| Title: In Training Author: N. Chapter Three The shackles around his ankles keep his feet imprisoned, but he can raise his hips a few inches off the seat before the restraints at his wrists hold him back. That small freedom of movement is what she controls. He can move that much, but he doesn’t. He keeps still and suppresses the urge to thrust into her, because that’s how she’s trained him and if he keeps still she keeps coming back. The bit holds his tongue and stops him forming words, but without it he can speak and scream and bite. She controls his mouth and his throat, and he doesn’t speak or scream or bite or groan or make any sounds at all. That’s how she’s trained him, and if he keeps quiet when she takes out the bit, she keeps coming back. Her fingers trace the shape of his brow under the blindfold. She’s going to take it off, let him see her at last. Disgusted by his own eagerness, Riddick waits quietly, yet a deep uneasiness pervades him. It can’t be that simple. There’s a catch, a trap. Always when she’s given him something before, he’s had to pay a price by giving her more control. He leans forward and rests his forehead against her chest between her breasts. His cock throbs demandingly where it lies enclosed in her hand, eager for the tighter heat of her body. She has already paid it some attention tonight, arousing the desire in his belly. She’s waiting for his response, a nod to let her know that he wants the blindfold off, but that he’ll do what she wants in return, whatever that might be. He’s never felt so helpless. Though he feels like he knows her there’s nothing he wants more than to see her, to complete the picture. And she’s giving him the chance… but he doesn’t want to know the price. Her lips caress the top of his scalp as she lets him think. He shivers, paralysed by indecision. Her hand slips away from his cock and he knows she’ll leave if he doesn’t reply. He nods his head where it rests against her. She sighs against him, her body pressing into his as though she needs it for support. Riddick curses his restraints like never before as his need courses through him. If he were free right now… but he can’t even imagine it. He can’t imagine fucking her, instead of being fucked by her. He doesn’t know how it will be – even though he knows that one day he’ll do it. *This* is how it is. She makes the rules, she does the fucking, and he obeys her fucking rules. He lifts his head and she places her palms flat against his eye sockets. He understands at once. She’ll take it off, but he has to keep his eyes closed. He laughs. He can’t help it. Throwing back his head, he jerks it to shake her hands away, and laughs. "Fuck you." Then his laughter turns to anger. "Fuck you!" he growls, but slowly, still in control. "You can’t control me, you fucking bitch. You can’t control me!" He pulls right away from her and sits back against the wall with a cry of pure frustration. He rolls his head from side to side, bemused at his own stupidity. He chuckles. Yeah, he’s one dumb fuck all right. How could he not have guessed? The rest he can understand, but this – this is purely a power trip for her. He has nothing to gain this time, no relief from discomfort like when she removed the bit, no new sensations like when she kissed him. He did all that for a fuck and he’ll do no more. "Get out," he says. She straddles his thighs. "Get out!" He snaps his body forward, hoping to dislodge her, but she’s sitting too far back on his knees and the chains hold him. She’s right there on him. He’ll bite her, head-butt her, if he can reach her, but she keeps just far enough away so that he can’t touch her. He bucks his hips to try and throw her off, but she squeezes her thighs around him to hold on. Her hand takes his cock again and he feels the familiar betrayal of his body as the blood rushes down. The warmth of her hand and the slow stroking of her fingers is soothing, and he doesn’t want to be soothed. She lifts herself slightly and settles back with him embedded inside her. Riddick can scarcely believe it – neither her audacity nor his own immediate compliance. He doesn’t move. He tips back his head, grits his teeth, eyes squeezed shut under the blindfold, trying to calm himself, and he lets her fuck him. She kisses his throat and puts her finger against his lips. Riddick swallows hard and realises that has just choked back words that refuse to be spoken. She leans in closer and touches her fingers to his eyes, then to the back of the blindfold. Against his will he’s motionless and silent and now as her hands start to tug at the blindfold he closes his eyes behind the cloth. She moves more urgently, and he knows his unsteady breathing gives away his impending climax, as does hers. She lets the cloth fall and Riddick senses her watching him, her face close to his. Her open mouth moves to touch his and retreat, touch and retreat, as they exchange breaths. He braces himself against the chains that hold his wrists and legs and comes at last, silent and still as she has trained him. And he keeps his eyes closed. She presses her forehead against his, rocking on him, their bodies swaying back and forth. He feels drained, the surge of endorphins leaving his limbs leaden. She moans softly as he slips out of her and she holds his face in her hands, fingers brushing his eyelids and lips and cheekbones. Then he feels the cloth against his eyes as the blindfold is retied. She kisses his mouth and reapplies the bit. She zips him up and trails her fingers down his arm, from shoulder to fingertip, before she leaves. Riddick is still shaking, and not just from the orgasm. He’s shaken to the core, not comprehending what has happened, why he kept his fucking eyes shut, how she can wield that power. God, what the *fuck* has happened to him? How can he be so sure of his defiance one moment, then submit to her the next? And the urge to see her was so strong, yet he resisted it for no goddamn reason except that she demanded it. Her fucking rules. He shakes his head and chuckles to himself, deep in his throat where the metal rod in his mouth can’t stop the bitter sound. The worst part of all is that he has no idea how he’s going to make her pay for what she’s done to him. There are no more nights with her. The project is finished, Riddick’s team moves on. He’s spent four weeks behaving himself while he works in shackles, and they trust him enough to stop chaining him up at night. A guard unchains him for the last time, hands him his goggles, and from then on they let him sleep and eat in the regular slave quarters at their new location several hundred kilometres away from the mining outpost they’ve just built. Riddick plots his escape. It will be easy now, it’s just a matter of time. He needs to find a ship and get off this place, but not without finding her first. He’ll risk his freedom to find her first. Six days later he’s on the run. He steals a land cruiser, then another, then a short-range skiff and heads straight back for the outpost. She’s a colonist, that’s all he knows, but whether she works at the outpost or at the nearby town he’ll have to discover for himself. They’ll look for him first in the cities, where the shuttle ports are. That’s where they’ll expect him to go because as far as he knows they don’t know he has the skiff. He feels relatively safe, at least for a day or two. He has a day or two to find her and… He still doesn’t know what the fuck he’ll do to her. He lands the skiff a few kilometres from the outpost and walks the rest of the way. He’ll try the town first, because she has always felt too clean and refined to be working the mines. He’s traded computer circuitry from the skiff for a jacket and boots to hide his slave garb, and he wanders the streets of the small town all day, getting the layout of the place, not caring if she sees him before he sees her because she won’t get away. That evening he finds her. He’s been staking out the clinic for a while, based on the suspicion that she might be a medic. They sent her in to patch him up that first night and she knew what she was doing with the sutures. She must have med training. The heavy doors swing open and she jogs lightly down the steps into the street. Pants now, not a skirt. Work boots. Short-sleeved top in the hot evening air. She’s alone, which will make it easier, but nothing will stop him anyway. Her hair is slightly wavy as he predicted, but lighter than he’d imagined. He enjoys the surprise at this revelation. Her body is exactly as he knew it would be – firm, slender limbs; her movements deliberate yet graceful. Her face is pretty and she looks younger and somehow more naïve than he thought. So young, yet she took over his will with ease. He remembers her hesitation at the very start, when she’d dared herself to do what she did. He doesn’t blame her for his compliance – that was his weakness – but she has to be punished for the rest. He waits until she’s turned into a side street and then he takes her from behind. Her scent and the sound of her moan, stifled behind his hand, both confirm her identity. She struggles for only a few seconds, and then she recognises him – perhaps by scent as well, because she can’t see him. "Walk out of town by the west gate," he growls into her ear. She shakes her head. "I am going to hurt you, little one," he says, the blade of his shiv pressing into her hip, "but if you don’t do as I say, I’ll kill you right here." She nods and he releases her, and she starts to walk. He stays a few paces behind, scanning the streets as he walks, but not caring who sees them – he’ll kill anyone who tries to stop him, but there’s no-one around. He can smell her arousal. But she’s a fool if she thinks he was lying about hurting her. |