| "Open your legs," he growls softly. I want to disobey him, but I find that my thighs have already parted for that devilish tool. Again, the tapping begins, and again I find myself held tightly by my hair, unable to escape all he has planned for me. My body is his playground of pain. I am being made his toy. Every time I meet his gaze, which is not often because the intense shame rushing through me makes me want to look at the rocky ground beneath us, I feel hot flushes pulsing through me. He is still very much punishing me. This time with a sting that makes my loins come to life and my entire body pulse with need. Nothing that is happening now is acceptable in any of the planetary codes of justice that I am familiar with. I am not being treated like a prisoner. And that is because I am something else. I am his captive. Avel makes that abundantly clear with every single one of his punishing actions. He does appear to be a master of discipline. He is certainly not new to this. Even if one were to ignore the fact that he keeps a full range of implements to hand in the middle of his home, the skill with which he wields them is undeniable. It would be very easy for a creature of his strength and unfamiliarity with my kind to seriously hurt me. He has not done that. Every time the lash makes its whipping motion against my pussy, there is a carefully moderated strength and force at play. I start to dance again, though this time my hips are rolling and my nipples are hard, and every breath I take seems to make excitement rush through me. My skin is developing little goosebumps along my arms and thighs as the experience continues to be both punishing and ever-so-fucking arousing. He can't know there's any part of me that likes this. I would die of shame if he were to suspect for even a second. "Please," I finally gasp, not because I cannot take the pain, but because I fear what I will do if the arousal does not stop. "I get it." My words earn me a sharp, snapping motion of his wrist that makes my outer lips sting. I gasp and squirm and look pleadingly into his alien gaze. "Do you get it, foolish creature?" he snarls the question. "Or do you wish to die? How many more times will I watch you throw your wingless self into oblivion?" "I wish to live free. Not as some alien's owned thing. I would rather die than be your captive, sir!" A triumphant smile spreads over his face. I have never seen him smile before. Should I be surprised that it makes him look incredibly handsome? I suppose not. He does have hard lines of cheek and jaw, not to mention an overall appearance of a predator. There is something about creatures made to hunt that is always appealing. There is a danger lurking in his visage that cannot be denied. "You called me sir," he says. | 
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