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Chapter Four

D ahlia

Although I was Dax’s owner of record the last time we went to Aeon II, this time there’s way more pomp and circumstance because he’s the premier fighter at these games. Petra did my hair in the style of ancient Rome with loose braids adorning my head and falling down my back.

Savannah, our resident clothes horse slash ex-Marine, solicited donations from every woman on board and assembled a two-day wardrobe of colorful, gauzy dresses she enhanced with strategically placed costume jewelry.

Dax is dressed in his gladiator uniform of black leather kilt and sash. Shadow and Steele are wearing similar outfits. They’ll accompany us. I even wrangled a room for them in the same fancy hotel as ours.

Shadow carries the net and eight-foot spear Dax uses in the ring when he fights as a retiarius gladiator. Shadow and Steele are armed with their own weapons —swords for show and laser pistols hidden under their kilts if something goes sideways.

“Pain/kill collar,” Captain Zar says as he hands me the collar and wrist controller.

Dr. Drayke did the honors last time we were here because there were three alleged slaves and no one was paying close attention. Today it’s all on me.

“I… don’t know how.” I shrug, looking at Zar for help.

He fastens the controller to my wrist and shows me the dial and on/off switch.

“Do we need to remind you those are just for show?” Shadow jokes. “You look like you’re thinking of using it.”

“Very funny. I know it’s disabled.”

“Put the collar on Dax,” Zar prompts as he hands it to me.

I glance at the shiny, metal collar and remember the abject fear I felt during the week I wore it. Knowing someone could torture or kill you for the slightest infraction makes you live in terror. Even though this is just for show, I don’t like even touching the thing.

Dax comes over and kneels in front of me, his hands behind his waist. It’s obvious he’s done this so many times before that he’s on autopilot. There’s something awful and frightening about this dynamic.

“Here’s the leash,” Zar says as he hands me an eight-foot chain leash to attach to Dax’s collar.

“No!” The collar was bad enough, but dragging him on a leash is too much.

“This is the way of it,” Zar urges. “Dax, tell her it’s okay.”

“Reporters will greet us at the bottom of the ramp. I’m one of the premier fighters in tomorrow’s games. It’s expected. Having a female owner is rare. This will make headlines. They’ll all have an amazing picture of the beautiful red-headed humanoid controlling her big gladiator. Put it on.” Still on his knees, he lifts his chin to give me better access.

“I don’t like this,” I whisper as I snap the link into place.

He rises to his feet and I see why it will make a spectacle. I’m five foot four, he’s pushing seven feet. Me controlling this beast of a male with a small wrist controller and pulling him on a leash will make great headlines.

I also realize it’s… sexy.

Shadow, with his prosthetic arm and eye, loaded with weapons, exits first. Steele, whose silver flesh shimmers as if it’s made of steel, follows closely behind. Dax pounds down the metal ramp in front of me, looking like bridled power. I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and act as if I enjoy owning my humongous gladiator.

Dax was right, there are reporters here. Even though we’re a million miles from Earth, it’s easy to spot them. They must look the same everywhere —eager, shouting questions, and intrusive. None of us speak, we just hurry to the waiting hoverlimo and take off.

We fly from the spaceship docking station on the outskirts of town to the fanciest downtown hotel. As we entered the burbs we began seeing ourselves on hundred-foot-high moving news billboards. I seldom think of myself this way, but in this costume, I look pretty. The picture of little me tugging big Dax on that metal leash pulls my attention… and pulls on my clit.

I never thought I was into S I can’t even bear talking to him on comms.” I take a deep breath, knowing I need to do this. We need money for better weapons.

A moment later I comm Ja’Meer, spreading on complements like there’s no tomorrow, and offering our deal.

“You’ll have a leisurely dinner at the Oasis?” he confirms. “Vex will be at the table with you? On his knees? On a leash? Just the two of you with your bodyguards out of the picture?”

I glance at Dax who’s perched naked as always on a gold-and-blue-striped couch probably worth more than two years of my teacher’s salary on Earth. He nods.

“Yes.”

“I’ll raise the purse to four-hundred thousand if you allow ample opportunities for the media to see you feeding him from your hand.”

How can I feel three distinctly different things at one time? Embarrassment, anger, and… a hot pang of lust. Why is my core clenching in anticipation of having Dax on his knees eating out of my hand? Who knew I was a perv?

“You want me to touch my filthy slave like that? Put my hand near his dangerous, rotten teeth? Eat a meal in one of the galaxy’s finest restaurants with gladiator flesh so close it might touch me?” Who knew I’d find my haughty, inner bitch so easily? “For that, I have to ask for four-fifty.”

Dax looks startled for a moment, then stifles a laugh, his eyes crinkling in good humor.

“The highest I’ll go is four-hundred-twenty-five, and to pay that much I’ll have to postpone the games to make certain the stands are at 100% capacity.”

Crap. Postpone the games? Stay here longer? I’d kill to be on the Fool’s Errand with all my friends, lounging in my leggings and t-shirt.

“Postpone? How long?”

“Until I’m at 100% capacity plus standing room. I’ll get back with you tomorrow.” He clicks out without so much as a goodbye.

“How’d I get us into this?” I moan as I plop onto the bed.

“You were magnificent,” Dax says. “You pulled an extra hundred-seventy-five thousand credits out of him. We need the money. You’ll be fine. You’ve certainly stayed in worse places than this. I’d consider this a step up from the original cage we shared.”

“You’re right. Oh my, are you still wearing that awful collar? Let me take it off.”

After crossing the room, he kneels at my feet. Looking up, he exposes his thickly muscled neck. I touch my thumb on the tiny pad to unlock it, then pull it off.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, he’s kneeling on the carpeted floor in front of me, naked. We’re eye to eye. His beautiful green eyes don’t blink. I’m certain my pulse is pounding in my carotid. The tips of my breasts contract in need.

My lips open of their own volition and my tongue slicks out to wet them.

“There’s something about this you like?” His eyes haven’t left mine for a second as he leans forward one millimeter at a time.

“Like?” I’m playing the innocent even while my hoarse voice is giving everything away.

His lips are half an inch from mine. His breath breezes across my skin. He inhales audibly through his nose, then glances down for the briefest second.

“Your body seems to like this.” He pierces me with his gaze again and just waits for me to answer.

“Hard to deny I guess,” I give a timid little laugh.

He puts his right hand on the bed near my left knee, then mirrors his action with his left. He’s not touching me, but it’s like he’s trapped me in a vise.

Even though my gaze is captured in his, I can see his cock straining at me from down below.

He’s perfectly still, like a predator waiting to pounce on prey. I’m paralyzed, memorizing every aspect of this moment: the silence, his beautiful, bronze skin, the beating of my heart, the pounding in my clit, the yearning in my core.

“You want to be in control?” The words rolled off his tongue mellow and sweet with rounded vowels and soft consonants.

I shake my head ‘no’ before I even think about the answer.

“You like me on my knees, Dahlia? At your feet? Naked?”

I forgot how patient he can be. He’ll kneel there for hours waiting for a response.

I press my thighs together to stem the need. It does nothing to quench my rising desire.

“Yes,” I admit. God help me, I have no idea what monumental shifts are happening inside me, but yes, dear God, I do like it.

He grabs the collar out of my hand where I still clutch it, then re-attaches it.

“Do you like this?”

How can a male born a slave voluntarily put that odious symbol around his neck even though he knows it doesn’t work?

His eyes have never left mine.

“Would you like to tell me what to do, Mistress?”

Holy fuck. My core clenched when he said that word. As if smelling my arousal wasn’t enough, my eyes flying open at that sound was certainly a tell.

“Mistress,” he says again with no inflection so I can fill in the blanks. Do I want it to be sexual? A request? An offer? I have no idea.

He moves in slow motion as he puts one huge palm and then the other on the back of his head. It’s an almost pornographic pose, thrusting out his pecs for my perusal. How could any female alive on any planet not want to attack a muscular, naked male on display less than a hand’s breadth away?

My breath catches in my throat. I slip my hands under my thighs to keep them from following every graceful hill and valley of his muscles from the deep furrows in his shoulders to the crescent divots under each pec.

“Do you like what you see, Mistress ?” That word! When he says it, I could swear his fingers are actually plucking my clit! But his hands are still lodged in his thick, brown hair.

I nod dumbly, afraid to trust my voice.

He lifts one elbow slowly, then the other, causing every muscle in his chest to perform for me. My mouth dries, my teeth clench, and I swallow back a moan of desire.

“Would you like to inspect?”

I’m paralyzed.

“Would you like to inspect what you own, Mistress?”

When I don’t reply, perhaps to shake me out of my reverie, he rises slowly, hands still on his head. His cock is directly in front of my face.

I take a visual inventory, noting every curve and dip of his washboard abs, the slight jut of his hip bones, and finally that luscious cock. It’s subtly pulsing not four inches from my face. I can smell his masculine musk. I can almost taste its tang on the air.

For a moment, I wonder if this is a dream. But no dream could be this real, this detailed.

Tipping my head back, I see his face. His gaze hasn’t left me, not for a moment. He’s just breathing, standing, waiting for direction, and I know he’ll wait like that for hours. I have to do something. If only I could decide what to do.

My mind flashes me a hundred sexy choices. I imagine tasting the bead of liquid glistening on the head of his cock. I picture myself grabbing him, lying back, and nestling him against my desperate, wet channel. Dozens more lurid, erotic images dance through my thoughts. But I’m motionless and have yet to voice any of them.

“If this were a play, and you controlled my collar, and you were alone in a luxurious suite with a male who called you mistress,” his voice is deep and low, almost a growl, “what would you do?”.

There’s something about the way he phrased this question that unleashes something in me. Maybe it’s the word ‘play’, it makes everything less real.

I grasp his thighs just above the knees, my thumbs on the tender interior flesh. Sliding upward, I notice the rough hair and smooth skin and the hard muscle underneath. My hands don’t leave his body, but they avoid his heavy balls and jutting cock and slip up over hip bones and flat stomach and perfectly defined abs.

When I pluck his nipples, he sucks in a quick breath. Where did I get the nerve to do such a thing? Now that I’ve found it, I do it again. He’s trying to stay still for me, but he’s as turned on as I am.

Something snaps inside me and I embrace this role I’m playing.

“Don’t move, slave .” My tone is forceful. It sounds nothing like me.

His muscles lock into place.

“That’s right. Follow orders.” I step into the slim space between us; the tips of my breasts graze his belly. Walking around him, I trail my finger along his waist, as one would touch a horse they just purchased.

“What is a slave’s prime duty?” I ask as I cup first one and then the other of his meaty ass cheeks.

“To serve his Mistress,” he says in all seriousness. This is affecting him, too. His voice is hoarse.

“And how would you serve me, slave?” I press myself, flesh to flesh, behind him, reach around and grasp his straining cock with both hands.

He exhales heavily. “However you wish, Mistress .”

I’m so aroused my juices are sliding down my inner thighs. My core is quivering in need. I have never experienced this level of desire in all my life.

“Undress me,” I say as I grab his hips and motion for him to turn and face me.

The corners of his mouth tip up in the tiniest of smiles as his arms inch downward at such a maddening pace I have to bite back an order for him to hurry.

He undresses me with leisurely, patient hands, unwrapping layers of gauzy material until he gets down to just my panties. Settling his huge hands on my hips, he skims the filmy fabric down to my ankles.

“Stop! Look at me.” The picture is so sexy I want to store it in my memory forever. Big, beautiful Dax squatting naked at my feet, looking up at me, waiting for his next command. His cock pointing up at me. My clit flutters in response.

I step out of the scrap of fabric, widening my stance.

“Describe these,” I say as I cup my breasts and thrust out my chest.

He swallows as he inspects them, then licks his lips as if he’s controlling the urge to put his tongue on me.

“Beautiful. Ripe. Their hard, pink tips beg to be sucked, Mistress. Your slave could do that… you have but to ask.”

I step forward into the scant space between us, his nose less than an inch from the drenched juncture of my thighs. Grabbing his hair, I pull his head back so he’s looking at me.

“You’re so forward, slave. I should punish you for that.”

His green eyes don’t leave mine —he’s simply waiting for my next pronouncement.

“Taste me,” I command.

“That’s no punishment, Mistress. That’s sheer pleasure.”

Dax

I woke up this morning hoping to avoid any awkward moments between Dahlia and me. We hadn’t spoken since I escorted her out of my room the other day. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I would become her willing sex slave in our lush hotel suite today. Nor would I have guessed she would take to her new role with such vigor.

I’ve spent thirty years hating anything on my neck and despising the pain/kill collar most of all. But it’s never been controlled by anyone as lovely as my Dahlia. I don’t mind playing this game, as long as it’s with her.

Grabbing her ass, I pull her forward and dive into her with my tongue. I’ve always loved her taste, and she’s overflowing with cream at just the thought of our play.

Burying my tongue in her channel, I use her own body weight to pull her clit against my face, grinding into her. Her hands spear through my hair, pulling me even tighter against her. She’s moaning with need. This little game excited her body as well as her mind. I can tell she’s already close.

I slip a finger along the channel between the globes of her fine ass. When she doesn’t order me to stop, I slide it against her pucker. Her thighs quiver, then shake.

Her knees sag as she keens in pleasure. Her inner walls pulse against my tongue for long moments as I wring every drop of pleasure out of her. Easing her onto the bed, I stay right where I am, wondering if she’s done with her play.

“Dax, come lie with me,” she mumbles, patting the mattress next to her.

I guess playtime is over.

I slip behind her, cover us both and throw my arm around her.

“Mistress? Can I take off this dracking collar?” I ask. It needs the controller and her thumbprint to open it.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I just… did that. Shit.” She opens the collar, then jumps off the bed and launches toward the bathroom door. I beat her to it, grab her hand and pull her back to bed —our bed.

“We can’t share something like that and have you run away,” I tell her shaking my head as I ease us both down and pull her close, facing me.

She can’t look me in the eyes. I half expected this.

“Have you ever had an itch on the bottom of your foot when you were wearing shoes?” I ask. She nods. “Have you ever kicked your shoes off faster than lightning because you had to scratch that itch?”

She doesn’t answer; I imagine she’s waiting for my lecture.

“Our bodies are what they are, Dahl. There are certain things we can’t control: itches, sneezes... and you can’t control what makes delicious honey drip from your core. These are facts of life. We try to hide some of our physical responses: burps, farts, we apologize for coughing, but when we find someone who cares about us we don’t hide them anymore. Did you enjoy that?”

She doesn’t answer —I’ll wait.

Finally, “Yes.”

“Do you wonder if you hurt me or took advantage of me?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t hesitate to answer, so my response is equally swift. “You didn’t hurt me. My cock was hard enough to hammer nails —that should have given you a clue. It still is, in fact.” I thrust my hips forward and graze her thigh with my cock.

“Crap, Dax. That experience was so overwhelming it didn’t penetrate my thick skull that you didn’t…”

“It’s okay. Take a nap. You must be tired.”

“No.” She wiggles down and eases me into her mouth before I can stop her. And right this minima , I don’t want to stop her. Being in her mouth is heaven.

I was hypocritical a moment ago with my pretty speech. Often in our lovemaking I hold back. I don’t want to be loud and boisterous and scare her.

But today I let go of my inhibitions, too. I moan and grip her shoulders a bit too tightly. When I come, I growl deep in my throat to show my appreciation. She kisses her way up my sweaty body and lays her head on my shoulder.

Grabbing my chin, she forces me to look at her. “You should hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“You shouldn’t trust me.”

I shrug. “But I do.”

“Are you going to want to turn the tables? Have me call you Master?”

“Only if it pleases you, Mistress.” I smile, then my grin broadens when the scent of her arousal fills the air.