Series: Zandian Brides Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
When I think of Daven, my chest tightens. Hiding this for even a short time might destroy the tentative bond we’re building. But I don’t know what the Zandians would do with the information if I gave it to them. They could decide I’m dangerous and deport us all immediately. Then what? Would they send us back to the Ocretions? Trade us to save themselves? I simply cannot take that risk. I want to have a good life, a decent life. And I truly don’t think waiting a while longer will hurt Zandia.
The planet rotation passes slowly, and I drift sporadically to the cipher tablet Daven’s given me which contains information about Zandia, holos about humans–startlingly fabulous, and I binge on them, watching voraciously until I’ve seen them all twice. I can’t wait to meet the humans who call this planet home, and I hope Daven allows it soon. I also feel a deep need to reconnect with my human friends who were saved along with me, and I plan to petition Daven for that later, when I see him again.
If I’m remembering more about my past and what’s lodged in my skull, surely the others are, too. Are they keeping the secret, like I am? Surely Flora is–after all, it’s the memory of her imploring me to keep quiet that stuck in my mind. All it would take is one of us to talk, and then we’d be forced to disclose everything, whether we’re ready to do it or not. But I can’t do anything about it now, and agonizing over the possibilities only makes my heart race, so I watch the holos a third time to distract myself.
After practically memorizing the holos, though, I look out the window and fidget as anxiety grows anew. Strange thoughts prick at the edges of my consciousness, faded images of Ocretions and a lab, and I want none of it. Not right now. I need to learn more about myself, clearly, especially since I’ve chosen to hide this part of my past from Daven. But at this moment, I think experiencing more visceral memories will maybe destroy me, and I want a break.
I close my eyes and focus energy in the core of my body, trying to force the images out.
“I’m on Zandia now. I’m safe,” I say aloud.
At this, there’s a sudden zapping sensation in my head. It’s painless but powerful, and I gasp in shock. I understand with utter certainty that the chip is recording or transmitting something. Sound? My ideas? Because I said the word Zandia?
“Stop!” I snap, grabbing my temples and squeezing. Nothing changes, and, in fact, the zaps recur, so I squeeze my eyelids and clench all my muscles, including those intimate ones that Daven worked so hard, and suddenly the thoughts and the chip actions pause mid flicker.
When I clench my pussy again, the mental image fades as the tingling sensation grows between my thighs.
Did I do it? Did I stop the chip from doing whatever it does, or did it just stop on its own?
I have no way to tell, so I squeeze my lower core again because that feeling is fantastic, and I’d much rather enjoy it than suffer from the brain nonsense.
Once again, the faint tendrils of an impending orgasm tease the edges of my skin.
Catching my breath, I pulse my pussy experimentally. The tingling increases. Sweet Mother Earth, can I give myself the same sensations that Daven brought forth?
I hurry to the sleeping platform and lie down, my fingers moving quickly to my soft flesh, so I can stroke and rub my clit, which comes to life under my ministrations.
I remember Daven’s warning, Don’t touch what’s mine, but I don’t stop for a single second. I want that rush and release, so I keep stroking, learning how to adjust the pressure from my fingertips to make the sensation fill and swell. I contort my hips and push up into my hand, crying out in pleasure as I force the orgasm to crest.
When I’m done I lie panting on the soft fabric, enjoying the residual buzz and thrum in my body, and idly wipe a beat of sweat from my forehead. Stars, I could have been doing this every planet rotation! Granted, it was nowhere near as amazing as the one from Daven, but who’s going to complain about free pleasure? Not this slave, that’s for sure.
Can I do it again?
A few minutes later, while arranging my garments and feeling worn out in the best possible way, I think about whether or not Daven was serious about his edict, and what in fact, he’d do if he found out that I disobeyed him. Now that I’ve had the pleasure and the sensations have faded, the reality of disobeying a master I care for looms large in my mind. I do care about Daven. I like him. I want to be good for him. It’s just–I’ve never had this freedom or pleasure before.