Chapter One
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 Mhôakarta; 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. Mhôakarta, 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, Mhôakarta, 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?
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