What the fuck is going on with me?
He should have her chained to the bed and in position, ready to be fucked. Astra had been used several times a day and spanked daily. The princess had submitted to all manner of depraved acts at Brynt’s behest. Why wasn’t he treating Zara to the rituals of the ordeal, ensuring she suffered as Astra had done? He couldn’t fathom what Zara had done to him.
He needed a reply to the question he’d sent and soon.
Chapter Seven
Zara shifted on the seat. The plug was bearable. A larger one than yesterday, and the day before that. Each new morning brought a progression of sizes. Galen had been right, Bisma was very considerate with inserting them, but unlike Galen, the nurse conducted the procedure as a technician would—clinical and detached.
During the day, Zara wrestled with conflicting emotions: remove it and be punished, tolerate it and she would be rewarded. She liked Galen’s rewards. They were mutually beneficial. The day ended with him visiting her room and playing his orgasm control games. For three nights she fell asleep in a state of serene bliss and Galen left the room with a satisfactory smile on his face.
She’d learned to think before answering his questions and not rely on impulsive answers. She had to demonstrate her submission in words as well as actions. The best policy she discovered was begging. Beg for the orgasm, for his cock in her mouth, and if she was lucky he granted her wishes, although only after a prolonged period of sensual teasing.
The tattoos definitely worked in his favor. The chemistry in them was as strong as the chemistry between her and Galen. It was pointless denying her lust. It shamed her to think how easily she’d become his plaything. All it took was a few sternly delivered words, a tweak of a nipple, and the twist of the plug in her ass and she was his to command. She hated herself, hated what she’d become, but strangely, she couldn’t translate those feelings onto Galen. The judge was doing exactly what he promised when he’d sentenced her. Regardless of what the original Ordeal of Astra involved, Zara’s punishment was rudimentary—submit and obey. Not exactly tough, unless you’re a human with a strong streak of independence.
Astra must have been a resilient princess, the kind of woman Zara might have admired if she’d met her. However, she was also a Vendu female and bred to submit when commanded. What Brynt had done to her must have been truly degrading to register as a punishment. Zara didn’t want to think about it. Galen had adapted the ordeal to suit his needs and Zara’s human limits. She couldn’t possibly be Astra. If he wanted to humiliate Zara, Galen only had to trace his finger along the line of her tattoos. They betrayed her feelings every damn time he walked into the room.
How could she be so weak!
She drummed her fingers on the console and tried to focus on the sequence of equations. While Galen worked, Zara studied. He’d granted her access to his study and the computer console embedded in his desk. Each morning, after the butt plug was inserted, she dressed and made her way through the expansive house to this one room.
Bisma had escorted her the first time and observed Zara tapping on the console and bringing up her notes. Everything had been transferred across as she requested. She’d even managed to regain access to the university’s research database where articles from across the Vendu Empire were shared. Galen had allowed it, but nothing else. No messaging, no emails. No contact with the human world.
Gradually, Bisma had lost interest in watching Zara read and make notes. She would leave Zara alone for longer spells and Zara took advantage of these periods. The risk was great. If Galen requested the log files from the university, it would prove Zara was searching for information outside her area of expertise. The risk was worth it.
Currently, she’d tracked down a potential contact. One person in the Vendu Empire who might have the answers.
The drumming of her fingers became more frantic. She needed a quick break. She dashed to her room and the adjoining bathroom. After the brief interlude, she returned at a slower pace to the study. She froze on the threshold. Leaning over the console was Bisma. She was reading the last report Zara had accessed. She’d forgotten to swipe it away out of sight.
“This has nothing to do with controlling the weather. Or the environment. It is a medical account. Why are you accessing this?” Bisma demanded, straightening her shoulders into a rigid pose.
Zara panicked.
What to do?
Lie—if she could? Or tell Bisma the truth? She still barely knew the woman and their interactions weren’t friendly, although they had improved since Galen had used his strap.
“Explain yourself,” Bisma said impatiently. “Are you a spy? Is that your true mission? Spying on the great Vendu Empire is a serious offense.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared.
Zara hid her face behind her trembling fingers and wept. The stress of carrying her secret week after week was too much. It was okay for her father simply to say go and find a cure for her sister, but to actually do it was another matter. Time was against her and if she was brought up on espionage charges, it would be the final straw. Her sister would die and Zara would end up in a terrible prison where beatings happened regularly.
She slipped onto her knees and sobbed.
Bisma clucked her tongue. “What is this about, Zara?” Her tone had softened and she’d moved to stand over Zara.
“I… can’t… tell you,” Zara stuttered. “It’s nothing to do with spying, I promise.”
“Then why keep it a secret?” Bisma crouched and pried away Zara’s hands.
She blinked the tears back. “I’m supposed to only work on climate and weather systems. That is all I’m allowed to do as part of the student exchange program. It’s very strict. I can’t risk being thrown off it. That’s why I agreed to this ordeal thing. If they saw me being punished, the people in charge, they would recall me.”
“I don’t understand. You were looking at medical files.” Bisma dragged Zara to her feet.
“They’re only research documents. But your world is so much more advanced than ours. You can cure things we can’t.”
Bisma led Zara to a chair. “Sit. Zara, who is it you’re trying to cure?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “My sister, April. She’s dying.” Her shoulders hunched. “She’s younger than me and nobody can help her. It’s a rare condition.” She sniffed. Bisma handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. “When I was accepted on to the exchange program, Dad said I should try to find anything that might help her.”