Thursday, July 12, 2018

Star Talker: Part 21: Conquest


"Where is Selena?" Rha'han barked the moment he walked in the door.

Daila jumped, wide-eyed at his tone. "In...in the study, Master."

Rha'han growled and marched toward the lift tube, impatient at the ever consistent speed of the damned thing. His annoyance wanted stairs to lope up so she could hear the stomp of his boots as he stalked toward her. The door to the study where his defiant little mate hid flew open before he approached it, as if somehow it could sense his anger. He stormed into the room, eyes darting, seeking her out, but she wasn't there. He growled again, preparing to turn and hunt her down.

There was a feral hiss behind him before a soft, feminine form slammed into his back, hooking thick legs between his upper and lower arms, wrapping her fists around his horns. She jerked his head back and forth, her strength surprising, given the softness of her figure and the pure academic he had pegged her for. He tried to pry her locked ankles apart, but he could feel the muscles beneath the flesh straining against his greater strength. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder, sharper than they should have been for a Terran.

He roared at the pain, reaching back to dislodge the wild female attacking him. The way she'd lodged herself between his arms had been an impressively clever move, making it awkward to grab at her. He dropped to his knees and rolled forward, hearing a feminine grunt as his weight bowled over her, her bite going slack. The grip of her ankles broke and he took the opportunity to flip over, tearing his horns from her little hands. He pinned her wrists, looming his massive form over her, eyes boring into her. Her eyes were aglow with primal fire, the pupils had distorted into narrow slits of feline creatures.

Rha'han chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You aren't Terran, are you?"

She curled up, kicking him in the diaphragm with both of her little feet. He grunted, losing his balance as the air was forced from his lungs. She reclaimed her left wrist, trying to roll away from him. His grip tightened on her other wrist and dragged her back toward him. He sprang into a crouch, snatching the pins that held the knot at the back of her skull in place from her hair. The long thick braid sprang loose, offering up a solid source of control. He wrapped the damp, silky length around his fist and jerked her to her feet.

"Interesting tactics, miiyah. I don't think you did yourself any favors, though," he said, forcing her toward the desk. He could have easily carried her the distance, but the stilted march he forced her into excited the animal inside him. A number of disciplinary measures had run through his head in the time since he'd discovered her technological breach, a slightly more civilized one rested in his pocket at that very moment.

But he wasn't in the mood for civil. He folded her struggling body over the desk, catching up both wrists and pinning them behind her back with one of his hands. With the lower two, he ripped open the back of the skirts she'd wrapped between her legs and tied about her waist for more mobility. The fresh bruises from last night's lesson mottled the golden skin of her ass. He quickly stripped his belt and fished his engorged cock from his trousers and with one quick thrust, forced it into the tight bud of her ass.

She cried out, clearly pained by his harsh invasion. She struggled in his grasp, to no avail, unable to prevent his rough thrusts. It was nothing like the night before, slick and hot with oil, the scent of her arousal filling the room, guttural moans filling the air. Only grunts and whimpers from her as he relished in the friction of her tight passage around his cock. There was something extremely satisfying in her distress, in her helplessness beneath him.

He knew the moment she'd resigned herself to his punishment. She stopped fighting, going limp against the desk, her only reactions now the pitiful little mewling sounds and the erratic tensing and release of her muscles as she tried to relax around him. He continued for several minutes more, moaning as he took his pleasure from her, finally spilling himself into her ass with a rough growl.

Still lodged inside her, he pulled his original plan from his pocket, a black plug with a fat bulb and two metallic bands around the stem. He slowly pulled his cock from her, noting the loud groan that fell out of her. He bent over rubbing the tip of the bulb against her anus, coating it in the milky liquid seeping from her ass, and forced it inside her. She let out a frustrated cry. Wrenching her upright, he whipped them both around and tossed her onto her back on the floor, straddling her hips. She was panting heavily, her pupils no longer slits but massive black holes swallowing up those oceanic irises.

"Now," he said calmly, pulling the small remote from his pocket. "I'm going to ask some questions. You're going to answer truthfully, or you can find out what makes that plug special."

Selena took a long, slow breath, squirming uncomfortably beneath his weight, and nodded.

"What are you?"

"Terran."

He cocked an eyebrow and pushed the button on the remote. Selena let out a startled yelp as the metal bands on the plug delivered a sharp shock to her abused opening.

"I'm not lying!" she snapped, glaring up at him.

"Perhaps, but you aren't telling the whole truth either."

"My father was Terran. My mother was of the native dominant species of New Giza. The invading Terrans called them Basti, because of their vaguely feline attributes, after a Terran cat goddess. They were pre-industrial when the Terrans invaded, and easily conquered. I don't know much about them or what they called themselves and their world Pre-Conquest."

Rha'han had to admit he wasn't familiar with New Giza's history. The planet was on the opposite side of the quadrant. It wasn't a major political power, a remote planet, the only one in its star's habitable zone. It was a wonder his father's ship had been around when the comet had hit her observatory. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

"Why isn't that in your registration?"

"My Basti heritage was not entered into the birth record. My father wanted pass me off as pure Terran. Since that's what my bracelet said, the Lo'Rahni who created my new registration had no reason to believe otherwise. Gizan law prevents Basti from gaining interstellar registrations."

Rha'han frowned. "Why?"

Selena propped herself up on her elbows, lifting a derisive brow. "Guess."

Rha'han gave her another zap. She cursed in that strange tongue again. "Mind your tone."

"What were those net pages you had open?"

"Centauri Archives."

Rha'han stiffened. "Did you contact them?"

Selena rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot." Zap. "Fuck!"

"What were you trying to do?"

She sighed dramatically. "I was trying to figure out how to connect my Arkiv tablet to your wireless network. Then I decided to fish through the hard drive for the network passcode, but you shut it off before I found it."







Thursday, July 5, 2018

Star Talker: Part 20: Sneaking About


Daesha had been rather thorough in her tour of the apartment. The lower floor consisted of the public areas, a common room with a sofa, some plush chairs, and a viewing screen, the kitchen, a dining room, and the slaves' quarters, which one reached by going through the kitchen. The upper floor contained the bath, Rha'han's chambers, some sort of training room, a study, and a small guest room. The study had caught my eye instantly, with its wall to wall books and the large computer station nestled between the bookshelves. After Daesha's tour, I asked to be left alone in the study to read. Daesha had billowed happily and left me to my own devices.

The tech station was painfully easy to hack into. All residents of Centauri Prime were required to maintain certification in at least basic level computer programming and hacking in order to ensure the security of the Archives. Rha'han's terminal had only basic localized security protocols one would expect for a home computer. There would be no sensitive information on this device. Most entities kept such files in encrypted data clouds accessible only by certain, often portable, devices, or kept locked away in closed networks behind heavy duty physical security measures.

It took a moment to find the web portal, but I managed to link up to the Centauri network and pull up a few articles. My father's tongue was probably the least likely to be known in this sector of the quadrant, so I started rifling through Gizan data mines for information on djinn keys. If I were going to accomplish anything, I needed to upgrade my access level, and I sincerely doubted Rha'han was going to grant me any semblance of freedom any time soon. I also checked news reports from the Lo'Rahni, Centauri, and Jin Fai networks, and not a damn thing was mentioned about the recent attacks by the Jin Fai, the victory of the Klotharan forces, or the destruction of my facility. Not a single word. A fact that didn't bode well at all for me.

I captured a few screenshots of the pertinent sections of the tech manuals for djinn keys on my Arkiv, closed out those windows, and brought up the console. I assumed it would be simple enough to dig up the wireless connection code. Having the access on my Arkiv would be invaluable. I didn't expect to get much time with a native terminal. Not when I could go tattling to the CSF about what Rha'han and his people had done.

"What are you doing?"

I yelped and fell out of my chair as the screen flickered and the display was replaced with an enormous image of Rha'han's face, frowning sternly down at me like the bull god Apis, golden eyes glowing with displeasure.

"Nothing," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "You are a terrible liar."

I shrugged, staring up at his frighteningly huge face from the floor. "Well, I'm not trying."

"You will answer me," he said in a low, deceptively calm tone.

"Not right now," I said, rolling under the desk and yanking a number of power cords out of the wall, hoping at least one of them was attached to the terminal. The hum and whirr of the electronics died with a low moan as the screen went black.

~*~

Rha'han stared incredulously at his suddenly black screen. Nothing about this blasted woman made a single iota of sense. Her fearlessness completely baffled him. It was quickly proving to be a problem. If he was going to convince his uncle to let him keep her, he had to get her under control as soon as possible. With an interplanetary war on the horizon, any perceived weakness could not be allowed. Gritting his teeth, he set off for his apartments with a furious growl.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Drop it Like it's Hot: Sub Drop

Sub drop. The boogie man of the bottoming world. Everyone warns you about it. Everyone is concerned about it. Cries of aftercare! ring into the night for fear of it. 

Drop really has never been much of an issue for me. I deal with chronic depression anyway, so I'm not sure how I would distinguish drop from one of my typical down days, aside from proximity to a play session. However, since masochism is a natural antidepressant for me, kink play generally pulls me out of an emotional low point by stimulating the chemicals my brain doesn't generally produce. 

I can only recall a couple times I've actually dropped. It requires a certain degree of intensity in a scene and a specific kind of connection with the top. Typically a sexual or romantic, connection. Usually both, because the two tend to go hand in hand for me. 

The hardest drop I've experience happened after playing with a former lover. The scene itself was the most intense I'd experienced up to that point, and the combination of that level of intensity, coupled with the fact that I was still in love with him, and the lack of proper aftercare triggered a several month depressive episode in me. The drop itself lasted a few days, and was rather taxing. I cried...a lot. 

I can only vaguely remember one other time, and that had more to do with the type of play that was involved. I had been rubbed down with a large chunk of ice, which caused a sort of physical shock reaction.

Drop isn't something I generally worry about because I don't go into subspace. Subspace seems to be a primary trigger of most drops from what I hear. I think I might have hit subspace before, but I'm not entirely sure. A lot of elements are required for me to go into an altered headspace. It's not something that happens with a platonic play partner, because the psychological aspects of a scene are missing, and that is my space trigger. 

Essentially, I believe I can only achieve that state with a dominant with whom I am both romantically and sexually involved. Without that degree of intimacy and emotional vulnerability, as well as the dominant aspect, kink play is more akin to a violent massage. Which produces endorphins, yes, but doesn't have quite the same effect. 

And even with those elements in place, I would imagine that the intensity of the scene would still need to be pretty high for me to go there. Typically this would be achieved through a fear response, or a high enough degree of pain to produce tears. 

Basically, if I ain't cryin', I probably ain't flyin'.

But, the fact that need all that to even get to that space makes me a fairly low maintenance bottom. Aftercare isn't something I typically need or necessarily desire. With a partner, or someone I'm really comfortable with, aftercare is great. But because I don't drop, it's not something I have to have, and no one has to worry about something bad happening if I don't get it.