| Title: In Training Author: N. Chapter One Footsteps. Bare feet slapping on concrete. A woman, young, cotton clothing that rustles slightly. She smells clean and warm. Riddick breathes deeply and waits, leaning back where they chain him by night, sitting on a narrow bench with wrist cuffs held down away from his sides, ankles shackled to the floor. She’s carrying something – a plastic container with metallic items chinking against each other. Now she’s very close, now between his knees, and he feels his gut tighten. She’s unafraid – that surprises him, because even when he’s restrained and blindfolded like this he always smells fear on them. But she’s hesitant. Curious. She waits a while before making a move. A light touch at his temple makes him recoil slightly. Then he feels something soft pressing firmly against the gash on his forehead. A girder fell on him out at the site that afternoon. He has been feeling the blood and grime drying on his skin ever since. She’s not someone he’s seen out there before, not one of the slaves or miners – he knows their smell: grease and dirt, stale sweat and sometimes bland company soap. Maybe she’s a colonist, someone for whom he’s building the mining rigs along with a team of slaves. The pungent stench of antiseptic assaults his nostrils and for a moment he loses all sense of her. Its sting brings his focus back, and after a while he feels her presence again. Her breathing is soft and not quite even. He’s hoping for more clues – a voice, perhaps, but she’s silent. She places her palm against his brow to tilt his head back a little, and to the side, and he inhales sharply through the bit. Yeah, just what he needs, a hard-on to keep him company through the night. He tries to fight back the rising tension. The needle slices through his flesh but he barely feels it. What he feels are the points of pressure on his scalp where each of her fingers touches him, and the feathery tickle of her hair on his face as she leans over him in concentration. And that scent he hasn’t experienced in so long… His senses are flooded with her. Behind the blindfold he closes his eyes. The door beyond her slides open and she twists her body in mid-suture to face the intruder. A guard asks her what she’s doing here, but she doesn’t answer. The guard rephrases it into a yes/no question – "Did the doc send you?" – and Riddick feels the slight movement of her body when she nods because her hands are still on him. He shifts his head a fraction so that her inner wrist is resting against his skin, and he feels the throb of her pulse against his temple. Her life beating against him. Faster than it should be. A tug in his groin answers its rhythm. The guard leaves, but not before warning her to be careful. The slave is dangerous. A killer. And then he’s alone with her again. He exhales slowly. Scissors slice through the thread and another suture is made. The cool pressure of a gel strip against his skin signals the end of her visit. Almost. He senses the change in her. The shifting of her weight. The altered breathing pattern. Her fingers finish applying the strip but they remain there on his face, trailing a path down over the blindfold, across his cheek, along his jaw. He relishes the contact and wonders how far she’ll take it. She’s still hesitant, as though daring herself to go further. She climbs onto his lap, the light weight of her skirts bunching up on his thighs. His erection presses against her belly. Riddick shifts and tenses, feeling her hands unfastening his pants to let his cock spring free. She touches his face again, tracing the line of his brow under the blindfold, then the snarl of his lips around the metal bit. He growls deep in his throat, in protest at the delay. Fuck it, woman, get on with it! He thrusts his hips upwards to make his point. She lifts away slightly. Did he scare her away? Not likely. She’s safe as long as he’s chained up like this, and she’s not afraid of him. But she’s wary, as though she’s not used to taking the lead or using the power she’s just discovered. Her hands stroke his shoulders then move down his arms to the cuffs. She leans into him, her breasts meshing against his chest through two layers of fabric. And then she’s raising up, letting him slip inside just a little, and he pushes up hard, as far as the restraints will allow. The chains rattle and jolt. She pulls away immediately and a rush of cool air flows over his throbbing cock where she’s left it wet. She can’t see his scowl because of the blindfold, but he’s scowling now. What the fuck is she up to? Her soft swollen lips brush the head of his cock again and he strains to get into her, but again she pulls away, slipping off his thighs completely. So this is her game: she wants him to sit still and take it. He leans back against the wall and turns his head away from her, indicating his disinterest. But she mounts him again, and this time he stays still out of defiance. For one stroke. Two. Then he can’t help himself. He bucks into her, bracing his feet against the floor and his shoulders against the wall. She lets him do it a few times, just enough to let him think she might allow it, then she lifts off him again. Now he’s really pissed. He tries to relax, to not care, to not want it. But she’s given him a taste and he wants it bad. Breathing hard, he clenches his jaw as her hand closes around his cock, now slick with her wetness. She caresses it gently, not enough to get him off. Desire and frustration mingle dangerously in his body and he comes to a decision. Just once. Just this once he’ll let her do it her way. And later, when he gets the chance, maybe during the day if he can somehow slip away, he’ll find her and pay her back. He wonders how badly he’ll hurt her. Familiar thoughts of violence rage through his body, as natural to him as breathing. He sits upright again, then waits motionless. The tight heat of her body encloses him and he lets her ride him, slowly at first, then increasing the speed to keep pace with her own arousal, and he just takes it. She cries out softly with each stroke, her arms loosely around his neck, and then she shudders against him and he feels her contracting around his flesh, almost tipping him over the edge, but not quite. She moves on him again, too slowly. He thrusts into her once to urge her on but she slides off. He’s close, so close that his limbs are shaking as his orgasm simmers deep within his gut. He yanks his body forward to find her, but she’s zipping him up, carefully so that she doesn’t touch him. When he’s alone again he falls back against the wall. He’d give anything for one free hand to finish the job. The tension is unbearable. His cock complains and he ignores it. He concentrates on his fury. It’s a long, uncomfortable night. She comes again the next night. He’s spent all day in the sun, working out his frustration on the site, his muscles appreciating the physical exertion. But they still keep him chained up in here at night after they’ve fed him and hosed him down. He sits motionless as she changes the dressing on his wound. Then she slips between his legs and kneels before him, her palms warm against his thighs, and finds him hard and ready. Part of him dreads that she might leave him hanging again. She starts stroking him and then he feels her scalding mouth enclose the head. He draws in air through the bit, thinks about ramming her throat. But she must be thinking about that too, because she scrapes his skin slightly with her teeth as a reminder of the consequences if he misbehaves. She sucks and licks, her tongue searing his flesh, and he feels his control slipping as she moans softly. She’s aroused him enough that he has to have more. She climbs onto him and plays the head of his cock along her swollen nether lips, as if testing him to see if he’ll buck. When she slips him inside her, he keeps still. When she clenches his cock with her muscles and rides him hard, he keeps still. His ragged breathing through the bit matches hers and she presses her forehead into his shoulder as she moves. He lets the flood of orgasm wash over him, the molten heat coursing through his veins. A long, aching groan escapes his throat. *Fuck*… it’s been so long… She licks him clean, zips him up, and when she kisses his forehead he feels the smile on her lips. |