Indicolite Part II

“That Indicolite slave is asking for you.” Charon’s voice broke through his reverie. He paused his log screen and looked up.

In the couple days since the rough passion of their sex, Santos had felt awkward in Charon’s presence. She had made it clear in an amicable and even humorous way that she was not up for any repeat encounters of a similar nature. She had cheerfully sited her inclination towards discomfort-free sitting and walking as a major reason. They were still friends - that was unshakable - and yet Gray was as confounded by what had driven him to such extremes of lust as he was discomfited to have subjected Charon to it. He struggled to regain the symmetry of his life and character. He struggled to banish his compelling hunger for the slave girl Triss Sayng-Astra.

“Asking for me?” he said, his brows raised.

“Probably to reiterate her Kidnapped By Enemies, Sold Into Slavery tale,” Charon laughed.

“Always a classic,” he said dryly. But his mind, his newly rebellious mind, told hold of this opportunity. “I suppose I should listen to her story.”

“Get another feel of those luscious purple tits of hers,” Charon joked, and was surprised and perplexed by the flicker of guilt that crossed his normally impassive face.

He finally laughed. “An interesting color for tits,” he said lightly.

“That’s right. And hopefully a profitable one. Now, there’s a new game up in the Quasi-Reality levels. Do you want to go? Quasi Spelunking.”

“Quasi what?” he asked.

“Spelunking. Crawling around underground. It’s a genuine nova of an experience; you’ll really love it.”

“No. Thank you,” he said, smiling at her, giving an exaggerated shudder. “You go right ahead, Charon. I’ll deal with that Indicolite girl. Have them send her up here.”

Santos had returned to his record keeping and communications when the slave girl was conveyed to his room. He deliberately continued with his log for a moment after the door shut behind his crewmember, avoiding looking at her as she stood in his chambers. He caught her scent, the singular, elusive scent she emanated, that perfume evocative of sex, fertility. Female musk. He steeled himself against any reaction.

He was the sovereign of a vast and intricate inter-universal corporation, captaining this one of his many vessels only as a diversion from the ceaseless pressure and certain tedium of conducting business from the Santos Pan-Universal group of home planets. A kind of working vacation in which he could renew his contacts with the corporate planets of the Newer East Margin as well as enjoy traveling once again with Charon who was as bored with being planet-bound as he was.

This outlandish lust he felt for a slave girl could have no place in his life and in the character he had so carefully formed for himself.

Resolute and composed, he paused his log and coolly looked up at her. She stood by the door, her long hair pulled forward to cover her breasts, her hands folded in front of her thighs to conceal her pubic curls. She held her head high, and only the flicker of her eyes and the color in her cheeks betrayed her tension.

‘Captain,” she said formally, her bearing almost regal. “A terrible crime has been perpetuated against me. I seek your immediate assistance in remedying this situation.”

“Let me save us both some time,” he said, his voice cold. “I’ve reviewed the records kept on you and I am satisfied that they are in order. There is no evidence of any kidnapping as you purported before, or of any crime. You are a slave in the custody of Santos Pan-Universal of which I am the head. Now unless you have any tangible evidence to refute any of this, you are wasting my time.”

“Wasting your time!” her cheeks flushed plum. “The time of a slaver! You call me a liar? Deny me your aid? I have friends in very influential stations. They will not look well upon this!”

“Friends?” he demanded, rising to his feet so suddenly that she took an involuntary step backwards. “Very well. Provide me with their names, their universal channels of communications, and we will sort this matter out.”

She frowned and looked away.

“Well?” he charged. “Names? U.C.C. numbers?”

“I…” she sighed, then swallowed hard, glared into his face. “I cannot reveal their identities, their numbers.”

“I see,” he said. “You were lying.”

“No!” she cried, her lilac eyes wide in her rage. “I do not lie. You must believe me! You must return me to Indicolite.”

He laughed.

“Or any planet!” she demanded. “You must set me free immediately!”

“Out of the question. Enough of this foolishness. Resign yourself to your fate, girl.” He moved to summon a crewmember. He was satisfied with his self-control, pleased that he had apparently combated his inappropriate lust for her.

“No!” she cried and bolted into the adjoining room.

With a crash she shoved a chair into his path as he strode rapidly after her. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a weapon?” he asked sardonically, easily side-stepping the chair. “To take me hostage? Highjack my ship?”

“I will not be a slave!” she cried, her eyes desperately darting around the room, indeed searching for any weapon.

Santos steadily pursued her. In a panic, she found herself cornered before his inexorable approach. “No!” she panted, her breasts heaving, her eyes big with fear and fury.

“Yes,” he said, and moved to seize her.

He was surprised at her strength as she fought him, kicking and trying to strike him with her fists. And he was shocked to realize that something within him had been waiting, hoping, for this moment, this excuse to touch her again.

Something fierce, something decidedly uncivilized rose within him hotly. Her heated nakedness struggling in his arms, the sultry fragrance of her sweat, the smothering soft lash of her long hair as she grappled with him, aroused something primal, powerful, feral and male that he had never guessed to be contained within him.

He pushed her against the wall, holding her thin wrists in his hands, using his weight against her to keep her from kicking. Her face was inches from his as he bent down. Her breath was a small quick wind, warm and sweet against his face. Her eyes were wide, a clarity of pale purple as she stared at him, her body shaking with adrenaline in his hold.

“Don’t fight me, Triss Sayng-Astra,” he said, his voice a low exhale against her skin. And against all logic and upbringing, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Her lips were soft. Her lips were full and warm. Astonishingly, she tilted her head, gave him her mouth, let him enter her with the thrust of his tongue. She tasted of a warm season’s rain. She tasted like new grass and young trees, and he moaned against her lips and kissed her deeper.

Releasing her wrists, he swept his hands up her arms, through the aubergine luxuriance of her curling hair, then down her supple back to hold her closer against him.

He felt her hands clutching his shoulders, felt her body shake as he devoured her mouth, felt the need for her ache through him as he had never known need before. He felt that he was drowning in this desire for her. He dragged his mouth from hers, licked a slow wet line down her throat and exulted violently in the gasp of pleasure this drew from her. His hands coursed down to her waist, avid upon her softness, and she twined her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

Insanity! His mind rebuked him. But he did not care. His hands found the taut curve of her naked bottom. He filled his hands with her roundness, squeezing her so hard that she cried out. She arched her back, her breath short and fast, her eyes closed. He bent his head to her breasts, his mouth found the dark purple peaks jutting big and hard-nippled. She gasped at the lave of his tongue, the hot suck of his mouth, and her hips involuntarily bucked hard against him.

His cock was a reckless throb of urgent need. Gripping her bottom, he ground himself against her. His lust seemed a dangerous thing, uncultured, rough and crude. And so compelling that he shook with the desire to free his cock, bend her vulgarly over, kick apart her strong slim thighs and force himself into the secret wet heat of her virgin cunny.

Jettison the distinction of his position, the certain dignity of his character, the importance of profit over all else, and the necessity of detachment and asceticism; he wanted to fuck this girl. Triss Sayng-Astra. He wanted to revel in the scent and feel and taste of her body. Ravish her with his hands and mouth and the hard thrust of his cock. He wanted to own her, take her in every way a man could take a woman. Make her scream his name and beg him to fuck her. More and more and more.

His teeth raked her hardened nipple and she cried out but pressed hard against him. He slid his hand around, grasped her curling purple bush, and with a shudder, she parted her thighs for him. Wet. So wet. His fingers slid down through the swollen lips. She was panting, moaning, shaking so hard that he had to support her. And his head was reeling, his heart thundering in time with the hot pulse of his cock. Wet for him. Wet for his touch. Ready for his cock. His mind was caught on this litany as his fingers found the small swollen nub of her clit.

Rolling this tender swelling, rubbing her as she shook and whimpered, arching in his arms, her head thrown back helplessly, hair a wild cascade, her eyes tight shut. She was soaked to her thighs. Her hips bucked, bucked forward against his touch. The smell of her musk, heavy, richly female, pervaded his senses. He felt almost dizzy, his reason and rationale under full onslaught.

And she was coming. Coming for him, and a savage, primitive satisfaction shot through him. To be the first man to bring her there. Her little clit jerked under his palm as she convulsed, and more wetness poured from her warmly. Her breath came in little moans and sweat glistened between her breasts.

Now, fuck her. Fuck her. She’s ready for it. She wants it. His mind implored. He lowered her to the floor, following her down. He licked at the sweat sheening her lush body, making her moan louder. When his mouth found her clit, she gave a small scream and her eyes flew open.

He met the wide amazement of her lilac gaze as his mouth engulfed her warmly, his tongue making hot swirls around her turgid clit.

“Oh!” she breathed. “Oh, no.” And she tried to close her long thighs against him.

Never a man to go where unwelcome, always the epitome of deference and propriety, yet her protest stirred him, ignited some ruthless fire within him. He burned to spread her wide, smother her protests with hard kisses, make her yield to him and the passion of her own innocent body. The thought of pushing himself into her virgin cunny, forcing himself through her maidenhood, claiming her tight, sweet body, made him shudder and clench his eyes shut.

Breathing hard, he rose above her as she sprawled open upon the floor. In one motion he shed his shirt, moved to open his pants and free the pained urgency of his cock. In the light of his cabin, her body glowed. Her cunny glistened with her moisture, her clit standing forth, her nether lips plump and flushed darkly plum. Her eyes were big, the pupils dark and dilate; she watched him in trepidation but her mouth was parted with her breath and almost imperceptively she parted her thighs wider for him.

He loosened his pants and his cock sprang forth, flushed dark with blood, the head swollen big and dampened at the tip. She gasped and moved to roll away. Stripping his clothes away, he bent to catch her. He could feel the quick flutter of her heart beneath her breast as he held her. Her body felt supple, soft and warm beneath him. He urged her legs apart with his.

“No, no, no,” she breathed, but spread her legs, arched up to mash her damp cunny against the thrust of his cock. He fought for control as she ground her wetness against the jolting length of him. He trembled with the need to shove himself full into her. Everything seemed to recede into a heated haze. There was only the slickness of her body beneath him, the heavy smell of her sex, her warmth and wet, the furious urgency of his lust for her.

He rose up over her, took hold of her thighs, pulled them up and apart. She was shuddering uncontrollably; her hands grasped his shoulders, hanging on to him. He nudged his cock against her, sliding the thickened head into her slit. She moaned and her hands tightened upon him. She gave a little push with her hips, and then gasped as his cock collided with that small membrane proving her virginity. That small membrane guaranteeing her value. That tiny bit of flesh a buyer would pay dearly for.

Shock poured coldly and suddenly over him. What was he doing? Tumbled down here on the floor with a slave girl. Ready with one careless push of his cock to lose a small wealth of profit. Rutting like a callow youth, forgoing all decorum and pride, his mind superceded by the drive of his cock. It was ridiculous, it was a discredit, it was…embarrassing.

He wrenched himself from her, pulling his cock roughly from the sweet wet welcome of her portal. She cried out as he sprang to his feet.

Avoiding her wide eyes, he held a hand out to her. “Get up,” he growled, his voice more harsh than he intended. He pulled her to her feet; she was still shaking. Turning his back to her, he donned his clothing, shoving the obdurate length of his aching cock into his pants.

“I apologize,” he said coldly. “I take full blame. This will not happen to you again. Slaves are not abused prior to sale.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. In an instant she transformed her expression into a coldness matching his own. She watched as he summoned a crewmember to escort her back to slave quarters. They waited in silence. As she was led out, she finally spoke, spoke without deigning to look at him.

“I despise you, Gray Santos. I despise you utterly. You are weak and you are a coward. And not for the reasons you assume.”

The door hissed shut behind her.