Wild Beast: A Rough Sci-Fi Romance
There is a dark chuckle from him as he sees me present myself in the way we both know will make this spanking more pleasurable for me. In turn, he spanks me hard, jolting my body against his thigh over and over again. I was on the verge of orgasm when he decided to spank me, and now I am getting even closer. A spanking always hurts, but it never hurts the same way twice. When I am as aroused as I am now, every bit of pain is converted into dark pleasure. The stinging, the ache, they travel through my flesh and find the parts of me that revel in this treatment. I have allowed myself to be this monster’s captive, and now I am submitting to his every desire. He thinks he wants the truth, but I believe he wants nothing more than a human whipping girl.
My master, my captor, my lover, my beast. How did we get here?
I cast my mind back to the moment this all began, the time when my captivity might have been avoided.
* * *
Some time ago
They’re arguing about me.
“She’s too young, and too inexperienced for this job.”
“I told you not to get attached. Residents get left behind. It’s what they’re for.”
“I know, but she’s really not… this is a big planet, Kurt. Anything could be here. And it’s an ore-rich planet too. If there are any scouts out there, we could be leaving the whole place defended by one girl.”
“She’s not defending. She’s occupying. You’re too soft, Steve.”
Steve is six foot two and not at all soft. He’s the dark-haired, dark-eyed hall monitor of our ship. There are only three of us on this bucket, and we all have our roles. Kurt looks for ways to make money. Steve looks for ways to keep things under control. I look for snacks. My figure is testament to how good I am at my job.
We just landed on the planet of our dreams. An unclaimed, unnamed, uninhabited paradise planet with a breathable atmosphere and a tolerable temperature. This is a very good thing. It also means that the clock just started ticking on the payoff for all our hard spacefaring work.
As soon as humanity took to the stars, we started to claim planets for our own. At first, that wasn’t really a problem. There weren’t many spacefarers, and there were ever so many planets that the odds of two companies claiming the same rocks were very low. But as interstellar travel became more popular, and space became more crowded, competition started to become more and more intense.
Treaties and protocols had to be put in place to stop brutal wars from breaking out. We were expanding, after all. We didn’t have time to stop all our exploration and go about killing one another. It was a waste of resources, and quite the tragedy.
The Global-Galactic Property Agreement sorted all that trouble out and reverted to the ancient law of Finders Keepers, with one caveat: any planet must be registered with the Galactic Property office in Buffalo, New York. It must be registered in person, by a company representative. That’s the first rule. The second one is that at the time of registration, there must be a direct communications link with someone inhabiting the planet. The bigger companies will leave an armed battalion to guard their discoveries, but Captain Kurt’s company, MEEP, is just a startup and can’t afford armed guards yet. We have one exploration shuttle, one resident cabin, and three hopes for riches and glory.
Kurt and Steve emerge from the captain’s cabin, which they pretend not to share. Kurt is a ginger man with thick hair and a glorious ginger mustache. He’s a hair shorter than Steve, but he doesn’t let that stop him from charismatically dominating the ever-loving heck out of his partner in spacefaring and life.
I make no attempt to hide the fact I’ve been lurking outside listening in.
“Penelope,” Kurt says. “Are you ready to have a nice holiday on a new world?”
“Damn skippy, I am,” I answer enthusiastically. My contract says I take a third of any discovery fees, and the fees for a planet like this are almost unimaginable. If we were to sell it to one of the big corporations, we’d be set for life. I’m talking more than millions. I’m talking trillions. I’m talking buy your own island asteroid and live a life of privilege and luxury for as long as nanotech can keep your aching bones in one piece—which is a really long time. The oldest guy on Earth is also the richest, which is not a coincidence. Jeff just celebrated his 500th birthday. Sure, he’s technically a brain in a tin can, but alive is alive, as he’d say.
I guess it’s greed that’s brought me out this far, or maybe luck, or maybe just fate. I do wonder how much control any of us really have over our lives. Sometimes you think you’re doing the right thing, and it turns out horribly. Other times you think you’re making a huge mistake and it turns out to be the best thing you ever did. The big blue and green planet laid out around our exploration ship falls into the latter category for sure.