Dominating Dekalia Page 2

  But at the end of the day who was it who kept the entire race from ending up in the collective bowels of a Narthian super-sac, enduring slow and endless digestion as a horde meal for millions of years in the future?

  There was no mistaking this particular fem’s beauty, though. There was something about her personality too. A feistiness a man like him couldn’t help appreciate. It was a dangerous mix.

  She had the seductive charm of an obedient, though he knew her looks were a trap. Fems did not mix sexually with primales.

  Especially not traitorous ones like Councilor Dekalia.

  “I will set you down,” he said as they got in the elevator. “But only if you agree to cooperate.”

  He planted her on her feet, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

  She promptly stamped on his foot and attempted to kick him in the private region.

  Marax spun her about, holding her back to front.

  “Release me,” she demanded.

  Her squirming buttocks felt surprisingly pleasant under the circumstances. He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.

  “Do you think I won’t turn up that skirt,” he said evenly. “And give you the punishment you deserve. You heard the general. I have full discretion.”

  “And I’m sure that breaks your heart,” she spat.

  Marax felt her soft curves, the defiance and feminine anger, but he felt something else, too. By the Code of the Guardians, her breathing was quickening. With his primale senses he could detect the change in her pulse too. Could it be she was physically aroused by his presence and by his threat of a spanking too?

  Impossible.

  Unacceptable.

  He pushed her away.

  The undisciplined little…

  He tried not to look at her heaving breasts, the way her narrow waist flared into perfect hips and the way her lips swelled ever so slightly, beckoning a kiss, the harsh, firm seal of a man’s lips.

  Exercising maximum restraint, he forced back the blood, which even now was surging through his body and collecting in his loins, swelling his cock to maximum dimensions.

  Unbelievable. No female, not even Treyela, had managed to cause him an erection like this. Oh, he’d been hard all right, but a primale controlled his cock, just as he controlled his woman.

  He should not want what it was wrong to have. Dekalia was utterly wrong for him. She was a fem.

  But Marax wanted her. Wanted and desired her though he hated all she stood for as an Embracer. Quickly he corrected himself. Primales didn’t hate. They waged war, ascertained who was ally and who was enemy.

  Dekalia for all intents and purposes was the enemy though he must guard her now with his life. Tragaxar had given him this charge.

  Such were the rewards of a job well done, he thought sardonically. Decorated three times over for his heroism at the Battle of Three Comets. Child’s play compared to this.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded.

  Marax leveled a gaze, emotionless. “You are showing signs of sexual distress. That is going to complicate the mission.”

  Dekalia, far from embarrassed, flung the charge back in his face. “Look in a mirror, hot shot. And don’t think I didn’t feel your obnoxious primale penis just a moment ago. Do you think sex is part of the deal? You expect me to spread my legs in gratitude to the big, bad primale for saving me? Well, screw you. And spare me the pity parties while you’re at it. I have my war to fight too and you are taking me out of it.”

  “I would sooner make sex with an ice-bot,” he said thickly. “And you really should behave. You are making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Dekalia’s eyes flashed violet. She was obviously fuming though she remained tight lipped. He fought a smile, which would be an odd reaction for a primale, especially now.

  What in blazes was amusing about Dekalia the Embracer?

  “I will make whatever spectacle I like in defense of my rights, and I will do so where and when I choose.”

  “Duly noted.”

  The elevator stopped, making a whooshing sound. The portal slid away revealing the transparent material of the dome high above the surface streets. They were on the roof now at the docking port.

  It was from here that the ships took off and the personal fliers as well.

  Marax had already been informed that their particular vehicle would be a double-helix interwarper, a class of superfast ship whose shape was rather like two-coiled snakes, one inside the other.

  The design was not aesthetic. This was a ship built for speed. Very few of them existed for use outside the military. Obviously Tragaxar was sparing no expense.

  Fortunately Marax was an expert pilot which meant they would not need to bring along a third party.

  “I trust there is an objectifier where we are going?” Dekalia asked, looking singularly unimpressed by the interwarper as it came into view at the end of a row of more prosaic planet hoppers and dome jumpers. “And a rejuv pod?”

  It was a fem’s question to be sure. The objectifier would make clothes and creature comforts while the rejuv pod would tend to personal beauty.

  “You needn’t be concerned. You will be able to tend to all your gender needs,” he said.

  Her return glance was deadlier than Nekalian seaworm venom. “Thanks for the sarcasm. You have me where you want me, you know. You don’t need to be a complete ass about it.”

  “I was merely—”

  “Merely letting me know how insignificant my existence is next to yours, I get it. My life is all makeup and dresses, you are the big, mean caveman defending the universe.”

  Marax depressed the hatch opener at the side of the ship, deciding there was really no point to further conversation. “We will leave at once.”

  “Goodie.” She turned back over her shoulder. “That, by the way, was some real sarcasm. Prepare to be schooled.”

  Marax tried not to watch her bottom sway as she walked through the oblong opening into the smooth white interior. The view did nothing to help the problem with his cock. It was all he could do not to go in after her so he could grab hold of her and pin her to the wall. He would kiss her harder than she had ever dreamed as he ran his hands over her luscious body.

  Oh yes, he would give her something else to use those lips for other than talking and making trouble.

  Marax sighed. It would be a long trip, trapped in this ship just the two of them. Nothing to look forward to but time together in the depths of space on an utterly isolated world.

  How splendid to break the monotony with sex-making.

  She would be fantastic, he was quite sure. A spitfire made for taming.

  Not that it mattered for whatever he might want what he was about to get was a steady diet of ice-beam treatments from the personal cleansing unit to keep him cold and unaroused.

  That and an ever-present dose of unwanted lip from his unhappy passenger.

  A vision flashed through his mind now of saucy Dekalia laying herself flat across his knees, her breasts pressed flat and her pert ass point enticingly in his direction.

  A swift spanking would change her attitude. Trouble was it might also ignite a fire neither of them might be able to stop.

  Spanking for a primale was foreplay. It led to a hot and naked mate, moist lipped and moist eyed, pliant and waiting for her mate’s command, to be taken from behind, his hands on her hips, his cock thrusting deep between her pink lips. The same color as her punished ass. Or maybe on her knees, showing gratitude for her punishment.

  Marax groaned, thinking of Dekalia in such a position. Her mouth opening wide and soft sighs from the back of her throat as he moved into position.

  He could see it now. He could feel it. He forced it from his mind, working desperately to return to business. To duty.

  Oh yes, it’s going to be a long trip indeed.

  Chapter Two

  Dekalia couldn’t believe it. They were landing. At last. She had actually survived the trip through deep sp
ace relatively unscathed.

  Of course now came the hard part. Joint exile.

  Dekalia studied the planet through the viewfinder. It was an ice world, so very beautiful and cold and isolated. Just like the primales, Marax in particular.

  Such a shame, for all their male beauty, statues are what they were.

  Then again she had little room for pity. No more than he did, obviously.

  The trip here, roughly two weeks long in old Earth-rotation time, had been a living hell. Every contact between them had engendered friction to the point where she took to avoiding him entirely and vice versa. Not so easy on a fairly small ship with a seemingly endless array of twisting corridors, any one of which could bring her in contact with him, sometimes a shoulder brush, other times the linking of finger to finger, just for a second, the tip of a pinkie.

  Did he feel it too, the unspeakable to need to connect?

  Against all the odds, and across the vast gulf between them, she could not stop the emotions. More than once she had given in to tears and she had been sure to do so alone each time. She had had no idea where all the feelings came from, frustration and lust and general anger.

  She could not get the bombing out of her mind. How dare someone cancel her life or try to, at any rate.

  Those bombers were cowards. Were they ultraconservative reactionaries trying to destroy the Embracers or create some kind of a civil war? Everyone denied they existed, but the more the government—meaning Tragaxar—released statements to that effect the more suspicious she became.

  Who but the Guardians could dream of getting hold of a wormhole bomb in the first place? What if Tragaxar had set the whole thing up from the start?

  Marax’s gorgeous body did little to help the situation.

  She had seen him in the gym one day, stripped to his undershorts, barefoot in the middle of a workout. As if he needed help. The sight of his pectorals pulsing and his biceps flexing as he worked the complex quadruple aerial-bow machine, all while practicing virtual acrobatics ten meters off the ground, was almost more than she could bear.

  His crotch had been ever so subtly enlarged, from a protector cup, no doubt. She had craved it so bad, the heat of him, the hardness and with it the endless male possibilities.

  It had taken every ounce of resistance not to run in after him, to strip him as he worked out, baring that luscious shaft, so perfect to be touched, kissed, played with.

  Dekalia had never wanted to make sex so badly. No mem had ever turned her on so much. As for primales, she had never been in the same sexual orbit. They wanted docile and she was active, they wanted a female to crawl to them and beg and she…

  Damnation, she was on the verge of begging herself.

  She could not wait to land to get some breathing space. Supposedly they would have ten times the living space within a completely isolated hydro-dome on the southern pole.

  A little piece of tropical paradise. Perfect if you were with someone you cared about. And you weren’t in the middle of the political and social revolution of the century and had time enough for a nice little vacation.

  “Prepare for landing,” Marax’s voice sounded over the intercom, flat and dictatorial as ever. “Assume seat-secure positions.”

  Oh, how she would not miss this man when this nightmare was all over.

  Popping her head in the cockpit, she said, “Why can’t you use my name? It’s not like anyone else is on the ship.

  “Standard operating procedure,” he said, not bothering to take his eyes off the inordinately complex instrument panel.

  Fortunately her job as copilot consisted of little more than sitting next to him and repeating vectors for accuracy.

  Eying her as she slipped into the thick, padded seat, Marax gave final instructions now, oblivious as ever. “We are landing in five standard minutes. Strap yourself in, maximum belt restraint.”

  “Yes, you’re all about restraint, aren’t you?” It was a childish provocation and she regretted it instantly.

  “I am about keeping you alive for the duration of this assignment, Councilor Dekalia.”

  His name on her lips rolled off both cold and seductive at once. She wanted to hear more, she wanted to see more, to be more.

  He must never guess her needs, never must he find out the effect he’d already had.

  Even now she felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she thought of how she had responded the time she had seen him working out, how she had returned to her quarters and sealed the door.

  Removing her skirt and top and undergarments, she had stood there in front of the mirror, just looking, wondering what he saw when he looked at her. She had accused him of being aroused in her presence but how could she be sure it was her he was thinking about? Would he ever find a woman like her worthy? Would he want to touch her, to make sex?

  In the fantasy that followed he had come to tell her exactly that. She could remember it even now in every detail, how he’d looked to her inner eye. Marax dressed in his work-out shorts, barefoot, clean and dry and smelling of the pitch of an Earth forest, ancient, damp and primal…

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  His body, his presence, so very palpable and dominating as he approached from behind, close but not quite making contact with her bare flesh.

  “Don’t look away,” he said as she lowered her eyes. “You will watch everything.”

  It was his first order to her and the obeying made her wet and hot. She tried not to squirm. But he knew everything, she could sense it.

  “See how beautiful you are,” he said. “See what you look like when you are possessed by a real man.”

  She shuddered. She had known the caress of many mems, enjoyed their cocks, endured their bravado but never had one of them spoken to her with such blatancy, such certitude.

  He wrapped his arms around her now. “Why haven’t you asked me?”

  “Asked…what?”

  Searing-hot lips descended to her neck. He took his time and she kept her eyes glued to the glass, watching the slow-motion ravishment, not daring to look at the reflection of his face, his eyes, his mouth.

  “For this.” His hands were on her breasts. “Come on, it’s only a dream, you can admit it, you want to know what it feels like to be an obedient, to have the hands of a man on you who will accept nothing but complete submission, who will possess you absolutely.”

  “No, you’re wrong.”

  It didn’t sound convincing, not even to herself.

  “These nipples don’t lie, girl, and I can smell your heat, you’re aroused.”

  “I’m not…a girl.” She did not even try to deny the other part, the pulsing between her legs, the telltale trickling of her fragrant juices, the liquid which obedients called the nectar of surrender.

  “You are when you’re in a primale’s arms.” One hand still on her breasts, he moved to explore her ass cheeks with the other.

  Dekalia whimpered, shutting her eyes once more.

  He squeezed her bottom, getting her attention.

  She knew how strong he was, how much he had to restrain himself.

  “I’ve imagined you, too, but I hid it. I control when I’m hard and what I feel, but a fem can’t hide, can she?”

  He repeated the question and then pinched her bottom. She reddened from the humiliation and because she liked it, too.

  Obedients didn’t have to worry about such things, they were born and bred to be whores for their primale mates. And yet a primale was monogamous, once he made his choice.

  “You would like to be mine,” he whispered. “You wish me to claim you.”

  She tried not to react, not to pant openly, heaving her breasts as he moved his hand yet again.

  “No, stop…” It was a plea of utter weakness, a whimper that only begged him to go on.

  And then he found her pussy, one hand cupping the hot, openly dripping sex that she had tried so desperately to keep under control. But her lips pulsed and she begged for invasion.

  “You may open for
me,” he said as though he already owned what was inside.

  Dekalia arched her neck and practically threw herself backward as he began to move his fingertips, just grazing the swollen ridge of her labia, separating them.

  The bastard was after her clitoris. Being perfect, as primales were in everything, he immediately found it.

  Her body went limp and he caught her just in time before she fell to the ground.

  From there he took her to bed and laid her out flat. Then he kissed her hard on the lips. “You’ll be good for me,” he murmured. “Won’t you?”

  Her belly tightened. She knew the implication but wanted to hear the words. “Or else what?”

  His smile was pure deviltry and pure primale. “What do you think?”

  “I think…you will spank me.”

  He offered no reply as his hand slid down her body and she shivered, wanting to be good and pleasing for him. At the same time she wanted to be bad so she could face the consequences.

  Not the power of his voice or the depth of his eyes left opportunity to resist.

  “Open for me,” he whispered, and she did, slowly spreading her legs and baring her pink and pulsing sex.

  She was so open and so vulnerable. Would he fuck her fast? Take her wet and willing channel or would he go slow, letting that shaft of his plumb her depths for the longest time?

  Primales controlled their sex with legendary power. This much she knew.

  But Marax had something else in mind.

  She watched his head disappear. Oh god, he was lowering his body. He was going to…

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Dekalia shook the fantasy from her mind before it got to the really hot parts. Had he read what was going on in her mind? She didn’t think so. He had already shifted his attention off her and onto the instrument panel. Damn him for his powers of concentration.

  Who was she kidding? It took no effort to ignore a female who could never mean anything to him. He despised her sub-gender and her beliefs. That much she knew.