“What's that supposed to mean?” I really wish I wasn’t having this conversation in such a humiliating position. This is an interesting topic, but my ass is higher than my head and the alien king is starting to stroke it gently, petting me like I am an animal.
“Do you really think that humans suddenly developed computer chips, a global communication network, microwaves, and electric appliances within two hundred years after spending tens of thousands of years bashing stones together?”
When he puts it that way, it does sound unlikely.
“I just thought…”
“Human arrogance,” Tyrant says to Terrible. “They think they’re capable of anything, no matter how unlikely or ridiculous.”
I would disagree, but I find myself on a ship made of some kind of malleable matter, held in a very undignified position, about to be punished for being human and making a mistake. This doesn’t feel like the time to argue. It feels like the time to appeal to alien egos and get myself released from this soft prison of firm material, and ideally, from the contract.
I no longer care if I get fired. I don’t care if I lose my apartment, and if everybody I know and inevitably tell this story to is going to think I’ve lost my mind. I have to get the hell out of here. I have to escape these aliens who do not know how to treat a lady at all.
“What you are in is called the punishment position,” Tyrant explains. “I will put you in this position anytime you behave in a manner unbecoming a possession of mine.”
I choke on the word possession.
“Excuse me, I think you’ll find that I’m a consultant on loan from Rogers Accounting. Not a possession.”
“I think you’ll find you're in my care,” King Tyrant replies, punctuating his comment with a hard slap which somehow covers both my cheeks. The slap is not overly hard, not harder than I can bear, at least — but it does shock and surprise me. There’s something about being spanked that reaches the very core of me instantly, touches parts of my mind which have been locked away safely for years.
It makes me smaller. It makes me weaker. And it makes me sore, especially when it is repeated a half dozen times in quick succession. Every time his scaled palm makes contact with my robe-covered ass, I gasp involuntarily and try to wriggle away, only to find myself gripped ever tighter by the ship’s protrusion.
“OW! What the HELL! What the literal fucking hell!?” I curse and wail and swear, completely outraged. First, they dressed me like a Star Trek extra, and now I’m being punished physically. I did not sign up for this. There are no physical punishment clauses in my contract. This is illegal and wrong and it is making me sore as hell.
Worse still, every time I wriggle, I feel a slight curve of the ship’s grip protruding between my thighs. It is pressing against the nub of my clit almost as if it was engineered intentionally. I don’t want to buck against it, but I can’t help myself. The robe which is supposed to be keeping me modest also seems to be working against me. It feels… tingly? Is it possible for a magic space garment to turn to fizzing fabric over your pussy? If it is, that’s what’s happening to me now. I find myself panting with short little breaths as each one of his slaps drives me closer and closer to being unable to contain myself anymore.
“What the hell is, you will be punished when you disobey me. I do not follow human customs. I do not give verbal warnings, written warnings, and final warnings. I do not give warnings at all. I crush my enemies, and thrash disobedient humans.”
Again, Tyrant punctuates his words with slaps. Hard slaps. Firm slaps. Slaps that make my ass burn even though it’s covered by a relatively thick robe. I squirm furiously against the bonds of the punishment positioned, or the punishment position, or whatever the hell he calls it.
“Let me go! Let me go this instant! Let me motherfucking…”
* * *
Tyrant
The human is rebellious and does not take correction well. I am surprised. I thought the accountant we received would be one of the more experienced members of Mr. Rogers’ firm. The job she needs to do is complex and high stakes. It is not the domain of a bratty office junior. I should not be wasting my time punishing her shapely ass.
I asked Mr. Rogers for his most capable employee, and this is who he gave me. I have never known Rogers to be wrong in his assessment of personnel. There must be some talent and capability underneath all this bluster and disrespect.
I may be introducing her to this kind of physical discipline too quickly, but this ship has carried me across more galaxies than I can count. It has been wounded, as have I. It has born scars of endless battles, as have I. She must learn to respect it, and me.