Chosen by the Governor (22 page)

“I won’t fucking calm down,” she hollered, stamping her foot on the floor and shaking her hand free. “You’ve got no right to tell me to calm down.”

Anger poured out of her. She’d felt the rage build inside her and along with the rise in heat that accompanied it, she ignored Marco’s stern expression and wary gaze. He crossed his arms and took a step back. “Freya,” The pitch of his voice lifted as he said her name.

She switched to English and rolled her eyes up. “Oh, give me that I’m the boss look, why don’t you. Like you’d never lose your temper. I’m perfectly entitled to let off steam.”

“Anger, yes. But shouting at me, no. Changing language won’t help you, so lose the bad attitude.”

She ignored the change in his tone. The gentle lilt of earlier had gone, replaced by a steely edge of warning. She turned away from him, refusing to meet his hardening gaze. “I’m in prison for the fucking rest of my life, lightyears away from home and—”

Marco moved so swiftly, she’d no time to register it. With the back of his hand on her neck, he bent her over the nearby table, and at the same time, he swept aside the fruit laid out with the back of his other hand.

The smacks rained down on her bent bottom in the same manner a thunderstorm brought hail bouncing up and down on the ground. He held her down and she screamed curses over her shoulder. “Damn it. Let me go.”

“When you’ve calmed down. I can spank away until you do. I don’t mind watching your ass turn red and if my hand gets sore, I’ll use that spoon,” he said, referring to a large serving spoon sitting in a nearby salad bowl.

She wriggled, swerving her hips from side to side until it was necessary for Marco to press his hand on her back and pin her in place. The spanking was the relentless kind that gave no opportunity to assimilate the pain, nor much time to snatch a breath between smacks. He switched between buttocks, clapping the flat of his palm against her lobes and targeting the same spots on each. She drummed her feet on the floor and the spoon in the bowl rattled against the sides. When she bucked against the edge of the table, a piece of fruit rolled off.

“Are you going to calm down?” he asked.

The plume of heat his spanking had produced intensified and she wondered how in so short a space of time she’d gone from elation to ill temper. What about those words of love he’d whispered, telling her how important she was to him?

“Is this is how it’s going to be?” she blurted. “Love me, then spank me?”

“Yes.” He paused, clutched her ass cheek and squeezed it until she cried out. “Because you’re still my jenjin and still my responsibility. I’ll continue to care for you and discipline you and that doesn’t change one iota because of everything else I feel. If anything, it makes this essential. No girl of mine, alien or not, speaks to me disrespectfully or screams at me as if I’m to blame. I’m trying to help you, Freya.”

She sniveled. “Some help,” she muttered.

“Say that again?”

“Nothing. Sir.”

He cracked his hand across her rump and she jerked. “Sorry, sir.”

“Better.” He returned to circling his palm around each tender spot. “Do you know why they teach meditation at the Volta?”

“To be mindful of every moment in my life and not cloud my thoughts with the past or future,” she repeated, as taught. “To seek solace in silence and endurance.”

“Endurance. Exactly. You’re enduring your captivity and you’ll continue to so. You also will channel that anger away from here where we’re supposed to be relaxing. It’s not welcome.”

She flattened her body against the table. The stiff tension in her limbs had only made the stings of his slaps worse. She buried her face in her arms and held still. A smidgen of guilt followed on from his request. “I just feel so hopeless sometimes.” She sniffed.

He stroked his hand down her spine and goosebumps rippled to the surface of her skin as she clenched her pussy in response to his tender touch. “I was trying to tell you that your evidence is flawed. If you can prove to your Earth’s authorities that Tony was malicious in his intentions—”

She lifted her head. “But how?”

“Write to your father again, and this time, stop hiding the truth from him. Ask him to do something about Tony’s betrayal and tell him your future depends on it.”

“My future…” Her lower lips wobbled. “What about our future?”

He trailed his fingers between her ass cheeks, halting by her anus. “Don’t cloud your thoughts. Here and now is our time together.”

Why after such a hard spanking was she filled with desire for him? Her anger had not been redirected toward Marco; rather it had been quashed by his firm hand on her bottom. He leaned against her hot ass and it was obvious what he had in mind. So soon after their last fuck, he was ready again to take her. The warm head of his cock glided along her furrow.

“Part your ass cheeks,” he commanded. “A good hard fuck is what you need from me. It will help you remember that I decide what is best for you, and that includes spankings.”

The husky voice was impossible to ignore. When he made his demands, it was as if he was hotwired to a part of her brain she’d no control over, or maybe she had, but just refused to believe she had within her the submissive woman he desired. She slid her arms down her sides and did as he asked, holding each cheek aside so he could gain easy entry. With his hands firmly gripping her waist, he nudged against her pussy entrance, collecting the dew she’d made during her spanking. Why her juices surged when he spanked her, she still couldn’t understand. He coated his cock with her generous offering, then pushed the smooth head firmly against her puckered asshole.

“Relax, sweetness. I’m going to do everything in my power to prove your innocence. That is how much I love you.”

She drew in a deep breath and during her long exhale, he entered her.

* * *

Freya missed seeing stars. Standing outside, she rested against Marco’s shoulder and he draped his arm around her. The wind had stilled, allowing the sand to settle in a pattern across the dunes. The cliff overhanging the ravine kept the intensity of the blazing sun out of their eyes. However, without a night sky, there were no constellations.

“I miss darkness. Real darkness,” she said.

“I know what you mean.” He sighed. “It’s relentless. The barracks has a dark room where the soldiers can relax. It helps them rest.”

“The prisoners have no choice when it happens. The lights go out and then, boom, darkness.”

He stroked her arm. “It’s best to control it, create an artificial night-time and not have them squabble over time. Time is an arbitrary concept on Tagra.”

“There’s so much I miss.” She pivoted, her feet stirring up the grains between her toes. Facing him, she examined his tattoo and the sleek lines they painted over his chest. He’d removed the vest while he’d fucked her and left it off. “At night, I’d go to parties.”

Until she started the training program, she’d been a frequent visitor to clubs. Decades after the Vendu’s invasion, Earth had gradually reestablished a familiar way of life, as if the occupiers weren’t there. The population had recovered; the wreckage of destroyed cities had been swept aside and recycled. A massive program of reconstruction had brought down barriers between nations and cultures merged, less wary of each other and more concerned about the cuckoo in their midst—the silent Vendu and their superior firepower lurking behind their shields.

“Parties? Celebrations, yes? Birthdays, weddings. I know,” he nodded. “We celebrate victories and battles.”

“But no dancing?”

“We chant battle cries.”

She giggled. “So sexy,” she mocked.

“Dancing is sexy?”

“Oh, yes. It can be elegant, and passionate—”

“Show me.” He jerked his head toward the tent behind them. “Go on.”

His request triggered a bout of nerves. She wasn’t a performer. Hesitating, she chewed her lip. “Just like that…”

“There is a music player. You can dance to Vendu music. We do at least have a variety of music.”

She followed him back in. Vendu music remained an enigma. While she studied the harp, she learned the pitches and rhythms of their music, which to Freya had the beat of African drums mixed to the blues. How could she dance to it?

Marco flicked a switch on a table and the music circled her. It wasn’t too strange; she could identify a rhythm to tap her feet to and a semblance of melodic tune. She eyed one of the poles—could she?

“Go on,” Marco urged, settling on cushions. “Dance.”

Her mind went blank and she froze in the middle of the tent. The hours of ballet lessons she’d taken as a child—forgotten. The various dances crazes that had traveled through history seemed inappropriate. Marco waited patiently, nibbling on nuts from a bowl.

Swaying her hips, conscious of her nudity, she wanted to bolt out of the tent, but to where? She might not be shackled to him, but he held her captive in other ways and she couldn’t resist his allure, the way it made her feel desired. Marco smiled as if he was reading her mind, then tossed a nut in the air and caught it between his teeth. His reflexes were amazing.

She slid her hand down the nearby pole—cold, almost icy. She wriggled up to it and looped both hands around the thick metal. The beat picked up tempo and on impulse, she tossed her head back and arched her back away from the pole. Ballet might have given her the agility, but not the moves. She made them up—the swirls, leaps, and rotations around the pole were all of her own choreography. What difference would it make; Marco had no idea of what to expect.

Perspiration collected on her upper lip. The temperature rose as she expended more energy, more vigor. She’d almost forgotten the other heat—the two warm spots on her ass cheeks. She stopped when the music went silent, collapsing on her knees by the pole.

Marco applauded. “Excellent. I’d no idea it was so enjoyable to watch. I’ve a fine view.” He poured her another drink and patted the cushion next to him. “Come and relax.”

She remembered to crawl, which wasn’t difficult since her legs were shaking badly.

Stretched out, trying to catch her breath, she laughed. “That was so much fun. I actually pole danced.”

“Now.” He leaned over her and licked her cleavage. “You need a thorough clean.”

Her eyes sprang open. “Not that kind—”

Marco laughed. “No. I meant with my tongue.” He shifted lower, trailing kisses down her belly. “Down here.”

She whooped as he reached her delicate folds and latched his mouth around her clitoris. Dancing had its rewards.

* * *

“I’ve been thinking about your dancing. And other things too, like writing down stories and theaters. I have made some conclusions based on your opinions. The Vendu hold fast to their ways, because we believe hard work and exercise keep a mind occupied and disciplined. Other than sex and some sports, we have no great need for leisure time. Other humanoids, like you Earthlings, have different needs.”

Freya waited patiently as he ringed her nipples and continued to ponder.

“I’m going to permit some of these activities.”

She beamed and opened her mouth to praise his idea, but he pressed his finger against her lips, preventing her from speaking.

“I’ll authorize limited paper production but no printing presses. There’s an abandoned factory that can be used to dry out the pulped reeds. Since prisoners have always found a way to send messages amongst themselves, whether they etch them on metal or stain cloth, paper won’t make much difference. As for music, I will permit dancing, but not between the different sexes. And one theater.” He nodded, as if pleased with his ideas. He removed his finger from her mouth.

“Thank you. Hope is so important.”

“None of these things will give them freedom.”

“But without them there is no sense of purpose or even belonging. Recreation eases tension.”

He pursed his lips and tucked his hands behind his head. “Of course, these things will have to be earned so—”

Freya started. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t work—”

Marco frowned. “Freya. These are the conditions,” he said sternly.

She shifted position and knelt. “Sir. With all respect for your generosity, if you make these things a reward, then like the food vouchers, they will be bartered and used by the factions to control and wage power struggles. Make them a choice for anyone. It will bind people together.”

Marco tipped his head up and examined the roof of the tent. Again, she waited for him to consider her suggestion. “Wise girl. Very well,” he sighed. “It will be open. But the first sign of misuse and there will tighter controls.”

She glided over him, lowering her warm breasts on his tattooed chest. She kissed his neck and rocked her body up and down his belly. Marco grinned and cupping her ass cheeks, he separated them and fingered her bottom hole. “I’m going to put a vibrating plug in here and you can dance again. Let’s see you jiggle inside and out.”

Freya paused mid-stroke of her hips against his hardening cock. She swallowed. “Yes, sir. Whatever you wish.”

Chapter Fifteen

The old factory bustled with activity. Several prisoners were clearing the debris on the floor, while others were moving in equipment—a water tank and rollers. The sweltering space was destined to make paper using the reeds growing along the river. Marco’s initiative had been met with puzzled expressions by his captains, one of whom stood by him as he watched the men work. He’d brushed aside his officer’s concerns, merely stating the provision of writing tools would allow the prisoners to spend their free time productively, instead of fighting each other.

What had surprised Marco was that paper manufacturing wasn’t unique to Earth. The project had taken off rapidly due to the number of prisoners who had an interest in making paper and ink. They formed a team with designated roles and put into action the idea. Sometimes he forgot that the prisoners on Tagra had once held other occupations—engineers, architects, builders. The penal colonies provided them with unskilled labor—tedious, repetitive factory work, and nothing that made use of their technical backgrounds.