Instinct A Dark Sci-Fi Romance

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

I call out to him, before realizing that I really don’t want him awake. I need to get away from him for his sake, and for mine. If he gets up, I’m going to have to zap him again. Standing just out of arm’s reach, I look down at him with a mixture of curiosity and horror.

He is lying flat on his back. His eyes are closed. His jaw is clenched. His massive frame is muscular, hewn from the necessity of animal survival. I feel a welling of sadness inside me. He’s not human, not like I am. He is what happens when humanity is cut off from the technology that makes us whole. He and his kind were cut off so long ago, he has become nothing more than an animal in this world.

I back away from him, the terrible guilt gnawing at me along with great fear. I am going to be in so much trouble. I was already in trouble, but this… this is a fuck-up of unbelievable proportions. When the Patron is informed that I crashed my shuttle and killed one of the very few wild survivors of the human race, I am going to be put into suspension and not allowed out for a hundred years or more.

I need to cover this up. I need to get back into orbit. I… I need to fucking breathe. Panic is making the air feel too thick. I turn, walking swiftly away from the scene of my crime before the weight of it all overcomes me and I find myself bent over trying not to hyperventilate.

Smack!

Something viciously hard and unyielding contacts my ass. It sends a blaze of pain shooting through me. I screech and dart forward, but a big hand wraps around the back of my neck, thick long fingers acting like a collar. I manage to twist my head around just enough to see that I have been captured by the same creature I just put down.

The good news is, he’s alive. The bad news is, he’s pissed.

Holding me by the back of my neck, he slaps my ass time and time again, his hand nearly covering both of my cheeks, his fingers splayed to catch more of my tender flesh. My suit protected me from the worst of the electricity, but it is not thick enough to protect me from the force of his palm against my bottom.

I scream at the top of my lungs, but there is nothing I can do to stop him. He whips me mercilessly, using the grasp he has on my neck to make it impossible for me to move. I dance in place, stamping and wailing as that big hand makes my flesh ache and burn beneath the suit designed to protect me from everything except a spanking.

This is barbaric. This is how ancient humans used to handle one another. He is using pain to punish and control. We would never do that now, as an advanced species. Even if I were to be caught and punished for denying the Patron, it would not hurt.

Left with no option but to tolerate the waves of pain rolling through my tender flesh, unable to converse or in any way communicate with this beast of a man, I must take the pain. It sinks into my skin, it travels through the pathways of my body, up my spine, through my lower regions.

“Stop! Stop! You’re hurting me!” I shout even though my words mean nothing. I writhe and I wriggle, that grasp so perfectly secure, not so tight it chokes me of breath or blood, but not so loose it allows me to move more than an inch or so.

As the punishment goes on, my screams become all the more desperate. My throat starts to feel raw with the effort of crying out. I don’t know how many slaps have landed, but it must be at least a hundred, and there seems to be no slowing or softening. If anything they are harder, bringing me up onto my toes, making me wail and beg and finally, cry.

I haven’t cried since I was a girl. It’s not a behavior tolerated in adults. Under the onslaught of his palm, I am unable to contain myself. Hot tears form in my eyes and begin to roll down my cheeks until my face is awash with pain and misery. It is no longer merely the thrashing that causes me such anguish. I am reminded of all I have done wrong. Of all I have messed up. I have made mistake after mistake and now I am trapped in the grasp of this beast who wishes only to hurt me.

“Please! Please!” I beg. “Please stop. I’ll do anything. I’m so sorry. Please!”

I’m not even truly coherent. I’d say anything now. Apologize for everything if it would stop his big hand from whipping against my ass. But my mouth noises mean nothing to him, and he doesn’t care about them. I hurt him. Now he’s making me hurt. It’s as simple and brutal as that.