The Prize

19Oct13

prizeThe Imperial was the best hotel in the quadrant and Letitia Quail demanded nothing but the best. Furthermore the great one-way windows afforded her an excellent view of the dock and all the pretty ships coming and going for her perusal.

Quail stood with her legs akimbo before the one such window as she regarded the space dock. The light battle armour she wore was standard issue for space pirates these days, only Quail wore hers in a flattering style that left the curves of her bottom exposed but for her ‘spray-on’ leggings that hugged her tail closer than a military corvette pursuing a crooked jump-viper running a blockade. Even the black dome of her immaculate bob of straightened hair was cut close to her shoulders to complete the severe military look and contemplated her dark complexion. But despite it all she was a looker and she knew it.

However, the ship under her gaze was no beauty and had all the hallmarks of a deep-space armed transport used for only the most valuable cargoes. Quail paid particular attention to the rear hauler where, as her information had it, the prize was held.

Damn there is no way I can take that by force, she realised, so this job would call for some guile. But that too was in hand and she ran access codes through her mind.

The day before she had shoved a blaster in the ear of psychafile from Beeswax and offered the sorry creature her own life in exchange for her sorry services.

“No need for that,” the telepathic woman had sung, “No need for you to take me.”

Quail had been on her guard, some psychafiles could manipulate a body into just about anything and many could actually read a person’s deepest secrets. On the other hand, it was said that they couldn’t lie.

“Speak fast bitch, ‘cos if your head ain’t serving me then I’ll spray it all over that wall,” Quail spat angrily.

“You are Quail, no?” the strange woman asked in her unnerving sing-song voice.

“Yeah, so you know what I am capable of.” Quail was actually flattered that the woman knew of her. Then she remembered who she was dealing with. “I told you before, speak fast.”

“I have information about the greatest prize you could ever want,” the psychafile sang. “If you get it and still desire my services then I will serve you, but first you must… acquire your prize.”

The details had been mundane and had led her to the Imperial for her first hard glance at her prize ship, the Wayward Girl.

How appropriate, Quail grinned. She turned away from the view panel and snatched a glass from the nearby tray.

The tray was a small delicate object gently lodged in the bottom of an exquisite slave girl who came with the room. Quail could not help admiring the way in which the girl held a perfect posture and yet did not spill a drop. It was an especially difficult challenge as the girl’s bottom was as raw as it was possible to get after a long night under the whip.

“Does mistress want to use an abrasive lube or none at all perhaps?” the girl had asked enthusiastically when she had offered her tray-bearing services.

The doe-eyed girl’s posture as she made the offer was sublime and Quail had almost ravished her again there and then.

Actually Quail was largely heterosexual, but all things dark sex-wise had always gripped her and a female bottom under the lash was what she lived for. Heaven help her female captives, she thought evilly as she thought of all the princesses, ministers and heiresses she had under hand over the years.

But still she longed for a man who could stand-up to her, but that thought she crushed as readily as her enemies as soon as it reared in her mind. Worse still were the nightmares where she woke up drenched in every regard from head to foot after dreaming of chains and punishments for her crimes. She hated those, didn’t she? Hated, hated them.

She looked at the girl again and wanted to reacquaint her with the whip, but the girl had jet hair and dark polished eyes like those that stared back from her mirror sometimes and she felt herself flush a little.

To distract these unbidden thoughts she looked back at the Wayward Girl and sighed. Time to test these codes, she thought, because if they don’t work…

She grinned as she wondered what a pyschafile woman from Beeswax would be like under the lash.

*

Getting aboard unnoticed had been laughably easy. Quail supposed that the security had been designed to meet threats in deep space and not in a domestic port. But then again, she did have some excellent codes. Prize or none, she would have to acquire the psychafile for further jobs.

Although she kept her blaster to hand, on the trip to the rear hold she encountered no one and once the codes got her access to the desired transit bay she put it away. It wasn’t until the doors began to open that Quail realised how silent the ship had been. The relatively quiet hatch seemed to scream and strain as it oh so slowly slid open. And it seemed to take forever.

For a moment was put in mind of the times she had snuck home as a kid in the dead of night; when every footfall promised to wake Pa to give her a whooping. She felt an unfamiliar tickle in her belly and for some reason the smell of stale fish came to mind. It kind of smelled like home, she thought. Darn it… I haven’t thought about that in years… It had escaped her notice that she couldn’t even think ‘damn’ just then; another legacy from those long lost days of home.

Finally the door opened to reveal a disappointingly normal cargo hold.

“So no gems or precious metals then,” she snorted aloud.

Just then something began to hum and although the ship’s stabilises were on, an experienced spacer like Quail knew at once that the Wayward Girl was underway. Quail gritted her teeth. Her ship would have to catch-up later once they were clear of the port’s sensors. But she hoped to the devil that she could disable the security or overpower the crew before then.

Remember you have the access codes. It was a thought, more than a voice in her head, but it didn’t seem like her own somehow. But she quickly forgot her disquiet and entered the hold.

What she presumed was the hold was at the far end. It was not large, although at 10 meters high it did take up almost all of one side of the cargo bay.

The sphere was translucent silver in colour and seemed to hang a meter above the deck. Quail had never seen anything like it, but at once she knew three things about it that were as certain in her mind as any fact ever had been.

One that it was very valuable, two that it was of exotic alien origin and three that she wanted it no matter the cost. Just what it was or even what it could be did not even occur to her then.

“How the hell did they get it in here?” she muttered.

The obvious counter to that question being how was she going to get it out.

As Quail approached she remembered another set of codes she had been given. But how did she input them?

Do you wish access? Again it was more a thought than a voice and again Quail suspected that the thought was not her own. But strangely she was unconcerned and thought about the codes she had.

*

Suddenly Quail couldn’t quite see anything, but instead of panic, she felt unusually calm. Then she realised that she was totally naked.

“What level of access do you desire?” This time the voice wasn’t in her head but seemed to come from everywhere.

It was an androgynous sooth-smooth voice that gave the impression of one eager to please.

“Give me full access,” Quail demanded.

“I am obliged to offer you the choice of an induction first,” the voice said.

That made sense, Quail thought, but another still voice urged her to take a leap of faith.

“Full access,” Quail ordered the unseen voice.

“Please confirm,” the voice whispered, but Quail sensed a change.

“Let me in, damn it,” Quail said impatiently.

“The exit code will be given to you later, but only when you need it.”

*

The house was sumptuous, like something out of tri-vid or retro catalogue from one of the inner worlds. There were far too many ornaments and soft furnishings for Quail to take in, let alone count, so instead she fell back on a scarce-used sensed of artistry and let the whole scene wash over her as a whole.

There were long carpeted corridors hung with paintings of such quality that they almost seemed familiar. Perhaps I have stolen them at one time or another, she thought, but it made no sense. Not if the house was real and it just then it seemed the realist thing she had ever encountered.

Beyond the house was a lush garden, but although she could glimpse it through high wide windows, even after rushing through room after room, she could not work out how she might get out to it. But it wasn’t until she reached the top of a promising staircase and she saw the tall mirror that she took note of what she was now wearing.

Her hair and face were the same and as far as she could determine, it was still her body she could see in the looking glass. But gone were the enhancements and implants, and in place of her body armour was a light cotton nightgown. Quail blinked hard and tried to take this image of her in.

Then she remembered her blaster and slapped at her hip; nothing. In fact she had little more than nothing, for all she had was the nightgown.

“Where am I?” she called out, hoping the androgynous voice would answer. “What are you trying to show me? I want full access bitch.”

Quail listened. Somewhere an old style clock was ticking; it wasn’t loud and sounded a way off. But it was only identifiable noise anywhere. A clue maybe, she thought and peeked over the stair rail to the floor below. Okay, so down it is, she decided.

Two floors later she reached a locked door that might have led to the outside. So after trying it twice, she turned down the final passage that seemed as if might lead somewhere.

“Letitia, there you are, you’re late,” came a voice to her right, it added stiffly, “Again.”

The severe looking woman was sat on a divan regarding her with appraising eyes as if deciding whether or not she would withhold her approval.

“I don’t know you,” Quail accused her, but at the back of her mind she did think the woman was slightly familiar.

“What a perfectly beastly thing to say Letitia, do you want me to fetch a cane as well?” the woman seemed genuinely aggrieved.

“What the devil-cursed damn are you shitting on a bout?” It was the worst swear words she had known before leaving her home world, but just then she could not recall any that were worse.

“Letitia, you come here this minute,” the woman scolded.

It was then that she realised who it was. Back when she was in community college on home-world there had been a neighbour who worked at the library. She had been Quail’s girl-crush, requited or otherwise. Jane Toomey, that had been her name, Quail remembered in wonder.

“How… I never even really spoke to you…” Quail muttered in puzzlement. “You’re some sort of synthetic aren’t you? Where the hell is my gear?”

Jane sighed and stood up. Before Quail could react, the woman reached her and pulled back into the room by the arm.

“Young woman you have been asking for this for a long, long time,” she said, “Now I am going to give you the spanking you so richly deserve.”

The words struck a chord in Quail and she dimly remembered that they had been part of a fantasy she had had about the neighbour once or twice.

Once or twice? The voice was another thought in her head. Why do you lie even to yourself? Quail ignored it.

“Listen bitch,” she said, “I am not into this.”

But even as she spoke Jane handled her easily and draped her across her lap. Quail felt panic. She should be able to drop the bitch easy, she thought.

Jane didn’t stop there but hauled up Quail’s cotton nightgown until her uncovered bottom was elevated by the woman’s knees.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Quail gasped.

“Letitia Quail, I have had just about enough of your attitude. I am going to give you the spanking of your life,” Jane growled.

From somewhere Jane produced a hairbrush and now patted it firmly against Quail’s bare bottom.

“Look, I don’t know how you are doing this but if you don’t let me…” Quail’s protest was interrupted by a sharp crack across her bottom.

It hurt more than it should and she gasped. As another three spanks landed in quick succession Quail began to panic and kick out with her legs. She had once taken a disrupter burn during a raid. That had taken a clone doctor to save her arm and she had gone many hours without aesthetic. But that had been nothing compared with this. It was almost as if she had never left home-world.

“You bitch, let me go,” Quail shouted.

Jane pulled back her arm to its full extent and let the brush fall with a blasting crack.

“Yah-nyah,” Quail grunted, but another even harder spank took her breath.

“Are you going to mind me Letitia?” Jane scolded as she spanked.

“You can’t do this,” Quail wailed as she struggled with her breathing.

“I see,” Jane sighed and doing the impossible settled in for a long hard spanking assault.

*

After she didn’t know how long Quail felt as weak as a kitten and her bottom felt as if it had been blow-torched.

“Stubborn girl aren’t you?” Jane, who had been hoping for some full-on tears, finally put down the brush. “Now Letitia Quail, I want you standing in that corner and not another peep out of you until I send you to bed.”

Quail had no will left to answer back and dropped to her knees while she heaved for breath as if she had been voided into space.

“Did you hear me Letitia?” Jane barked at her. “Get your little bottom in that corner right now.”

“You are one crazy bitch,” Quail said at last and then somewhat unsteadily she struggled to her feet still panting for breath.

Jane did something like a double-take and examined Quail’s welt-shocked buttocks in wonder. The bottom rounds were defined by hard rubbery welts and were a white-dusted dark red all over. Every chair in the house would be obsolete for a month.

“I see,” the long lost neighbour said in disbelief.

In a trice Quail found herself hauled across the room and tumbled face down over the back of the divan. For some reason, try as she might, she couldn’t gain her feet and was still half naked as she offered a bare bottom to the ceiling when Jane returned with a cane.

The first stroke cut Quail’s tail like a hull-cutter and she couldn’t help yelling out. And like such a burn, the pain continued to throb and saw-in even as the next stroke was delivered.

“Letitia Quail, you will go to the corner for the rest of the afternoon or my name is not Jane Toomey. Now say ‘yes ma’am,’ because I am going to give you 12 right after no matter how long it takes,” Jane all but yelled at the pirate.

Quail could neither rise nor get her balance as stroke after stroke cut her across her behind at five or 10 second intervals for the next few long minutes.

“Do you want to come back tomorrow?” Jane asked after a while.

Quail’s endurance was astounding, although she no longer held her tongue when she was caned.

It took a moment and several heaving breaths but finally Quail said, “No.” And then after a bitter pause, she added, “Ma’am.”

Jane placed another epic stroke hard across Quail’s bottom and demanded to know, “Will you go to that corner?”

Quail double punched the seat of the Divan and then through gritted teeth barked out in frustration, “Ooh, yes Ma’am.”

Jane nodded and then with a slow fierce deliberation laid on 12 more cuts with a will until Quail’s raw flesh was sharply corrugated like packing cardboard.

“Now, get your behind in that corner and do not leave it until you are told to do so,” Jane ordered.

Quail got woodenly to her feet and glowered at her persecutor. Then she shot an angry glance at the corner. She couldn’t, just couldn’t, it would mean… Quail sighed, she smelled sex and submission; but she didn’t do the submitting, she thought bitterly.

“Please, I can’t,” a frayed Quail groaned, “Look I am sorry I bad-mouthed you. But I don’t know what’s happening here.”

Jane gaped at her and then after the merest of procrastination, grabbed Quail’s arm and tumbled her back over the Divan.

“No please,” Quail begged; this was insane.

She took six more strokes before she yelled out, “Yes Ma’am.”

“What?” Jane growled at her.

“Yes Ma’am, I’ll do it.”

This time Quail was frog-marched to the corner and told to stay there.

If the pirate expected whatever it was to end she was to be disappointed. Her bottom hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and she could not even contemplate that she had totally surrendered; even when it was hard in her face just an inch from her nose.

Her breathing was ragged and tore from her lips in time with the pulsing throb in her tail. And then to her utter amazement it became a sob, and then two, until she suddenly and completely surrendered to her tears.

*

Quail had bawled into the corner like a kid for the best part of an hour. When finally she was done she was surprised to find out how clean she felt. She blushed. That bitch has got me bitch-slapped like snivelling grunt. What am I still doing here? But despite the sudden resentment she did not move. Not for a minute or so and even then she only made a tentative peek.

“Nose in that corner,” Jane barked.

Quail snapped her head back at once and didn’t move again until Jane sent her to bed a good while later.

“Bed?” Quail was incredulous. This was too unreal.

Jane just pointed to the door and glared.

Quail was surprised to find that not only did she obey, but that she knew where to go. She found a large girlish room like one in a story book she loved as a child. The bed was a four-poster and twice as wide as some cabins she had slept in even as captain.

I don’t know what this Jane did, but she has some kind of… it was a fuzzy thought and Quail yawned. The soft bed swallowed her up and before she could join two ideas in her mind she fell deep into the sleep of the just.

To be continued.



3 Responses to “The Prize”

  1. 1 paul1510

    Damian,
    interesting! 😛
    Paul.

  2. 2 Richard

    Like it like it pirate booty getting the brush the cane Wonder idea maybe a little whip too like it like it a knot and a crop too

  3. 3 bahamagirl1996

    That was amazing ! I can’t wait to see what happens next


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