“My, my. Those cheeks are rosy, aren’t they,” Bisma quipped.
Zara’s other cheeks were probably rosy too. Embarrassment always made her face blush.
The salve was cold and soothing. Zara felt the rise of goosebumps. Perhaps having the old nurse look after her would have some benefits.
Bisma covered her ass with the cream. “Bend over, come on, girl. Let me rub it in.”
Zara had to let go of the waistband so she could lean forward and rest her hands on the bed. As she did, she spotted something attached to the metal rails of the headboard. Chains.
She sprang up, knocking Bisma’s hands away.
“How dare you!” Bisma boomed.
“Those. Things.” Zara pointed at the chains.
“Yes. The restraining cuffs to bind you.”
“When I sleep?” Zara was horrified to think she might be tied to the bed at night. She liked to move about in her sleep.
“No, no. For when the judge fucks you.” Bisma said it so matter-of-factly, without even a trace of disgust. How much did she know about this ordeal?
Zara froze and her pants slipped down her thighs to her knees. She didn’t care. There were worse things than having a red bottom on display.
“I’ve never…” How to explain her virginity to an alien who probably had lost hers years ago in circumstances very different to how humans chose to lose their innocence. Bisma might not even remember, such was the insignificance of the event.
“Then you’ll learn. It is part of the ordeal. Astra was bound each time Brynt used her. It was a symbolic part of the punishment. In giving herself to him, she had to prove she was submissive to the core of her being.”
“But, I’m not submissive to the core of my being,” Zara railed. “I’m a human. I’m not like Astra.”
“Then why consent to the ordeal?”
Bisma didn’t understand. How could she? Whipped in public or spanked in private, those had been her options. With the ordeal, she would have to submit to some sex. That was okay if he was gentle with her the first time, after that, she might be surprised—sex with an alien might be exciting, according to the rumors. But, not chained to a bed. How could that be fun? The realization of what she’d signed up for was dawning on Zara and the feeling it created wasn’t pleasant. She was in over her head and with no way out.
“I… thought it would be… easier,” Zara stammered. Easier! She was a convict under the jurisdiction of a judge. How could anything he chose be easy? He was supposed to be punishing her. This room wasn’t a holiday home. Bisma wasn’t a kindly matron. The only reason Bisma was in the room was that Galen had promised to honor some degree of Zara’s humanity. It hardly amounted to much.
Bisma shook her head, clucking her tongue again. “The Ordeal of Astra is one of the toughest of the ancient ordeals. The Vendu venerate Astra. Her sacrifice not only saved her life, but also ensured a peace that lasted a millennium. She was courageous. Dignified. She and Brynt—” Her buzzer interrupted her speech.
The communicator, a small device she had in her pocket, flashed up a message. “He’s coming home early.”
“Now?” All those things she’d brushed aside—nudity and sex—flooded back in an instance. She’d assumed he would have no time to pursue her on a regular basis.
“In an hour. This is not good.”
“Damn right,” muttered Zara.
“No, silly girl. I’ve not prepared you sufficiently. You’ll need to be shaved and cleansed.” Bisma clapped her hands. “Off with those clothes. Off, off!” She disappeared into the bathroom and Zara heard water gushing out of the shower.
The door wasn’t locked. She could run out and perhaps even get as far as the main gate, and if that was open, she could bolt. The judge would dispatch huntsmen, special warriors tasked with finding absconded criminals or rebels who refused to accept they had a truce with the humans. When a Vendu citizen turned evil, which didn’t seem to happen often, they were considered highly dangerous. For a huntsman, a rogue Vendu was a worthy prey. She didn’t stand a chance going up against a huntsman.
She stared at the chains. Her fate lay in that room, and his house, and nowhere else. She kicked off her pants and pulled the prison-issued shirt over her head and laid it neatly on the chair, then followed Bisma into the bathroom and shut the door.
Half an hour later, she emerged. She been washed thoroughly, shaved everywhere—in places Zara never bothered to shave—and her skin oiled with something that left her smooth and glowing. Zara clucked and tut-tutted as she poked and prodded Zara into different positions: bent over, lying on her back with her knees bent to her nose then legs splayed. For most of the time, Zara kept her eyes shut and let the nurse do as she pleased to prepare her. She stopped short of inserting things inside her, which at least was a blessing.
“On the bed, please.” Bisma gave her a gentle nudge from behind.
The mattress was firm, but not harsh. Zara lay on her back and pressed her thighs tight together.
“Arms above your head,” ordered Bisma.