” He lectured with that fearsome voice of a judge who refused to be swayed by the weeping woman lying before him.

  The next blow crisscrossed the other two and she felt every inch of it as it covered the width of her ass. “Three!”

  She head butted the bed. She couldn’t think of how else to respond to the pain. If this was the strap, what would the dreaded whip do to her?

  “Please, sir,” she wailed.

  “Your call for mercy is noted. However, you are being punished. Discipline requires courage and fortitude. I know you can find it.”

  He paused, waiting for her legs to still and her breathing to steady. “That’s better,” he said with a degree of encouragement.

  Either she’d suddenly toughened up or the next swing of his strap wasn’t quite so harsh. “Four.”

  She sniveled and buried her wet nose into the bed. She said nothing else. What was there to say in her defense. The Vendu considered rudeness appalling. It didn’t mean they spoke without vulgarities, but to insult somebody was deplorable behavior, especially when it was unwarranted.

  The fifth blow smacked the top of her thighs. She sobbed the count, the sound of it muffled by the bed cover.

  “That is sufficient with the strap. Stay there.”

  He laid the strap on the table and disappeared into the bathroom. Returning, he brought with him the ointment Bisma had used to heal her last sore bottom and something else that she couldn’t make out from where she peeped.

  “Hold position while I soothe this.” He spread the icy coldness around her fiery cheeks. The unction alleviated the pain and neutralized the heat that burned along the line of each stripe.

  “Now, Zara. This plug will go in your ass. Bisma would have done so with great gentleness and patience. I, on the other hand, will not be so leisurely. Spread your ass cheeks.”

  She reached behind, struggling to do as he asked with her shaking hands.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s better.”

  Something wet oozed down the furrow and over her anus. At first it felt cold, like the ointment, then it started to warm her little hole. The warmth brought with it a sense of relaxation, but only where it touched. The rest of her was rigid and unable to relax.

  “This oil will enable your bottom to open and receive the plug. Once it is in, I shall resume your punishment.”

  She instinctively clenched her buttocks and lost hold of them. Turning to look over her shoulder, she stared at him with wet eyelashes and trembling lips.

  “Punish, sir? Have I not been punished enough?”

  “You have been a naughty girl. Refusing to have this plug inserted implies you do not honor the ordeal. I shall fuck you, Zara. Don’t forget that. You must know this plug will train you to receive my cock. So why the fuss, eh?”

  “I don’t know, sir. It’s degrading.”

  A small smile drifted across his face. The anger he’d brought with him appeared to have gone. The punishment might not be complete, but his mood had shifted considerably since he’d entered the room.

  “Is that not the purpose,” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “I would prefer it if only you did it, sir.”

  His smile deepened.

  She’d not noticed her tattoos, but he had, obviously. From her position, bent over and squished to the bed, how could she know? When she lifted her torso up to speak to him, she saw the rings around her breasts, especially the blue swirls that spiraled out, reaching her cleavage and right up to the collarbones. When had they appeared? During her beating or when he’d soothed her bottom with gentle circles of his palms?

  “I… I…” she stuttered, flabbergasted by her unintended arousal. “I need you to do it, sir.”

  “Perhaps if you were bent over my lap, it would help?”

  She nodded.

  He hooked the chair by the table and moved it into the center of the room. He waved his finger at her and tapped his lap.

  She crawled over to him, unable to find the strength in her legs. Tipping her head down, she lowered herself across his legs and flattened her hands on the flooring. Her bottom pointed to the ceiling.

  “As I was saying. The plug goes in, then I shall spank you further with my hand to ensure you will wear it for the rest of the day. If you are a good girl and keep it in, I shall return this evening and fuck you with it until you come.”

  “I shall be a good girl,” she said quickly.

  Around her pert breasts, the tattoo was changing color again. It wasn’t a big surprise to see which color was appearing—the darkest shade of gray.

  Using the tip of his finger, he spent longer than she anticipated coaxing her open. She whimpered, just a little, when it went in and sighed with a shallow exhale when he removed it. His playful dip didn’t hurt or even cause distress. The lube he’d dabbed on her had a magical effect. Her confidence grew; she fancied she could take the plug.


  “There, see. You’re doing great,” he said.

  The cold tip of the glass pressed against her anus. She tensed.

  “No, Zara. Open. I know you want this. I can see it.”

  His ability to see what she was capable of doing was her new vulnerability. Whatever she might say in protest, her very flesh would betray her. She knew, in her heart, that she was turned on. So wet, she was probably dripping. The firm padding of his lap provided support, while his arm held her steady. She hung her head and breathed deeply.

  The tip went in smoothly, far easier than she anticipated. She braced herself for something worse, because the bulb would be wider, but as he rotated it, gradually driving it deeper, the pain never materialized. Instead, there came a sense of fullness and weight. She’d barely noticed the stretching required to accommodate the widest part of the plug.

  “There. See.” He sounded pleased, almost chirpy.

  She wanted to enjoy it. She tried hard to imagine it as enjoyable by thinking about his cock, instead of the glass plug. “I guess it’s okay,” she said sheepishly.

  The smack of his hand on her bottom took her by surprise. It wasn’t hard, only firm and swift.

  “Ow,” she grunted.

  “This stays in, yes?” he growled, bringing the edge back to his voice.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Another brisk slap, then another. Unlike the mean strap, these were more playful, and certainly less painful. He rubbed her ass before spanking her a few more times. They felt like pats. He was using them to make a point and nothing more than that.

  “I shall leave you now, Zara. You will meditate on your behavior.”

  She would be thinking and it would be unlikely if it was anything to do with her behavior. Instead, she would imagine Galen in his uniform and hope the sexy picture made things more comfortable with regard to her bottom. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered with a sniffle of resignation.

  He helped her to her feet. The tattoos were there, vague and lacking in clarity, and not as she’d seen them before. Probably because she wasn’t on the cusp of an orgasm. Instead, she was in a place of contentment, if that was possible. She’d made a mistake and atoned for it. Galen seemed happy once more—his eyes had that inviting sparkle to them.