Dominance Program

Dominance Program Katherine Kingston

Lieutenant Kevin McQuade isn’t looking for love when he visits a house of pleasure while on a break from his space travels. He just wants a chance to indulge his submissive sexual fantasies. But in Gilya he finds not just an exquisite dominatrix, but a woman he admires and connects with on many levels. Their lust is immediate, her connection with him intuitive. When Kevin admits the dark secret that drives most people away from him, Gilya copes with it, because she has a secret too—one that might just push him away.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Dominance Program ISBN 9781419934148 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Dominance Program Copyright 2011 Katherine Kingston Edited by Briana St. James Cover art by Syneca Electronic book publication April 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

DOMINANCE PROGRAM Katherine Kingston

Dominance Program

Chapter One Gilya fell in love at first sight when the man walked through her door. Of course, that was nothing new. On good days she fell in love half a dozen times before bedtime. But this one was different. She didn’t think she’d find him as easy to forget as most of them. Nothing she read in the logs prepared her for this particular client. He was human, male, young—mid-twenties probably, about the same age she was—slender, tall, blond and handsome. She sucked in a sharp breath as he entered the room. Behind the neuroprogramming, which was starting to kick in and take over her emotions, the thought formed. What was he doing here? No one as beautiful as that needed to pay for what she was selling. Even if what he wanted was a bit out of the ordinary, people with those kinds of looks always found someone willing to oblige. She ran suddenly damp fingers over the leather bodysuit she wore. It was real Earth-cow leather, trimmed with patches of Regullian Paitisla fur. The control patch, no thicker than a tissue, sat flush against her skin and didn’t show under the bodysuit. The tabs fit into special microshunt slots in her sides. Gilya patted it, grateful for the programming that was rapidly replacing her apprehension with the emotions she needed specifically for this encounter. From the log she knew that he was Lieutenant Kevin McQuade, off the space cargocruiser FedSTS Robinson, and she knew what he wanted from her. She approached him, mincing a bit in the spike-heeled, over-the-knee boots, and surveyed him from head to foot—along the considerable distance in between—with as haughty a look as she could muster. A tide of pink color rushed up his fair skin, all the way to the pale hair, but he didn’t say anything. 5

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“On your knees,” she ordered. He dropped to his knees. And looked up at her with wide green eyes. She had to restrain herself from taking a step back as a surge of fear broke through the cold arrogance dictated by the programming. He was too beautiful, too appealing. He shouldn’t be here. Something had to be drastically out of line. The fear didn’t last long, drowned by a surge of love and anger, fueled by the neuropeptides pouring into those centers of her brain. “You have a failing to confess?” she demanded. He looked down and nodded. “I… I killed a couple of people.” That shook her all over again. “How?” “Well, it wasn’t exactly my fault. But it was my responsibility to prevent it. And I failed.” “Explain.” “You probably know I’m part of the crew of the Robinson.” Gilya glanced at the insignia on his suit and nodded. Whenever one of the big ships was in port, it meant extra business. But not anyone like him. “I’m…” He looked up at her again, letting her see the apprehension in his eyes. She got the impression he was opening himself up, to reveal a number of things he preferred to keep private. “I’m a telepath,” he said. She had to fight her immediate recoil. It explained why he was here. Few people would let a telepath get within shouting distance of them. The loss, even the potential loss, of the most intimate privacy of thought scared most folks right out of rational behavior. Including her, generally, but the programming would get her over it. He likely didn’t know about that. The house didn’t publicize the means, only the results. They’d gained a reputation for providing exactly what each client needed, no matter the circumstances. How it was done was a carefully guarded trade secret. That guarantee

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had likely brought him to the House of Miriades, and his particular desires had pointed him to her apartment. She had to make sure he didn’t accidentally find out about the programming. “You won’t use that power here,” she ordered. “I won’t.” He looked up to see if she believed him. “I’ll feel it if you start poking around in my head.” “You wouldn’t.” “Are you contradicting me?” He looked down at the floor again. “No Ma’am.” Backing down without taking back a word. “I want your promise you won’t use your power in here.” “You have it,” he said. She chose to believe him. “The rest of the story,” she prompted. “I’m Assistant Head of Security on the Robinson,” he said, voice low, staring at the floor. “I’m supposed to monitor the emotional state of the crew at all times, to warn the command staff about conflicts or tensions, and to keep them from developing into real problems. The thing is, I knew that there was something happening between Kinley and Swarg, and I tried to stay on top of it, keep things from breaking down. But it wore me out. They were both so furious and unrelenting. All the time. On one of my shifts, I kind of dozed off. And, naturally, all hell broke out right then. By the time I was aware of it, the fight had degenerated into a riot. By the time they broke it up and got everyone under control, two people had…had died.” “And you were responsible,” she added. He nodded and waited for her. “Which is why you’re here. Stand up,” she ordered. He got to his feet in one neat, lithe motion. “Strip.” 7

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He gave her an apprehensive look. The color flowed back up along his well-defined cheekbones as he pulled apart the fastenings of the uniform jumpsuit. The programming didn’t forbid her watching or enjoying the process as he shook the top off his shoulders and down his arms. He shuddered when he pushed the suit down his hips and stepped out of it, leaving him totally nude. Habit caused him to fold it neatly and put it on a table. She took a few moments to study him. His body was as beautiful as his face, with long, graceful bones and smooth skin. Gilya mused briefly on the irony of fate that gave him such an appealing exterior, combining it with a power that would make him a virtual pariah. Even his cock was nicely shaped, long and thick, quivering along with the rest of him. Lieutenant McQuade appeared to be both anticipating and dreading what was to come. When he jerked sharply, with a small catch of his breath, it brought her back to the present and her duty. She couldn’t help anticipating this job with pleasure. The wide green eyes watched her with the most delicious combination of apprehension and excitement. The programming ensured that her face showed only the appropriate sternness and mastery of the situation. “Over here,” she said, leading him to the end of the enormous bed that dominated the room. It was a four-poster, with an assortment of hooks, rings and straps built into the poles. He sucked in a sharp gulp of air as she wrapped straps hanging from the bedposts around his wrists, then activated a hidden pulley system that drew his arms upward, raising them above his head and well apart, so that he was held securely between the posts. He twisted at the neck to watch her. His eyes tracked down her body to her breasts and rested there. His breathing grew deeper, harsher. “Patience, sky-boy,” she warned. “You’ll get your chance. But there’s other business to take care of first.” She fastened straps around his ankles and snapped them shut, fixing his body spread-eagle in an upright X at the foot of the bed. He shivered spasmodically.

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She went to her closet to select her instrument. The sign-in logs he’d filled out said he wanted it harsh and heavy, but they also indicated he had little real experience with what that meant. She decided against any of the heavier, more brutal instruments. A slender, whippy cane and a long leather strap would make him very penitent indeed before they were done. She set the cane down on the bed and held the strap up in front of him. “You’re going to start paying the price of your carelessness. Are you ready?” He swallowed hard and nodded, his green eyes wide. He really was adorable. Gilya backed up and shook out the strap, raised her arm and swung it. The leather kissed flesh with a resounding crack. He jumped and his breath hissed through his teeth, but he made no other sound. A red welt spanned his tight, slender buttocks. The second smack landed across the backs of his thighs. He jolted again but stayed quiet. He made no further sound for a while as she worked him over, whipping his shoulders, back, buttocks and legs over and over until nearly every square centimeter of flesh from neck to knees was marked with reddening stripes. When he squirmed, she could see the straining tension in the muscles of his shoulders and legs. She suspected that effort was directed at keeping quiet and not crying out with each stroke. Sweat dampened his hair and ran down his body. She kept slashing at him, watching him writhe under the impact, the red weals printing themselves darker over the rough flesh, waiting for him to break down and start yelling. He didn’t though. She admired his courage, but the programmed harshness insisted she draw some expression of pain. He knew that too. It had been part of the package he requested. Gilya lowered her arm and walked toward him. A flash of relief passed over his features when she tossed the strap onto the bed. His chest heaved as though he’d run a race. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down the hot, rough flesh of back and buttocks. He gasped and shook under her touch.

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“You think it’s over?” She turned to meet the green eyes and watched as relief gave way to renewed fear. “That was just the warm-up.” She picked up the slender cane. “The real punishment starts now.” In his view she swung it down toward the bed. He drew a sharp breath as he heard it whistle. His lips moved but he managed to restrain the words. Gilya shrugged and stepped back. His muscles tightened again in anticipation. She swung the cane back then slashed it forward across the backs of his thighs. He jumped and writhed in his bonds. Despite his efforts a gurgling cry leaked from him. He couldn’t keep his body still, but he found silence again and held it through eight more cuts of the cane, concentrated around his hips and thighs. On the ninth slash, he moaned aloud. By fifteen he was groaning and sometimes yelping, his buttocks a mass of fiery stripes and crisscrossing welts. He strained against the bonds with every blow. At twenty she changed tactics and lashed diagonally upward, slapping the cane against the flesh of his inner thigh. He sobbed from the sheer terror as well as pain. “Not there. Please not there,” he begged. She waited a moment to see if he’d use the safe word, “enough”, but he didn’t. It was a fine line, deciding when a client really wanted you to stop. If he used the safe word, there was no question. She would quit right then. Otherwise she used her judgment. An unusual and unexpected surge of compassion made her want to stop, but professionalism forced her to examine him more closely. His shoulders, back, buttocks and thighs were bright red, with traceries of swollen welts and darker blotches that would bruise. None of the strokes had broken the skin. Her expertise ensured they wouldn’t. Sweat ran down his body and his muscles clenched and unclenched spasmodically. His cock remained erect and straining. He still held himself straight and upright and looked alert enough yet. His breath came in pants but he didn’t ask her to stop again.

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Whatever protests he might make, he didn’t want to stop it yet. He needed more. It was her job to give him what he needed and wanted unless it represented a real danger to his health and well-being. Nothing about him suggested such risk was imminent. Still, it had gone on almost long enough. Time for the crescendo and the payoff. She drew the cane back and struck the inside of the other thigh a sharp blow. A shrill squeal gurgled out as his muscles spasmed and locked for a moment. The tender inner thighs got two more cuts each, then she paused, waiting for his writhing to calm. His breath heaved in harsh gasps and every muscle strained. The air sizzled with expectation as she made him wait for the final stroke. It felt almost like slow motion as she drew back the cane, then struck upward, right between his legs. It wasn’t a hard cut, in fact, barely more than a tap. But it lashed across his balls to the base of his cock. He arched, head thrown back and legs stretched, and let out a dramatic howl. She went to stand next to his frantically writhing body. She put her hands on the sides of his hips, then smoothed them over the hot, welted flesh. He shuddered when her fingers traced one raised, purpling line across his buttocks. “Shhhh,” she told him, “it’s over. It’s over.” Gilya released his feet from the bonds, then went around the bed to kneel on it, facing him. His face still scrunched up in pain when she put her hands on either cheek and plastered her mouth to his. For a moment he resisted, then he parted his lips to accept her caress. Tight muscles started to loosen. She brushed her hands down his chest to his loins and found his shaft was erect and throbbing. She pulled back from the kiss and reached up to release his hands from the straps holding him. He sagged to his knees. A part of her pitied him, and possibly the same part was fascinated by his grace and good looks, but the programming moved her to order him to “Stand up straight.” He did so, though it cost him a struggle, and he faced her proudly. She sat on the side of her bed and ordered, “Come around here.” 11

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He hesitated and fear showed briefly on his face, making her wonder if she’d gone too far with him. But then he moved, and as he approached, he flashed her a sudden, brief smile of alarming sweetness. Something jolted in her chest, something entirely apart from the programmed reactions. She told him to halt when he stood directly in front of her. “Down on your knees and pull my boots off,” she ordered. Hints of a smile played around his mouth and eyes as he got down and tackled the fastenings on the sides. Again her heart did a funny skipping thing as she watched the blond hair fall forward to hide his face. He fumbled with the boots for a moment. His hand on her foot as he tugged off the second one sent shudders rippling down her spine. It scared her. Occasionally Gilya developed a liking for a particular client, but she’d never reacted like this. Her job was to arouse others, not to be aroused herself. Or only as aroused as the scene demanded. Maybe it was a new part of the programming. The system got regular updates. That had to be it. No matter how rattled she might get, the programming kept her on track and told her what to do next. “Stand up,” she ordered. He bounced upright, wincing as the soreness reasserted itself. She reached out, took his hands and drew him toward her. Hope, delight, alarm and joy flashed across his face, appearing and disappearing so quickly she barely glimpsed each. When he stood between her legs, she said, “Undress me. Slowly.” “Yes Ma’am.” He reached for the suit top and fingered the neckline carefully, searching for the top of the hidden fastener strip. Once he found it, he peeled the two sides apart, slowly, as she ordered. His trembling fingers were warm against her skin. The top piece of the suit opened completely and he pushed the sides back. His breath caught on a sharp gasp as the leather slid across her breasts, revealing the soft mounds and her small, hard nipples. “Shining stars! You’re beautiful. Can I touch?” “Not yet. You have a job to finish.” 12

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A bit of color stained his cheeks again as he nodded. “Can you stand, please, Ma’am?” “Mistress,” she corrected him as she rose to her feet. “I’m not an officer on your ship. I’m Mistress Gilya.” “Mistress Gilya,” he acknowledged. “I like it.” She started to tell him it wasn’t his place to like it or not, but held back. She actually sort of liked that he liked it. He found the fastenings on the sides of the leather pants, released them and guided them down her hips, tugging the panti-liner along at the same time. His gaze fastened on her pussy as she stepped out of the last of her clothing, and his breath heaved in hard pants. His cock strained toward her. She leaned back and swung her legs up onto the bed, beckoning him to join her as she stretched out. He didn’t need a second invitation. The bed rippled and bounced as he got on and lay down next to her. She ran her hands over his body, marveling at how they glided over firm skin and surprisingly solid muscles. Most of her clients were older and less physically attractive despite the numerous rejuves some of them had had. Stopping at Kevin’s abdomen, she brushed back up until she got to his nipples. He gasped when she explored them with a fingertip, then raked her nails across them and pinched lightly. His breath came in heavy pants. She couldn’t stretch it out much longer. Time was getting short and so was his endurance. “Touch me here,” she ordered, pointing to her breasts. He reached out and stroked carefully, softly a few times. His hand wandered down her body to her pussy, but he glanced up at her for permission before he explored farther. When she nodded, he looked down and dipped fingers into her folds and stroked. He glanced up at her to be sure it was okay. “Gently,” she urged him.

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He was amazingly naïve about how to be with a woman. She had to give him directions each step of the way, but he followed them with enthusiasm. When she ordered him to kiss her thighs, he put his whole mouth into the job, brushing lips and tongue over the skin, sucking gently, even biting softly here and there. Imagination more than made up for his lack of experience. Each lick and nip sent rivers of heat cascading through her. He kept at it until she was writhing on the bed and couldn’t bear it anymore. She’d been aroused before, needy and even desperate, but there was something different this time. It wasn’t just that she wanted a man’s cock inside her. She wanted his, Lieutenant McQuade’s, cock. No other. “Inside me,” she urged him. He scooted to place himself between her legs and hesitated there for a moment, but whatever he saw in her expression must have reassured him. He pressed his cock into her. A sound like a strangled sob escaped him as he pushed in as far as he could. He closed his eyes for a moment, apparently soaking in the way it felt to be buried deep in her. A blissful smile made his features almost impossibly beautiful. Gilya had to hold back a sob of her own, not from the physical sensation, which was profound in itself, but from the thrill of having the power to evoke that emotion from him. He pumped in and out a couple of times, ever so carefully. “Don’t hold back,” she ordered. When he opened his eyes to look at her again, he seemed to realize she was enjoying it as much as he was. He plunged harder and deeper, then again, and began rocking in and out on a wild rhythm. She matched his strokes, surging up to meet him, as the tide of need and desire rolled over and through her. Muscles tightened all through her body. She wrapped her legs around his hips to get closer and bring him deeper into her. This wild, desperate need to be close, to be one, was strange. She felt it with others, but not this way, not with every bit of her mind, heart and emotions.

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His breath came in strained pants as he rocked faster and harder each time he pumped in and out, until he froze for a moment. She hovered on the verge of release herself and barely restrained her impatience while she waited for that final stroke. Finally he drew a deep breath and plunged all the way in. It pushed her over the edge into a maelstrom of wild pleasure that had her jolting up and down and making her very solid bed creak in protest. He spasmed along with her, rocked by the same cataclysmic orgasm that kept him jerking for several more minutes. Afterward, she lay with him in dreamy, drowsy contentment, arms circling his shoulders, her hand absently brushing his hair and skin. The textures of each gave a unique pleasure. The love she felt for him was real and powerful and genuine while it lasted. It might even be different from what she felt for all her other clients. That thought both thrilled and terrified her. He fingered her hair, brushed his lips across her face, then drew back a little until she could see his eyes. He stared hard at her and she remembered. His eyes dropped from hers in sudden chagrin. A tide of color washing up and across his face confirmed her suspicion. “You did it,” she accused. “You touched my mind.” He bit his lip and nodded. “I’m sorry, it was an accident. When I get so relaxed, sometimes I do it without thinking.” His look turned pleading. “Please don’t hate me for it. Please. I promise I’ll do better next time.” His words grew more desperate. “I’ll try harder and I will keep it under control.” It mattered a lot to him that she not reject him for the lapse. She wondered what he saw. Could he tell about the programming? She doubted it. Surely he’d have said something, probably been hurt and felt betrayed by it. The warning beep sounded, indicating his time was up. “You disobeyed an order,” she said, resuming the hard tone. “You will come back tomorrow and take your punishment for the disobedience. Do you understand? Sign up on your way out. I’ll expect to see you tomorrow.” 15

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The relief and joy on his face tugged at her heart. That clenching tightness in her chest wasn’t programming, she was pretty sure. He hugged and kissed her tenderly before he got up and reached for his clothes. She noted how stiffly he moved. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got something that will relieve the soreness.” She stood and reached into a cabinet next to the bed for the sprayer. “No. I want the soreness. I want it to keep reminding me.” She shrugged. “If you’re sure.” He kissed her again. “I’m sure. It’s been wonderful. You’re incredible.” Her own reactions were more complex, seeming to come from different parts and angles of her being, growing more confused as the programmed reactions wore off. She admired his looks, pitied him for his problems, was intrigued by those flashes of humor and sweetness, but repulsed by his ability to see into her. At the same time she couldn’t help but be flattered by the way he responded to her. To the programming, she reminded herself. She was nothing but the programming to him, even if he didn’t know it. He must not have picked up on that fact when he’d briefly touched her mind earlier. How would he react if he ever did find out?

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Chapter Two She couldn’t get him out of her head. She’d forget him for a while under the influence of the programming for other clients, but once that wore off, she’d remember him, see him again, with his beautiful body and graceful features. The sudden joy that flashed across his face and the feeling she got that such pleasure was a rare thing for him dug its way into her being and stuck there. She was desperately glad he’d be coming again, but terrified by it at the same time. He was off a ship that would be launching again soon and that would be the last of him in her life. She couldn’t get attached to him. Sleep came hard that night. She finally gave in and took a sedative to calm her roiling thoughts. The programming carried her through the first couple of appointments the next day, though each time it wore off, her thoughts returned to Lieutenant Kevin McQuade. By the time he showed up, Gilya’s nerves were stretched, but the programming took over and guided her actions once he walked in. It couldn’t prevent the way her heart jolted and twisted in her chest, though, as he flashed the smile that lit his face but didn’t entirely chase away the shadows in his eyes. Thank the Shining Stars for the programming or she’d just stand there and stare at him. “Before we start, I want your promise that you won’t touch my mind,” she said. The smile faded and he nodded. “I won’t.” “And if you do, you’ll tell me?” “Yes, Mistress Gilya.” “All right. Strip and get in position at the foot of the bed.”

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He drew a deep breath, then removed his clothes and folded them neatly on a table, before he moved to the bed. He held out his arms for her to fasten again and shifted his legs into position. She stood behind him for a moment, assessing his condition. The only reminders of yesterday’s treatment were a few small marks on his shoulders and buttocks. She couldn’t help but reach up and run her fingers into the silky smoothness of his short, straight blond hair. His broad shoulders clenched and relaxed as she squeezed the tops. Muscles jumped when she ran her hands down his sides and along lean hips. The Creator had gifted this man lavishly, with looks and strength and apparently intelligence. He’d probably trade any of them to get rid of that other “gift” that made him practically a pariah. The programming gave her little time to muse on it or indulge in the sensual thrill of stroking him. From her equipment closet, she retrieved a lightweight, multi-thonged lash. It wasn’t as heavy or harsh as either of the things she’d used yesterday, but with the right flick of the wrist it could impart a wicked sting. “Yesterday you invaded my mind against my orders.” It came out sounding appropriately stern. “Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry for that,” he said. “You’ll be sorrier in just a minute.” She raised the lash and whipped it around to land full across his buttocks. He tensed as the thongs struck but made no sound. The blow had been light, and it left only faint pink streaks. This was going to be a long session, so she started slowly, careful to strike just hard enough to leave pink smudges but barely raise welts. She didn’t want to go too hard until she knew how much residual soreness remained from the previous day. Either the answer was “not much” or he had an astonishing tolerance. He never did more than gasp and moan aloud during the long session that followed, though she gradually increased the force of the blows until they left pink bands and welts all up

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and down his back, buttocks and thighs. She also allowed time between strokes to let him experience the full sting before the next one fell. Gilya finally had to stop when the muscles in her arm started to ache. By then a net of welts seamed his back from shoulders down to knees. Sweat darkened his hair and he shuddered when she ran a hand over the hot, rough flesh. But his erect cock jerked at her touch. “Sweet Stars,” he muttered, eyes closed and lips clenched. She released his hands from the bonds, and he bent over for a moment, gasping, but straightened and turned to her quickly. Without prompting, he walked toward her and put his arms around her, embracing her so hard she found herself gasping as well. He kissed her with more enthusiasm than expertise. His mouth was sweet and hot and she wanted to explore more but… She pulled back. “Hey, ease down. This isn’t the way it goes.” His face tightened as he backed away. “Remember who’s in charge here.” He looked down at the floor and spots of color showed on his cheeks. He drew a deep breath and stood tensely for a moment as though fighting for control before he nodded and said, “Understood, Mistress.” Interesting. He might be a sexual submissive, but he was also an officer on a ship and likely more used to giving orders than taking them. “Now, come here and kiss me, but let’s do it right. Put your mouth over mine, like this, and just run your tongue over my lips.” He was a quick learner. It didn’t take him long to master mouth-to-mouth and tongue-to-tongue techniques. He did it so well that heat rushed through her veins and her muscles began to weaken. But she couldn’t. She drew back, with an effort. “Okay.” That came out a bit too breathless to sound very authoritative, but she did better on the next words. “You’re doing well. Now you’re going to undress me and kiss every bit you uncover.”

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He really was a fast learner, one who couldn’t seem to get enough of the exercise. No fumbling marked his efforts to undo her clothes, and he took no extra time, though he did fold her clothes and set them aside carefully. Ship’s discipline, she supposed. And he did kiss her just about everywhere he could reach. His lips on her toes made her shudder with longing. He’d gotten to his knees to start at her feet, but rose as his mouth traveled up her legs, going from side to side inside her calves, knees and thighs. She sat on the side of the bed when he nudged her thighs apart. Men had kissed her pussy before. Some were more skilled than Kevin, some less. Most of them had given her some pleasure in the act. None of them had made both her body and heart convulse in the same way it did right then, when Kevin’s tongue pushed between her labia and swept over her clit in rasping strokes. She actually thought she might faint from it. After a while he moved on reluctantly to kiss up her belly, dipping his tongue into her navel, and giving each breast a prolonged tasting. He finally made his way back up to her mouth. After kissing for a few minutes again, she pushed him back and said, “Get on the bed. It’s my turn.” Once he’d complied, she ran her hands over his chest and down his flat, hard stomach to wrap her fingers around his cock. He jolted and gasped. “Stars—” The shaft quivered with tension, so hard it had to be painful. “Mistress, I— Can’t hold much longer.” “You will not come until I say you can,” she ordered. He drew a sharp breath and his face screwed up in a frown. She leaned over, took one of his nipples in her mouth while cupping his balls. He let out a sobbing moan. He was close to the edge and time was moving on, so she stopped and said, “Come into me now.” “Yes, Mistress.” He climbed eagerly into place and pushed in. As it was the day before, their coupling was hot, hard and fast. He moaned and sobbed, even yelled once, as he pumped into her, a reaction the whip had failed to draw from him earlier. Gilya held tight to him, arching her body to meet his, matching his 20

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wild, fierce rhythm. He buried his fingers in her hair as his breath heaved in harsh pants, then froze for a moment, before he rammed into her one last time and launched them both into a jolting orgasm. Afterward he wound his arms around her neck, holding her gently, sweat-slicked body resting on hers, cheek pressed to cheek. “Oh skies, I’ve never felt anything like that before,” he whispered in her ear. She moved so that she could see his face, look into his eyes. “Have you ever been with a woman before?” she asked. He stiffened. “Of course I have.” The spurt of indignation faded quickly though, and his mouth twisted into a wry bitterness. “A few times. It wasn’t ever very successful.” Pain slipped into his green eyes. “There was a silly girl on Skallis, too stupid to know what ‘telepath’ meant. She was… I couldn’t stand the way she giggled all the time. The other two were…professionals, like you. Not like you though. Neither of them could handle it. They were terrified of me.” “How long have you known about this?” “That I was a telepath? For as long as I can remember. We’re born that way.” “No. I meant your submissive needs.” “Oh. That. Years, I suppose. I’ve always had these fantasies. And I got plenty of discipline on the various ships, some of it pretty rough, but that was just unpleasant. Not what I needed or wanted. It was a little better with some of the pros, but…” He sighed and ran his fingers through her hair and down her cheek. “I know what was missing now. I think you’ve spoiled me for anyone else.” The chime sounded, indicating his time was up. He rose, reluctantly, stretched and winced, but made no other sign of discomfort as he got back into his clothes. Gilya didn’t ask if he’d return the next day. The look he gave her as he left assured her he would.

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Before he was even out of the building, she was looking forward to his return. A frisson of dread cut through the anticipation though. How would he react when he learned how she managed to be so perfect for him?

On his third visit he brought her a small pot of blooming firefeather. The tiny orange-red flowers were exquisite with feathery trailers that waved and curled in the slightest air current “You’re allowed to accept gifts?” He held the plant out to her. “Yes, although anything worth more than twenty UDCs has to be registered with the House, so we can’t be accused of anything wonky later.” “Noted,” he said. She took the plant and put it in a place of honor on a low shelf. “It’s exquisite.” He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His breath and tongue were warm on her neck where he nuzzled at it. “So are you.” She’d already consulted the log, so she knew that he wanted something different that day—the plain white version of sex, except he wanted her on top. She let him lead the way this time, kissing, touching, undressing slowly and exploring each other’s bodies as they went. Instead of him climbing on top when the time came though, she pushed him onto his back, sat up and moved to straddle him so that her pussy pressed down on his cock. She rubbed herself back and forth on his hard length until he was moaning and his fists clenched in the sheets. When she shifted and positioned himself atop the shaft, his face screwed into a tense frown of anticipation. Finally she took mercy on him and moved again, impaling herself nearly to the root of him. Watching the way the pleasure made his eyes glow, then suddenly clench in unbearable ecstasy, was a joy of its own. She paced them deliberately, holding him back when he wanted to pump madly. He groaned and thrashed under her. That turned into an eye- and mouth-clenching paroxysm when she

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rose and lowered herself again as far as she could, burying him deep inside her. His shout echoed off the walls. He cupped her breasts while she reached around to fondle his balls and squeeze gently. Sweat poured off him as he tried to slow it down, to prolong the pleasure. She did her best as well, but the heat and pressure drove her forward. Still, they lasted longer than they had on either occasion before. After a while, though, he began pumping harder and she rose and lowered herself frantically, trying to keep pace with him, until he gave a long gasp and she felt him come inside her. It drove her over the top into her own jolting release. It felt great, and was special because it was with him, but… Gilya couldn’t tell how it worked for him, but to her it seemed just a bit flat and unexciting compared with the sizzle of their previous couplings.

The next day he brought her an adorable stuffed pika-cat. She hugged it to her for a minute, then gave it a place of honor on one of her shelves, near the flower from the previous day. Either he’d been equally disappointed by what had happened the previous day or he was just on a mission to explore a lot of different options, but he asked for something different again this time. It was bondage this time, and not just for him. She had several lovely sets of Earthsilk scarfs and some fabulous Barian-silk cords. They took turns tying each other up thoroughly and inventively, in some weird and uncomfortable positions, and taking advantage of the vulnerability to go over the other’s restrained body with fingers and tongues and feathers, clips and pins. He used the opportunity to try out some dominance on her, fastening her in the bedpost straps and trying out a variety of her toys on her unprotected skin. Although she preferred being Mistress, the role reversal was stimulating. The sting of leather or switch spread heat throughout her body that throbbed all over and roused an intense 23

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longing for the comfort of him inside her. She had no idea how much of that was programming, but it was pleasant, and it seemed to excite him too, though he could never bring himself to strike her really hard. He made up for quality with quantity, playing with her for a long time before he released her to sag onto the bed, and jumped to cover and enter her. Later he admitted that he enjoyed it as a variation but didn’t find it as natural as the other way around. Gilya wasn’t sure what suited her best. When she was with him, it seemed as though whatever he wanted was what she wanted, but the programming took care of it for her. When it wasn’t functioning, the welter of her feelings confused her. She couldn’t tell if she was scared of him or angry at him or in love with him. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with him, or to him, or have him do to her. She wasn’t even sure she cared, as long as he was there with her. When he left, her apartment seemed emptier than ever before. She looked forward to his return and was apprehensive about it at the same time. But the thought of never seeing him again once his ship lifted made her want to cry. And that scared her too.

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Chapter Three On day five, he signed up for her time without requesting any services. When she saw that in the log, Gilya couldn’t decide what to do about it. While waiting for him, she paced her apartment and chewed her cuticles and debated whether she should set the programming for something bland and generic. Her nerves were strung tight with indecision and worry by the time he arrived. He’d brought her a brame-silver bracelet that must have cost a fortune, making her wonder what kind of salary an officer on a ship made. She opened her mouth to refuse it, but after one look at his expression, she stopped. He expected her to refuse and was bracing himself for the disappointment. Instead she smiled and let him fasten it around her wrist. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “And you’re much too generous. I’m sure you’ve spent far too much of your salary on it.” “I haven’t had much of anything or anyone to spend my money on in a long time. And this was actually a gift from someone. I’d done him a favor and he knew I wouldn’t take money in thanks. He gave me this instead.” He lifted his shoulders in an endearingly rueful shrug. “Can’t say I get much use from it.” “Thank you then. But I noticed you didn’t sign up for a program for today.” “I had something else in mind. I’d like to take you out. Are you free to leave?” Surprise muddled her thoughts for a couple of moments. “You’ve paid for the time,” she told him. “You can do whatever you want with it. And I’m not a slave or a prisoner here.” He hesitated then and the color rose in his cheeks. “Gilya? If I asked you to spend some of your free time with me, would you do it?”

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She looked him in the eyes, then dropped hers, fearful and shy of what she saw. “Yes, I would, but…there’s a problem. Your ship lifts in six days, right? I don’t have any free time between now and then. I… I don’t sign up for much free time. I don’t usually need it. If I’d known sooner, I would have made sure I had extra time for you.” “Why don’t you take more time off? Everyone needs it. Do they keep you from doing it?” “No.” She laughed. “No one’s making me. I’m trying to save as much money as I can, so I try to work as many hours as I can.” “Why?” “How long do you think I can go on doing this?” she asked him. “It’s physically stressful. And anyway, there’s something else I want to do.” “What?” “It’s a long story.” He looked eager. “There’s this great café I want to take you to. You’ll love it.” They got a flittercab even though it was just a short ride to the place. As promised, she fell in love with the shop the moment she stepped inside and breathed in the aroma. She had a weakness for Terra-coffee, and there were delightful, delicate pastries to go with it. She warned him that even though he’d taken two slots they wouldn’t have a lot of time since she had to be back for her next appointment. They had enough time, though, to let her tell him the little she knew about her background. “I have no memory of anything that had happened to me before I was ten,” she told him. “An officer found me wandering the streets in a daze. No could figure out who I was or what had happened. There weren’t any reports of missing persons or unexplained violence. No one ever figured out why I was roaming the streets, or what had become of my parents or guardians.” “In fact,” she told him, “my name, Gilya SiValejo, just means ‘girl of the streets’ in one of the local dialects. I spent the next six years in a public boarding school. They

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kicked me out when I turned sixteen. I worked in a couple of shops and tried to find out who I was, but made no headway. A couple of years later someone walked into the place where I was working, overheard me complaining about the pay and working conditions to someone else and asked if I wanted to move into something more rewarding. Which is how I ended up where I am.” “Do you like it there?” She shrugged. “The money’s good. In fact, at times, the money’s great. And the work’s not bad, most of the time.” “But it’s not what you want to do for the rest of your life.” “Well, realistically, I can’t, although I have awhile to go. Even with rejuves, you can only do this so long. But I want to earn enough now to retire and see if I can find my family. Whatever might be left of them.”

On day six, he brought her a beautiful Lixia wool sweater. “You can’t tell me someone gave you this as a thank-you gift,” she told him. “No. But I saw it and I knew that bronze color would be perfect for you.” He’d requested the “penitence” package again and the log indicated he wanted it harsh and heavy. It worried her. Even knowing that it was what he wanted, a curl of doubt in her heart said she didn’t want to cause him pain. And another part reminded her that he was an adult, old enough to know what he wanted and needed. She didn’t want to fail him. The faults he confessed as part of the package involved a number of small incidents of dereliction of duty aboard ship, things that had never been noticed or caught, but faults he knew about. She had him strip and attached him to the bedposts. She used a flogger this time, a medium-painful one with a dozen narrow leather tails of varying lengths, each with a wickedly tapered end.

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He tensed, closed his eyes and set his jaw when he heard the whizzing of the lashes, then jerked and pulled at the straps as they landed, printing a bold lattice of narrow pink lines on his shoulder. She worked him over thoroughly, striking from all angles, covering every inch of his back from shoulders to knees with the flogger’s signature fan-shaped mark. Varying the angles, she made the thongs roll around his sides and hips, far enough to print a few stripes on his chest, belly and the fronts of his thighs. A wicked little flick of her wrist drove the tips into tender armpits or the recess between buttocks, occasionally forcing a smothered yelp from him. The sounds—the hiss of the thongs slicing air, the rhythmic cracks as they dug into skin, his panting, the sharp catch of his breath each time the tails landed—all blended into a soft, primal music of love and submission to her. She felt herself swelling with the emotions building, the gift of his trust and care, the power over him. Her arm rained slashing strokes on him and each one heated her too, until she wondered how she could contain it. Love and pride and admiration and sheer lust for him sang in her blood. The rapture of it nearly overwhelmed her as she cracked the flogger over him again and again. When he could no longer contain himself, he groaned and gasped, yelping more loudly when the thongs bit into especially sensitive places. She stopped when he no longer jerked at each stroke and his moans faded, giving way to exhausted gasps. He never begged for mercy or pleaded with her to stop. She let him down carefully, allowing him to sag onto the bed and stretch out face down there. After telling him to lie still, just as he was, she got a jar of fragrant, soothing oil and massaged it into the tormented flesh, until he was again writhing and moaning, but with pleasure rather than pain. He was hard and ready when she rolled him over on his back. He gasped again as the tender flesh touched fabric, but his smile dazzled her with its brilliant emotions of joy and gratitude. She leaned over him, kissed his mouth, then moved down his jaw, throat and chest, to stop at a nipple.

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She tongued both, moving from side to side, until he couldn’t hold still, then she took one of the hard tips between her teeth and bit gently on it. He almost screamed from the raw sensation. When she repeated the treatment with the other one, he panted hard and said, “Mistress… I don’t know…” “I do. You’ll hold on until I say you can come.” He jerked a nod, his breath heaving in gasping pants. His fingers tightened their death-grip on her bedsheets. “Stars, Mistress,” he muttered as she moved down his body. She put an invisisheath on him before she pressed her tongue to the tip of his cock. He jerked and moaned, then shouted when she took most of his length into her mouth and sucked on it. His plaintive cries got louder and sharper. She could feel his struggle to hold back in the way his bunched muscles quaked, shaking his whole frame. His balls felt sweetly soft and vulnerable when she cupped them in her hands and tugged gently. Her tongue ran up and down the length of his cock. Finally she took pity on him. “Move and get in me.” He sat up. “Can I do it from behind?” “Do it.” They shifted positions. Gilya knelt on the bed and leaned forward onto her hands and knees. He knelt behind her and positioned himself at her slit. It jolted her in a different way when he pushed in. His cock fit more tightly this way and pressed against her womb at a different angle. He leaned forward and cupped her breasts in his hands. She almost melted into orgasm right then. The satisfaction of having him around her and inside her went well beyond any professional pride or achievement. The thrill, the fire, the pleasure of it was far too personal. Far too scary. Fortunately she didn’t have time to dwell on that as the rising tide of need threatened to overwhelm her. She struggled to hold it back, to give him more time. 29

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But the same frenzied need had him in its grip. He rammed into her a few times, hard, grunting thrusts. Then he gasped sharply, bucked and jerked with the orgasm that had been waiting too long. It sent her over the edge to drown in the breaking swell of her own need. After a while he helped her get off her locked-up knees and roll to her side against him. For a long time she rested in the cradle of his arms, sated beyond any measure she knew. It wasn’t until she felt the harsh attitude provided by the programming begin to drain away that she realized something was amiss. She pushed herself up and off him, rolling to the side. “The buzzer hasn’t gone off. It must be long past time.” Surprisingly, he held her down on the bed when she would have gotten up. “It’s all right. I requested two sessions.” “Oh.” She fell back against the luxurious bedclothes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t look at the next slot. I’ll have to think about it a bit. I’m not sure how much more you can—” “No. I just wanted to have time to lie with you…and maybe…talk.” A frisson of panic rushed through her. Without the programming, she hardly knew what to do or say. She didn’t know how she felt. The exhilaration of earlier had drained away, but left in the emotional space it had created was a fierce, possessive tenderness toward him. And a raging fear, because she’d never felt that for any client before. She was terrified of doing or saying something that would make him go away and never come back. Even though he was going away in just a few days anyway. If he realized what she was doing, he might leave even sooner and not come back at all. She fought down her fear and tried to relax. She couldn’t think what to say to him without the programming to guide her. Fortunately she didn’t have to work too hard at it. She asked him about his travels as an officer on the Robinson. He took it from there. He fascinated her with stories about the far-flung places in the universe he’d visited until she became so intrigued, she forgot to be nervous. Maybe someday she’d get to see for herself the shores of the Mayalan Ocean on the mostly water world of Seebrook 30

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Gana, where the violent waves had carved the cliff-edges of many of the islands into gigantic friezes of fanciful shapes. And from the way he described it, she could almost see the glimmer of the crystal- and gem-encrusted cities of the Drinan Plain, built by a civilization long gone and now protected from looters by dire restrictions. She could picture the slender towers glittering in the rays of the two suns, the shadows painting strange shapes across the crystal bridges between the spires. “But how did you get to be an officer?” she asked, wondering how a man so well traveled, with such wide experience and such obvious physical attractions, could be so naive and shy. “On most worlds all human children are tested early on for psi abilities. It’s pretty rare, but we do pop up occasionally. You were probably tested yourself.” “I don’t remember it, but then I don’t have any memories from before I was ten, so I wouldn’t know.” “As I said, the trait is rare, and the few children who show it are sent to special schools to help them learn to control the abilities. There’s usually a contract made between the child’s parents and one of the big companies, which specifies that the child will work for the company for a specified period of time after completing their schooling, in return for the company financing the education.” He paused a moment and drew a breath before continuing, maybe steeling himself to tell her something unpleasant. “I barely remember my parents. I suspect they were relieved to get rid of the problem I presented. I was sent off to a special school where they isolated the children from others not of our kind until we learned to cope and interact with ‘normals’, shielding ourselves from the things we could hear and protecting others from invasion. Few of us ever got very comfortable with it. My family certainly never got comfortable with the idea of me. I barely heard from them as I was growing up. They came to my graduation ceremonies and took off again the same day without even inviting me home for a visit.” He sighed. “I’d been contracted with an interstellar shipping company and 31

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went to work aboard the Robinson two days later. The company likes to have a telepath onboard every ship to keep on top of potential problems.” Kevin had worked on the ship for eight years, and it had been a lonely odyssey. His ability to tap into their thoughts made him unpopular with the crew. Even the upper staff with whom he interacted the most feared him and avoided social contact. But he’d been to many different worlds. Nowhere did human residents want to have much to do with him, so he’d gone exploring on his own. He was telling her about a few more of them when the beeper warned that even their extra time was up. He got up reluctantly. “I hate to leave,” he admitted. “Gilya?” He used her name gingerly, for the first time, watching her as she got to her feet also. “Can I just hold you for a minute?” She hesitated, then nodded. Without the programming to guide her actions, she felt naked and bereft. Still, she was startled by how good it felt to be folded in his arms, skin to skin, her head resting on his shoulder. Then she drew back to look into his eyes and he kissed her. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I never thought I’d find anyone who could accept me at all. But this is more than I ever expected. It’s just so… I’d like to… Oh. Sweet skies, I forgot!” “Forgot what—? Oh no, you didn’t. Not again.” He looked down at the floor. “I did.” “Damnit, I warned you.” She didn’t have the programming to tell her what to do, but a sudden flash of anger at that invasion of her privacy offered an adequate substitute. “I told you not to and you promised… Turn around and bend over.” He didn’t argue but did as she said, putting his hands on his knees to pull his weight forward. She smacked his ravaged buttocks hard, with her open hand, again and again, until the warning beeper buzzed again and she realized that her palm was stinging. He had to be hurting a lot worse, but he made no sound. “That was just a taste,” she said, not hiding her annoyance. “Come again tomorrow to get the full punishment. Get out.” 32

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He was aroused again, but she hadn’t the time to do anything about it even if she’d had the inclination. He dressed hastily and left without another word. He occupied far too much of her thought time. She couldn’t remember that she’d ever wanted to think about a man or wish he was still with her after the programming had run its course. It was so insanely stupid. He’d be leaving in less than a week. Foolish, to let one man become so important to her. She didn’t know how to stop it or fight it. And what would he do when he found out about the programming and the effect it had on her? He’d surely feel betrayed—he’d been so truthful with her about his peculiarities. Given his experience with people, he might not be able to forgive her for it. That night she rolled around in the bed, thinking about him, debating with herself what to do. He wouldn’t be here much longer. Did it matter that she was deceiving him with the programming, making him think she was something she wasn’t? Why should he care when he’d be lifting off in a few days and would never see her again? But she was pretty sure he would care. And she might well be seeing him again, even if it would be for a while. She’d looked up the Robinson’s schedule. It made regular stops here, every four standard months. That was a long time between visits, but still, he might want to see her again on future stops. She liked his company even without the programming and he seemed to enjoy his time with her. They might even become close… She shied away from anything else. But even a continued friendship demanded honesty between them. And that scared her half to death. He might not like what she had to tell him. She would hardly blame him if he walked right out. But she would miss him dreadfully. And oddly enough, just because she did care that much, she had to do it. No matter what the cost.

When he came the next day, she discovered that he’d reserved three slots. It had to be costing him a fortune—her time didn’t come cheap. She felt even guiltier about the deception of the programming and worried about how he’d react when he learned of it.

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Gilya even considered not using the programming that day, but she had no confidence she could deal with him and his particular needs without it. And that was the crux of the problem of course. Whatever his feelings, they were for the woman he thought she was, the one who could be cruel to be kind. That was what he wanted, what he needed. She wasn’t sure she could be that person without the programming. The lights were turned down low and soft, melancholy music played in the background when he arrived. After making him strip and don a blindfold, she tied his hands together and attached them to a hook hanging down from the ceiling in the middle of the room. She keyed a switch to activate a system of pulleys that raised the hook until his arms stretched well above his head and his feet barely rested on the floor. The position gave her access to his body from every angle. She chose a slender, whippy rod, specially made from a unique composite that gave it the characteristics of a switch made from Earth wood. It bit deep and could do real damage if not used carefully. She knew how to wield it to create deep, almost violent sensations without causing real damage. The marks from the previous day’s whipping had faded, except for a few narrow purple bruises. Before the day was over, he’d have a new set of welts. Gilya slashed the rod through the air a couple of times, watching him flinch at the hiss, before she actually pulled it back and flicked it down across the front of his thighs. The switch cracked loudly when it kissed flesh, incising a shallow groove on the pale flesh that turned pink when she pulled back. He jumped and sucked in a sharp breath. He became aroused right away. As before, he tried to maintain some level of composure and dignity under the punishment. She did her best to shatter it. She varied the strength and timing of the blows, sometimes giving a mere tap, or even a caress, at other times striking hard enough to raise welts. Every part of his body other than his head became a target for the switch. She swatted his thighs hard and his stomach more gently. His buttocks suffered several fierce cuts and his shoulders and chest took their marks bravely. Sometimes she delivered several hard blows in a row,

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other times she made him wait, standing and shivering while he anticipated the next pain. They had time, lots of it, and she determined to take maximum advantage of it. Occasionally she suspended punishment while she kissed and stroked him. She gloried in her power and mastery over his beautiful body, her right to make that body suffer at her direction. But she reveled just as strongly in giving pleasure. She pinched his nipples hard between her fingernails, then soothed the irritated flesh with her mouth. When she went to her knees to run her tongue over his erection, he sobbed and moaned, straining in the bonds to reach for her. The smooth, silky length of him throbbed violently when she closed her mouth over it and sucked hard. She followed that taste assault up with a series of sharp switch cuts across the shoulders and chest. An ache grew inside her as she watched him, drinking in the sight of his marvelously formed body, all the more beautiful for bearing her marks. It took a lot of switching to draw more than a faint whimper. When she decided it was time he give in completely to her, she measured the switch across his chest, touching both nipples, then she drew it back and slashed the length down on the very same spot. He screamed and writhed. Gilya followed it up with a series of harder cuts that kept him squirming and panting until he couldn’t swallow the groans and yelps anymore. Another long series of sharp strokes went up and down his back from shoulders to knees. They made him hop, dance and moan until his body fairly glowed red, highlighted by raised, darker weals. His chest heaved with labored breaths. By then he sagged in the bonds, sweat running down his face and body. He looked exhausted, so she stopped. When she released him, he staggered and almost fell against her. She didn’t take off the blindfold, but walked him to the bed and rolled him onto it. She shrugged out of her suit and kissed him, moving on his mouth, then straying to his ears, down his throat and chest, nipping lightly at his nipples and licking his belly. When she took the erect

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length of him into her mouth, he jumped and groaned again. His hands dug into her hair and pressed her face into him as he moaned in pleasure. She looked up at him, dragged off the blindfold, used it to wipe the sweat off his face and tossed it away. The green eyes stared at her with awe and ecstasy. She turned herself all the way around and knelt over him, her knees pressed against his ears, hands on either side of his hips. After rolling a sheath on him, she lowered herself, took his cock in her mouth and tongued it gently. His hair brushed the insides of her legs as he bucked and writhed. She heard him moan, “Please?” “Please, what?” she asked. “Please, Mistress, can I touch?” “Touch what?” “Touch you, as you’re touching me.” Twisting to look back at him, she saw the direction of his gaze and understood. “Do it,” she ordered. The tentative flick of his tongue against her slit made her jump in turn and she nearly bit him. He hesitated. “Is that all right?” he asked. “Wonderful. Don’t stop.” She settled her chin on his stomach, lowered her body so that he didn’t have to strain his neck to touch her, and reached forward to finger his balls, playing with them while she scraped her teeth gently down his cock. His tongue probed her clit, tickling and sucking at times. Her own fuse began to ignite at the same time she felt him throb uncontrollably. “Don’t you dare come yet,” she ordered. “Mistress, I can’t hold it!” “Don’t—” 36

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He spasmed, with his lips on her button, and just as he spurted, she went off as well, shaking with a climax that went on and on into forever. Gilya collapsed on him and lay still there for several minutes while her breathing returned to a more normal pace. When she felt him stir, she considered her next move. The programming was still active and he’d reserved three slots. She raised herself a little, freed a hand and slapped it down on his balls, not hard but too sharply to ignore. He let out a wail of surprise and pain. “I told you not to come,” she said. “You disobeyed a direct order.” He had no answer to that and wisely said nothing. She pushed herself off him and then rolled him over. After telling him not to move, she jumped off the bed and went to the closet, returning with a strip of wood an inch wide and eighteen inches long. Disregarding the weals from the switching she’d given him earlier, she began to spank his buttocks with the strip of wood. It wasn’t as fierce an instrument as the switch, but it would sting, and with a long enough application, raise a serious burn. She planned on a long application. The wood strip rose and fell, striking the same expanse of skin over and over. The punished flesh turned pink as she beat on it, then red, and finally swelled and shaded to purple. His fingers dug into the bedclothes, knuckles white, as he squirmed and began to moan. Again he never begged or pleaded with her to stop, but she could tell he was at the end of his endurance when his panting breaths broke from his control and descended into sobs and his body rocked rhythmically of its own accord, trying to provide some comfort. “I’m very sorry, Mistress.” She set the wooden strip aside and flipped him over sharply. He grunted as his inflamed buttocks made contact with the fabric. “You won’t disobey me again, will you?” she asked.

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“No, Mistress” he said, half choking on the words. “Good.” He was only partly erect at that point, a situation that changed rapidly when she kissed him on the mouth and wrapped a hand around his cock at the same time. It didn’t take much work to bring him to full readiness again. Then she dragged him on top of her and felt him dive deep. She began to climb again herself.

Neither of them moved for a long time afterward, until Kevin rolled off to collapse beside her. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around her. When he recovered a little, he began to kiss and caress her, worshipping her with tongue and hands. And words. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he said. “It’s such a miracle. I never thought I’d find anyone who could stand to be around me long enough to do this. But you know just what I want and need and you do it so perfectly.” He drew a deep breath. “I know you’ve known a lot of men, that you’re a professional. You’ve got a lot more experience than I do. But you do feel something, don’t you? For me, I mean? In particular?” She rolled to face him, took his face between her hands and kissed him. “Yes. Yes, I do. But there’s something you—” “You do. I knew it! I knew there was something special between us. Gilya, I know it’s probably the wrong thing to say, but I’m going to anyway. I love you. I’ve never met anyone like you—someone who can not only deal with a telepath, but one who understands…what I need. And can give it to me. In such a way.” He sighed. “My ship lifts in a few days. I’m wondering if maybe I should just stay here instead. I’ve already paid out my training and I’ve got a bit saved. I could probably buy out my current contract. I could find a place where we could be together. Would you be interested?” She hesitated and licked her lips. “Kevin, before you go any further, there’s something I have to tell you. It may make you see things differently.” 38

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His eyes narrowed as her words penetrated his elation. “There’s someone else. You’re committed?” “No. But there’s something …you need to know about me. It’s just that—” “You’re sick?” “No. Kevin! Will you shut up and let me tell this in my own way?” His lids fell and he lowered his head. “Yes, Mistress.” “No. It’s just me now. Gilya speaking.” He nodded and kissed her again, softly, before sinking back and waiting. “Thank you. This isn’t easy. In fact, I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it. It’s kind of like a trade secret. You have to promise not to tell anyone else.” He met her gaze again. His jaw was set in a solid line but his eyes showed puzzlement. He nodded. “Some of us in this profession have done this thing to give us some extra help. It makes what we’re doing more exciting and convincing to customers. It helps us be more…well, real, to them. We’ve had some modifications done.” “Modifications?” “I’ve got a little chip implanted in my head. It does something with my brain chemicals and electricity and all that.” “Neuro-implant?” He couldn’t keep the distaste out of his words. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it is.” “Why?” “The chemicals and electricity—they help trigger certain emotions and attitudes. I can program it to make myself feel certain ways.” “You use a neuro-implant to program your emotions.” It was starting to sink in but hadn’t gotten to the root of the matter yet. “Why would you…?” She saw him make the connection, the shock and surprise that followed, leading inexorably to the dawning

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realization of what it meant to him. “That’s what you’ve been doing with me all along. The way you get… That’s why it’s so perfect.” A spasm of pain twisted his mouth and narrowed his eyes, halting him for a moment. “And I thought you really felt it. I thought we were really connected that way, such an incredibly good fit. I thought you really felt something for me.” Hurt and anger overrode everything else. “But it was all fake. Just a bunch of chemicals and electricity, ’cause you’ve pushed the right buttons to make yourself the woman of my dreams. Push another button and you turn into some other man’s fantasy.” His hands curled into fists that tugged at the bedsheets so hard his knuckles looked bleached. “And I thought what we had was so special.” The bitterness in his tone cut into her. Then it got worse. “I’ll bet that’s why you could stand to be in the same room with a telepath. Your fancy programming insulated you against feeling anything normal like fear or doubt or happiness… or love.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her when she didn’t immediately respond. “That’s it, isn’t it? Not me and you, just a bunch of brain chemicals dictating your responses.” “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but—” He released her abruptly, letting her shoulders drop back to the bed. He rolled off and stood up. “You don’t know? How can you not know?” “Kevin, please, listen to me…” But she didn’t know what to say, how to handle him. The programming had worn off and she didn’t know what to do without it. “I do feel something for you. I don’t know exactly what it is, or where it’s going, but I do feel something special. Ever since I met you, you stay in my head, practically all the time.” “You’ve been programming your emotions with me all along. Your whole routine, the way you take charge and take control… The way you give me exactly what I need… It’s all a show. A really convincing show because you force the right brain chemicals into action.”

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“No.” She sat upright as he reached for his clothes and started putting them on. “More than a show. It’s more than that. Why do you think I specialize in this kind of scene? I like it.” “And what we had together? I thought there was something special there. But it was all just canned affection.” “I told you, you’re different. Even with the programming, I feel something different with you.” “How many customers have you said that to lately?” “None. I promise you.” “And you promise that you’d feel the same way about me without the programming as you do with it?” “I don’t… I think so.” “You think so,” he mocked. “Are you sure you could even stay in the room with me without your artificial assistance?” “I’m with you right now. And the programming has worn off.” The bleak, angry look didn’t change. “Okay, let’s go through the whole routine again. And this time, don’t dope yourself up.” “Kevin, not now. I can’t right now. Oh please, don’t…” His stare speared right through her, searching and accusing at the same time. “Don’t what?” “Don’t look at me like that.” He slammed a fist against the bed. “I won’t. Isn’t it sad? I struggled so hard to keep from reading you. If I hadn’t been so restrained, I might have known before that it was all a lie.” He jammed his feet into his boots. “Before I made my pretty little speech to you.” “It’s not a lie. If you’d only give me—”

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He wasn’t listening. He almost ran across the room, shutting the door too quietly, too carefully behind him.

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Chapter Four He didn’t come the next day. Gilya kept hoping he would. Every time a client signed in without identifying himself but requesting the “penitence” package, she held her breath, wondering, hoping. And was disappointed each time. She couldn’t believe how much it hurt, how much she wanted to see him again. He didn’t come the next day either. She tried to contact him through the ship but could only leave a message. She was sure he’d ignore it, if he received it at all. The emptiness hurt more than she’d ever believed possible. By the day after that, only two days before his ship was due to lift, she’d pretty much given up hope of seeing him again. She’d even stopped getting excited when the package was requested. It was a popular scenario. So she was surprised when the door opened to admit the fifth client of the day, the second one to request the package, and she found herself staring up at him. Interesting that he hadn’t signed in with his name as he’d always done before. Was he still furious with her? But then why come at all, unless he wanted some kind of revenge? The ready color flooded his face as he looked at her, but he began undoing his clothing right away without saying anything. She could only fall back on the programming, already in place. “You have something you want to confess?” He nodded. “I did a really stupid thing. I walked out on someone I cared about, because I was angry and felt cheated. I didn’t even give her a chance to explain or try to show me that I was wrong.” She faltered for a moment. “I’ve already programmed the response. I can’t undo it right now.” “I figured. We’ll talk about it later. You have a job to do right now.” 43

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“Right.” She drew a deep breath and straightened up, arranging her features to display stern censure. “That was selfish and unfair of you, not to give her a chance. You know what to do.” He finished stripping off his clothes. She led him over to a stuffed armchair, positioned him at the back, and made him bend over it with his legs spread well apart. “I’m not going to restrain you this time. You’ll have to do it yourself. But I expect you to stay in this position until I say you can get up.” She couldn’t resist touching him, running her fingers through the blond hair tumbling around his head, before she moved to the closet and took out a heavy, flexible leather paddle. It was a nasty piece of work half a centimeter thick and twenty centimeters wide, with holes cut out along its length. Clients told her it had a ferocious sting. He jumped and gasped the first time she swung it and cracked it against his butt. It printed a bright red banner across the pale flesh, which still showed a few dark bruises left from earlier treatments. A dozen swats later, most of his bottom was scarlet, and he yelped with each stroke, struggling to keep himself in place. She spanked with rapid, fierce strokes, over and over, until his flesh glowed a livid plum color. The only mercy she offered was to occasionally strike lower down on the backs of his thighs until they were well-bathed in crimson as well. By the time he’d had what she estimated at fifty strokes, he was howling with the pain and bouncing up and down on the seat. She stopped for a moment to run a hand across the suffering flesh. He shuddered as her palm strafed the hot, swollen ridges, caressing the skin she’d savaged. He started to rise, but she pushed him back down. “Did I say you could move?” He shook his head. She slapped his bottom with her open palm and he let out a keening moan. “Did I say you could move?” she repeated. “No, Mistress.” 44

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“Good. Now stay put.” She went around the chair, climbed up onto the arms and stood up straight, straddling his shoulders and neck. She raised the paddle and brought it down along the crack between the cheeks of his butt, flicking it so that the tip wrapped down between his legs. He yelped and kicked out wildly. She delivered five more strokes, each of which made him howl. He would have rolled off the chair if she hadn’t stepped down and gripped his torso firmly between her legs. Two last cracks on his butt drew prolonged roars as he tried to shake her off. She lowered herself until she rested on his shoulders. He bucked frantically and she had to ride with him. When he finally began to calm, she reached forward to grab at the fiery flesh she had spanked so hard. He groaned again as her palms soothed over the hot surface and he began to writhe in a different rhythm. When he was on the verge of exploding, she stopped and got up, stood him up and dragged him over to another chair, an old-fashioned, straight-backed, hard-seated affair. He stifled a sharp cry as his inflamed bottom hit the hard seat. He gasped again when she threw off her velvet bodysuit and sat on his lap, facing him, her legs straddling his. She held her breasts and rubbed the tips into his face. “Suck on them,” she ordered. He complied. Heat blazed new trails along her skin and through her bloodstream at the touch of his lips on her nipples. She moved forward and lifted herself onto him, impaling herself on the hard length of his jutting cock. Together they rocked and bounced and touched each other with tenderness and eagerness and fierce passion. And they exploded together in simultaneous climaxes that moved and hurled them both into powerful spasms of raw, primal pleasure. For a long time they clung together, lost in the aftermath. Finally, Gilya stirred. “Let’s see if the bed is still there,” she suggested. “You can’t be real comfortable.” “I’m not,” he admitted. “But it was still pretty fantastic. You outdid yourself.” 45

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They collapsed together on the bed and dozed, then made love again, after he licked virtually every square inch of her body. They dozed again, but he roused after a while. “Gilya?” he asked, a bit diffidently. “Before our time is up, can we talk?” “I think we’d better,” she said, running a hand over his chest. She loved the softness of the light hair there. “Tomorrow is my last full day before my ship lifts again. Is there any way you could get some time off? Maybe even spend the day with me?” “I’ll transfer my appointments to someone else,” she promised. “One more thing. Well, more than one, but it’s all related. I’ve arranged for a place for us, and I have a job for you. I’m still carrying a load of guilt about what happened on the Robinson. I want you to help me exorcise it once and for all. It’ll be a major project, so bring your arsenal. But leave whatever it is you use to direct the programming here. I want you, the real woman, to do it for me.” He gave her an odd look, his green eyes wide and almost startled. “I want the absolute harshest treatment you can manage within the standard guidelines of no permanent damage. I need it to be as long and severe and painful and inventive as you can make it.” Gilya tensed and drew a deep breath before she agreed. She recognized his right to put her to that kind of test. But, Shining Stars, she was nervous about it. He was asking a lot and they both knew it. Any hope they might have for happiness together rested on her ability to pass that trial.

He came for her first thing the next morning. His rented transport was one of the classier models. The luxury villa he’d leased offered a gorgeous view over the rippling, rainbow-hued dunes of the Golddust Sea and a small private green-pool off the hydroponic solarium.

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Despite a bad case of nerves choking her, Gilya looked around the place with stunned bemusement. Her own quarters at the house were comfortable enough, but she had little experience with life outside those walls, having spent the twelve years of her life that she could recall focused on earning enough money to someday let her retire in comfort and investigate her unknown past. A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her distraction. “Like it?” he asked. “It’s fabulous.” She started to say something more and stopped, remembering. She fought a wave of helpless despair. Without the programming to guide her, she barely knew what to do. Just looking at him made her knees go weak and her heart pound furiously. What if he should actually decide to look in her head and see her fears and doubts? He’d know how far she was from being the woman he fantasized about. But he’d promised not to do that. She owed him some trust. She owed him more than that and she’d better figure out how to deliver it. “Come back to the transport and help me unload the equipment,” she ordered. If she could just capture that tone she used when the programming was active… At the transport she put a hand on his arm. “When we go back inside, you’ll put the cases in the parlor, take off all your clothes and kneel on the floor, facing the sofa. Wait for me there and don’t move. Do you understand?” He nodded, picked up two heavy cases and took them inside. She followed more slowly, giving him time to get ready. She went to one of the smaller rooms to change her own clothes, putting on her most extravagant concoction of leather, plasti-spand and studs, complete with spike-heeled lace-up boots and tight-fitting gloves. She struggled to assume the attitude that went with the armor. He knelt in the center of the room. Smudgy bruises still marked his buttocks, testament to the severity of yesterday’s paddling. His back was held straight and his shoulders squared, head high and proud. He didn’t turn when he heard her heels tapping across the clay-tiled floor toward him.

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She went around him and began to unpack the bags, spreading the equipment out on a long table. His gaze followed her as she sorted out gags and blindfolds, cock rings, nipple clamps, fine lengths of chain, collars and other restraints, an assortment of straps, paddles, canes, switches and several whips. All would see use before the day was out. When she finished, she went back toward him, circled behind and wrapped an insta-seal strap around each wrist and ankle, pressing the ends together to hold them securely in place. Each band had a small clamp set into it, allowing her to fasten and unfasten him quickly. Then she settled on the sofa, wiggling herself into a comfortable position. “Let’s get the position clear,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes with the requisite level of sternness. “First, you are still carrying around a load of guilt about your failure to do your duty on the ship. You were neither the instigator nor the perpetrator of the fight, but I agree you failed in your responsibility to avert it. You’ve already received some punishment for that failure. Today you’ll get the rest of it. All of the rest of it. For the next eight hours you will suffer intensely for it.” She saw him start at that and almost begin to say something. Probably that was harsher than he expected. She hoped it frightened him. It sure as hell frightened her. “At the end of the eight hours you will be purged of all guilt for the incident. I expect, no, I will order you, to put it behind you, once you’ve suffered the full load.” She was frightened by the task she’d set herself. She hoped she was up to it. “From now on you will address me only as Mistress and you will speak only when spoken to. Your body is mine to command and to chastise. You may yell or cry when the pain demands release, but you may not ask for mercy or protest anything done to you. Do you understand?” His green eyes were wide and apprehensive. He swallowed hard and said, “Yes, Mistress.”

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“Every half hour for the next eight hours you will receive a dozen cuts with a different instrument chosen from those on the table. I will allow you to select, but each one may be used only once.” There were sixteen instruments on the table and sixteen sessions, so he would taste all of them, even the heavy leather whips he eyed so fearfully. “In between I have other trials planned for you. You belong to me for this day, and you will follow every order precisely. Do you have any questions now? You have permission to speak.” “No, Mistress,” he said. “Good. We’ll start in exactly three minutes. You may use the time to choose the instrument for your first punishment.” Since she didn’t free his hands, he had to struggle to his feet. She didn’t watch him walk around to the table. He returned within the allotted time, one of the long, flat straps hanging from his mouth. A good choice for an opening. It wasn’t heavy and didn’t pack enough punch to cause much real pain. She’d chosen her mix of instruments carefully, to be sure that there were several light ones as well as a couple that were more severe. She led him into a room that was a sort of old-fashioned library, though few books remained there. Ladders still stood on runners along the walls to give access to the upper shelves. She made sure one of them was fixed in its place, then attached short cords to the bands at his wrists and ankles, looped them around the sides of the ladder so that his hands were dragged well over his head and fastened him that way. He barely flinched and didn’t make a sound as she slapped the strap across his buttocks for the promised dozen strokes. It stung but not enough to draw even a hiss from him, and while the skin turned pink where the leather landed, it never looked sore. When it was over, she released him and made him get down on hands and knees. She climbed on his back and had him ride her around on a tour of the house and grounds.

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The place had ten rooms on the ground floor and twelve upstairs. There were minimal furnishings in most of the downstairs rooms and only two of the upstairs bedrooms contained anything at all. But those two were supplied with beds freshly made up and places to store clothing and other items. The grounds covered several nicely landscaped acres. The place might be leased, but someone cared for it. As they made the rounds, she would occasionally comment to him about some feature, and she permitted him to answer. She found it wasn’t too hard to ignore his unusual abilities as long as she didn’t look him in the face. For the second session, he chose the lightest of the paddles, a slender affair of neowood composite. Applied to his already well-marked buttocks, it still caused him only a little discomfort. After that, she ordered him into the green pool in the conservatory, to sit on one of the seat shelves, motionless, immersed in water to just below his shoulder blades, while she turned the water temperature down far enough to make it uncomfortably chilly. She fastened his wrists to a bar well above his head, then left him for the next twenty minutes. When she returned, his lips were blue and he was shivering. She had to fight any compassion she might feel, reminding herself that he needed this to purge his guilt, as she needed to do it, to prove to him that she could and loved him enough to insist on it. She threw a large, thick towel around him after she released him and helped him out of the pool. Several minutes passed before his shivering abated. By then he’d chosen the instrument of his next session—one of the more stinging canes. In a move that surprised but warmed him up quickly again, she worked it over the fronts of his thighs, leaving pink stripes across the pale, lightly haired flesh. Her nervousness increased as she went along. He was so responsive, so controlled and dignified, giving and yielding at the same time. So far, copying the behavior she used under the programming was working, but later she had a couple of new ideas of

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her own she wanted to try. They would demand more from her and challenge her ability. She owed him the best effort she could manage. By the time the day’s plan was halfway done, she’d inflicted several light thrashings and two harsher ones. She’d placed the nipple clamps and cock ring on him, forcing him to keep them on for most of the interval, while she made him get down on hands and knees and chase a ball she threw. Each time he retrieved it and brought it back, using his mouth only, she had him sit up to give it back to her. She would tweak his nipples and stroke his cock, watching him wince each time. The hardware stayed on through the subsequent beating—one of the severe ones, with a heavy split strap ravaging his back and buttocks. She capped it off by jerking off the clamps and ring while he still writhed from the last stroke. His groan rose to a shrill squeal when she dragged off the second clamp. In the next interval, she fastened him to the ladder again, blindfolded, back to the rungs, hands pulled well above his head to stretch his body out tautly. She’d had to stand on a chair to get his wrists to that height. Then she set about tickling him in all the most sensitive parts with a feather. He gasped and thrashed and moaned under the assault and finally he lost control. “Mistress,” he said, voice cracking with strain. “I can’t hold it. I can’t… I’m going to…” And he did. She wrapped her hand around his spasming shaft and pressed it against his belly so that he spurted up onto his chest. “I’m sorry,” he moaned afterward. She slapped him several times. “You’ll pay for that later.” Then she released him, made him clean himself up and pick out the instrument for the next punishment. She warned that it had better be a hard one that time. He returned to her holding a multi-thonged whip with tails of stiff, braided cords that tapered to very thin, sharp ends. He approached and handed her the whip with a reluctance that spoke of his fear.

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Handled most severely, the cords could cut the flesh and leave bleeding furrows. She debated using it at all, but it had been his choice. She’d have to be light with it though. That made her wonder if she were wimping out, but they had too long to go yet, it wouldn’t be a good idea to tear him up too much at that point. Even handled gently though, it was a cruel instrument, with each stroke leaving tracks of livid, thin red lines swelling on the skin. By the time she’d delivered eight lashes, he was yelling and struggling against the bonds that held him upright and tautly strung. Each subsequent strike drew a scream and printed additional swelling weals across his back. By the time she was done, he sobbed and sagged against the ladder. She released him and brought him back into the parlor, made him kneel beside the sofa and rest his head on the cushions while she sprayed insta-heal on the welts. She got some of the food she’d brought and sat down beside him, then moved until his head rested in her lap. While he recovered, she fed him bits of bread and cheese, chunks of meat-stick and zobafruit, letting him nibble small pieces she broke off for him. She ran her fingers through his hair and stroked his face and shoulders. She dropped light kisses on his forehead and cheeks. And she dreaded the rest of the day, knowing that she would be causing him a great deal more pain, make him suffer even more cruelly before they were finished. She didn’t know if she could do it. No matter how much he might want it. But something else rose to the occasion. She found another emotion rising in her—a spark of pride that admired him and gloried in her power over him at the same time. It was love too, a love that accepted he needed and wanted this from her. A love that realized this was a fundamental part of him and her attraction to him was partly based in her complementary need to take power and control. She couldn’t decide if that actually made her current task easier or harder. Some of both, maybe. The next session was a quick spanking with a heavy wood paddle, delivered so fast and hard he barely had time enough to draw breath between strokes. When it was

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done, she took him into the biggest of the sleeping areas and drew him down on the bed with her for a nap. She didn’t really sleep, worried as she was about the rest of the afternoon. She dared not let him know how terrified she was, how confused about all the things she was feeling, and how uneasy about the possibility that he would touch her mind and see the truth. Kevin fell asleep right away, but he woke just as quickly when she shook him and told him to get the next instrument. She whipped him sharply but not hard with the pseudo-switch, then left him with feet on the floor, but bent over, his arms pulled through the space between his legs and hands clamped to the railing of a balcony behind him. It would get uncomfortable very quickly. As the afternoon wore on, the punishments grew more severe, and the stress on her increased. He expected the increasing severity, of course, and needed it, but she was working herself into a wretched state of nerves. Did she really have the courage to go through with this? Her worry stepped up to a whole new level when he brought her another of the more severe instruments for the thirteenth session—a multi-branched rod of Brancullian Brogwood. Its action mimicked that of the traditional Earth birch rod, but it was even more wickedly branched and knotted, with numerous fine little twiglets to dig into the skin. She dutifully placed him in the traditional posture for a birching, bent over the back of a chair, hands and wrists attached tightly to the legs to allow little room for movement. She backed up and lifted the rod, testing the way the twiglets hissed and cut the air. Then she flicked it across his butt. The effect was stunning. He screeched as his long body spasmed into a tight arc, pulling the cords binding him to their limit. Angry red dots and streaks marked the flesh where the twigs had done their work.

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She struck out again, impressed by the whine and the series of splats as each small branch bit into its stretch of skin. He groaned loudly. It took little force to make the twigs dig deep. She’d have to be careful to be harsh without actually cutting. He struggled harder as she continued to lash him. When he started to yell steadily, she knew she was causing him more pain than she ever had before. One part of her gloried in it—loving the control he gave up to her to do what she would with his body, gratified by the sense of power, reveling in the way he trusted her and gave himself to her so totally and completely. Another part was appalled by the weight of responsibility that trust imposed, yet another scared by the strength of her own feelings and the way they were mixed up. And one small part of her soul loved him enough to feel compassion for his suffering, though she knew better than to indulge that pity. A streak of cruelty made her put more force into the next few strokes, sending him into a shrieking, writhing frenzy, until she finished it with one last crack of the rod against the lower part of his butt, right on the tender crease where hips and buttocks met. The stripes that seamed his ass cheeks were dense and bright red, very sore looking. He swayed and nearly fell when he straightened up. She caught his arm to steady his shaking body and led him back to the sofa in the lounge where she sprayed more heal-quick on him. He sighed and relaxed a little as the stuff relieved the worst of the pain. Once the shaking had abated, she took him to the food area and made him lie on the long metal table there, flat on his back, fingers gripping the edge on either side. He was uncomfortable with his sore bottom pressed against the hard surface, and would be even more so shortly. She warmed up some wheatcakes and heated sweet syrup to go with them. His gaze followed her movements with wary curiosity that turned into alarm when he saw her approach holding the pot of syrup. She checked the temperature with her finger,

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winced as it burned, and dipped the spoon into the pan. It would cool quickly, so she worked fast. He shut his eyes when she let hot syrup dribble off the spoon onto his chest. He moaned and clenched his hands around the table’s edge as the stuff circled one of his nipples, then landed squarely on it, circled the other nipple and landed again, then trailed a thin line down his belly and over his erection. She trailed hot syrup down his cock and let it spill freely over his balls and thighs. He moaned wildly, but opened his eyes to watch her again when she dropped the spoon back in the pot. She returned with the stack of wheatcakes. Taking the top one, she folded it, rubbed it over one of his nipples to pick up some of the sweet syrup, and took a bite. The scent of his body tinged the sweet liquid with essence of Kevin. Nothing had ever tasted that good before. She dipped the bitten-off end into a small pool of syrup collecting in the hollow where his thigh joined the groin and offered it to him. His tongue flicked around it, savoring the sweetness before he bit at it. She alternated eating a cake herself and offering it to him, each time after dipping it into the cooling syrup somewhere on his body. When all the cakes were consumed, she told him to get up and wash himself off, then choose the next weapon. There were three more sessions to go and nothing but harsh tools left now, so she braced herself to deal with that as she cleaned up the food area. He returned with a heavy, straight cane, a meter long and a centimeter in diameter. She took him to the bedroom, made him lie on his back on the bed, then pulled his ankles up and shackled each high up on one of the posts at the head. That left only his shoulders and head still resting on the bed itself, while his legs were drawn up and wide apart. Cords attached to his wrist bands looped around the same poles, lower than those holding his ankles, to keep him in place. Gilya stood over him on the bed, feet braced on either side of his face, and raised the cane. When it slapped down on the inside of his thigh, halfway between knee and groin, it made a nasty cracking sound

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and left a bright pink double-tracked stripe. Kevin sucked in a long, keening breath that was nearly a sob and tried to squirm. She printed a matching welt on the inside of the opposite thigh, then, lashing in slow, careful rhythm, printed ladders along the inside of each thigh, working from his knees up toward the groin. The last two cuts she set with wicked precision along the furrow on either side of his balls where they joined with the thighs. Each of those slashes drew a shrill squeal from him and sent him into a convulsive, agonized frenzy that rocked the bed and took nearly ten minutes to abate. She didn’t release him once it was done, but went to get a couple of other things from the table with the equipment. He recoiled in surprise and distaste when she showed him the butt plug and made him lick it to lubricate it. She thought he might balk and refuse, but he finally did as she ordered, with a reluctance that made his unhappiness clear. He started when the tip touched his rear hole and flinched when she pushed it in. He made no other complaint. He lifted his head to watch as she tapped the ends of the straps on the base of the plug to another she wrapped around the tops of his thighs. She then slid a soft leather sheath over his penis. Distress crossed his features as she fixed the end of the leather flap over his balls, then laced the whole thing up, drawing it tight so that it completely encased his cock and scrotum. She was careful not to touch his inner thighs where the welts were already darkening to purple, nor to tug too sharply on the sheath as she tightened it to a level just beyond comfortable. It looked fetching on him, the black leather against his pale skin matching the lines of blackening stripes, and it would serve the dual purpose of being an added discomfort while actually protecting those delicate organs against possible damage from the severe punishments to come. When she released him and sent him to get the next instrument, he walked out of the room with a stiff, waddling gait, legs splayed. His fear was all too plain when he returned holding an ugly whip with four long, tapering tails of Reboth hide. Each lash had microscopic hook-shaped stiffened hairs

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along its length, and the hide exuded a natural chemical that stung the skin. She’d used it very rarely. It was far too severe for most people. Gilya didn’t especially want to use it on him, now, but she needed to. He expected it from her, expected and wanted everything she had, the farthest extremes of emotion she could generate—on her own, without artificial inducement or help. It terrified her. She’d seen the streak of cruelty in her own nature, her pride in her power over him, and feared it getting too far loose. She might really hurt or injure him, or even do something so horribly, perversely cruel it would run him off forever. But if she didn’t give him what he needed now, he would never believe her capable of giving him anything real without the programming. He had a way to tell her if something she did really put him in danger. Surely she could trust him to use it if he needed to. Worst of all, she was pretty sure she loved him—real love, for the lonely, curious, honest and big-hearted person he was, deeper and stronger than just the sensual attraction of his extraordinary good looks, though that was blinding enough even without the programming active—and that was as desperately scary a thought as any she’d had all day. How could he make any kind of commitment to her when his ship would lift tomorrow, taking him to another side of the galaxy? Even with his ship’s regular stops here, it would be so little and with such long intervals between. How could she bear his going away? She strung him up at the foot of the bed again, standing, his wrists raised and bound to the posts. The Reboth-hide whip made an almost musical hum as its lashes swung though the air, a melody punctuated by the rhythmic cracks as each tail kissed flesh. His startled yelp rose slowly into a wild, gasping groan. The whip left a different set of marks on his flanks, not the raised welts of some of the other devices, but broad, red, abraded stripes, marked with scattered round swellings where the mild venom on the hide had pierced deeper under the skin. Emotions—real emotions—could be impossibly complicated. How could she take such fierce pleasure in doing something that caused him nearly unbearable pain, while

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at the same time loving him so much her heart twisted when she thought about how much he was suffering? Love was confusing, their kind of love, anyway. She had enough experience to know that other people went about it in a simpler, more straightforward way. If she’d never tried out the programming, would she have been able to love in that way? Emotion made her tremble so hard she had difficulty swinging the whip with sufficient force. Which wouldn’t do. She didn’t dare give him anything less than her best effort. He needed her to be strong enough to do this. Summoning all the willpower available, she lifted and swung the Reboth hide again. He howled and shook the bed with his struggles. By the time the dozen lashes were delivered, he was sobbing, muttering and cursing between yells, no longer struggling, but rocking in that strange, rhythmic way she’d seen once before that seemed to provide some level of comfort. The flesh of his buttocks and thighs was grated, crimson-purple in color, blotched with purpling blisters. The whip had cut across the welts from the birching and rubbed its venom into each, causing them to swell again. She could barely imagine the pain he was in and didn’t understand why he seemed to need and want it so badly. Not that it mattered. Her job was to give it to him, not to ask why. That would be for later. She sprayed a lot of insta-heal on him before she released him. Tears ran down his cheeks and she wanted to hold him, to soothe him, dry his tears and make wild love to him until he lit up again with that incandescent joy. Instead she supported him when he swayed and led him into another room, where she got a large-size chemical cold pack, which she opened and placed on the seat of one of the hard chairs. She made him sit down on it. At first his body rebelled. She pushed him back down when he tried to leap up and tied him tightly to the chair to keep him in it. The tears running down his face tugged at her heart, but she couldn’t give in, not at this point. They were so close now. And the cold might be uncomfortable on his raw flesh, but it would actually be good for it,

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working along with the insta-heal to nullify the venom and reduce the swelling. He’d need all his strength for the last session. The look he threw her made her want to release him and drag him off to bed. She was perilously near tears herself, at the same time hot and horny from looking at and handling and mistreating his beautiful body all day. She was scared and defensive and confused. It made her angry, made her want to lash out at him even more for putting her through this. The programming kept everything so much easier. When five minutes remained before the next beating was due, she went over to the equipment table. There would be no choice this time. It was the last effort, the grand finale, and only one instrument remained. Kevin had seen for himself that it was the most vicious of the group and left it for last. She picked up the long whip with its single, tapered, two-meter-long leather lash, brought it over to the chair where he sat, and tossed it into his lap. His tears had dried by then and the easing of the lines in his face told her the cold and the medicine had done their work. He looked a little sick when he stared down at the whip. “The last one,” she whispered to him. “Time for the big finish.” She took the whip again and held it up so that a loop dripped off the handle in a graceful curve. She ran it along his cheek, down his throat, across his chest, touching his nipples with it, then down his belly to the sheathed cock. He shuddered and his breath hissed noisily. She coiled it and slung it over her shoulder while she released him. He winced as he stood but moved with her into the library. The violent shading of crimson in his buttocks had receded to a slight pink, with just a few fading darker lines still showing. She strung him up on the ladder again, faced away from her, body stretched tautly, then stepped back and shook out the long lash. She’d only used it on one client before, and it had taken considerable practice to get the swing of it right, since it required careful aim and a crafty flip of the wrist to inflict its vicious sting without cutting or

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tearing flesh. Used improperly, it could do terrible damage. The thing both awed and scared her. Time stretched out as she worked up her nerve. If he touched her mind now, heaven knew what he’d think. A salty drop fell on her lip and she tasted her own tears. She couldn’t do it. “Kevin,” she said on a sob. He turned his head, rather painfully, to look at her. He just stared at her, very steadily. He knew what was coming, knew how agonizing it was going to be. He expected it. He knew what he’d asked for and he was prepared for to accept the torment. She had to do it. “Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded and turned away again. She could tell by the tense way he held himself that, whatever his mind might suggest, another part of him dreaded the pain. She positioned herself far enough from him to ensure that the whip wouldn’t wrap around his body but only lash across it. She drew it back and swung, flicking the whip across his shoulders. It made a horrible hissing sound, then cracked as it hit flesh, leaving a brilliant scarlet line across the skin when she peeled it back. He jerked and stiffened, voiceless in shock for a moment, then roared out a groan that shook the house. The second stroke drew a shriller gurgling moan. By the fifth lash, he alternated between yelling and cursing. Gilya shook so badly she didn’t know how she managed to keep raising her arm. She was scared and horrified and confused. And elated. She felt like a monster, causing him such wretched agony. She gloried in her power over him. She kept lashing him, even when his yells frightened her. She struck a sixth time and a seventh, making him scream and cringe and writhe. By the ninth stroke she was hardly breathing herself, bathed in his screams and the tortured jerking of his body. His suffering was a tangible thing, so real and present she felt it vibrating through the whip when it connected her 60

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hand to his body. It joined them in a love far stronger and stranger than she could have imagined existed. Running on sheer blazing emotion, she slashed again and again, careful to keep the tears and beads of sweat from blinding her, even more careful to pull the stroke at the last second so it wouldn’t slash through the skin. She was terrified and furious and vengeful and desperate with love and desire for him. She cocked her arm and struck again, for the last time, with every bit of remaining strength. His scream shook the house. She couldn’t even see him by then. Tears gathered thickly in her eyes, and even when they ran down her face, more took their place. She sank to the floor, overwhelmed by the day, by what she’d done. For several moments, she felt too drained to even consider the implications. Sufficient that she’d done it. If this was a victory, it felt terribly hollow. She was a fraud and a coward. “Gilya?” The sound of him calling her name finally penetrated the fog. “Are you all right?” He was asking her that? She started to laugh and found it impossible to stop. “Gilya? Will you stop having hysterics long enough to let me loose?” She made it to her feet and released the hooks that held the cords in place. She saw him stagger but this time she didn’t offer assistance. Then she was wrapped in his arms. “You’re the most magnificent woman I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet,” he said, the words spaced between kisses and caresses. It scared her, because she knew it was a lie. It was he who dragged her over to the couch so they could sprawl together in comfort. He positioned himself carefully, while she removed the butt plug and the sheath from his groin. When she got the insta-heal again, he shook his head. “I want to feel this.”

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She nodded. “You’re going to be awfully sore for a few days,” she told him. “But no more guilt. That’s an order. You’ve paid the price. In full and with interest. Stars and Skies know just much you’ve paid.” He nodded and kissed her. When he drew back he said, “Thank you. I feel much lighter now. But… Can you forgive me?” “Me forgive you?” “For making you go through that. I knew I was asking a lot.” “Kevin? Do something for me, please? Read me. Look inside.” He stared at her. “Why? I thought you didn’t want me to.” “I thought so too. I was wrong. I need you to do it. Just this once. I need you to see what’s in there.” And hope you don’t hate or despise me for it, she thought. He’d been right when he said she wouldn’t feel it. She only knew he was doing it because he was quiet and still for several long moments. She dreaded his reaction. His face changed. Not to hate or derision or anger. A tremulous smile pulled at his mouth, then he kissed her hard, deeply. “Thank you,” he said again. “Thank you? After you’ve seen the mess inside my head? Now that you know I’m a fraud and a coward?” “Thank you,” he repeated firmly. “For letting me see how much you care, how hard that was for you, how much it cost you, the love and strength it took. I’m humbled by it. And thrilled.” She almost couldn’t take it in, that he could see inside her and not be appalled. She was appalled. But if what he saw was what he wanted, it was most surely what she wanted too. “Kevin? What are we going to do? Your ship leaves tomorrow.” “We’ve still got fifteen hours before I have to report. I guarantee you I don’t plan to spend much of it sleeping.” He kissed her hard and deep and long, and almost had her so distracted that she forgot the bigger question. He didn’t. 62

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He stopped nuzzling her long enough to say, “The ship makes a regular circuit that brings us here every one hundred and eighteen standard days. I know it’s a long time to wait between visits, but could you stand it for another year? I’ve got eleven standard months left on my contract with the company, then I plan to retire. I’ve looked around and found there are a lot of things a telepath can do that people will pay good money for. We can buy a place together—maybe even this place. What do you think?” “I think it scares me. It sounds too much like heaven.” He grimaced. “I doubt it’ll be that. But I think we can work things out. One other thing, if you want. I know you want to find out about your past. I suspect a lot of it is still locked in your head. If you’ll let me, I might be able to help you find it.” “You think you could?” “I don’t know. But someday we’ll try.” He reached for her again and that ended the conversation for a long time. One of his predictions came true very quickly, though. They didn’t get a lot of sleep in the next fifteen hours.

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About the Author I’m really very ordinary, you know, so it’s hard to know what to say. I’m a mom and a grandma. I do laundry and clean house (well, sometimes) and wash dishes like everyone else. I grew up in New York (the city, that is) and moved to North Carolina some thirty years ago. I discovered books early and buried myself in them as much as possible as a child and a teenager. I still love sinking into a good book and getting swept away. I’m an unabashed reader of genre books. I love mysteries, romance, science fiction and fantasy. Horror, not so much. I wrote my first short story at the age of ten, but I didn’t take up writing seriously until many years later. I love the Medieval period and did a great deal of research into it while in college, even though it wasn’t my field. That’s why my historical erotic romances are set in that period. I dream a lot, too, which makes writing the perfect vocation for me. How else can you claim to be working when you’re sitting in an armchair staring out the window?

Katherine Kingston welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Katherine Kingston Bronze Quest Charming the Masters Checkmate Cilla’s Master Dominant Boys of Summer Gargoyle’s Christmas Holiday Heat: The Last Candle Jennifer’s Lessons Kyle’s Bargain Nick’s Lady Passions 1: Daring Passion Passions 2: Ruling Passion Passions 3: Binding Passion Passions 4: Healing Passion Phantom Affair Silver Quest The Princess Brat Walpurgis Night

Print books by Katherine Kingston Aquamarine Allure anthology Crown Jewels anthology Equinox anthology SilverQuest Healing Passion Holiday Heat anthology Pleasure Raiders anthology

Ruling Passion Sexy Summer Fun anthology

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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