alexandra

Your arrival at the outpost had been anything but graceful. In hindsight you would have preferred to meet these people face to face instead of over Neteyam’s shoulder. 

“If you want we can uh….watch a movie. Oh yeah I bet I could swipe Norm’s Star Wars collection.” 

You don’t return the smile he gives you, too busy awkwardly sitting on his bed while pouting. You never thought it would feel strange to be back in a place like this but after being around the Na’vi for the past week, the outpost feels like walking into a rundown dollhouse. Everything is your size and nothing is as beautifully crafted as Neteyam’s kelku. 

The awkward silence is slightly painful but you can’t find it within yourself to feel bad for Spider. Not when he hasn’t shown even a morsel of sympathy for your situation. Your own kind and not even they find it important to get you out of here. Not that they could anyways. No doubt Neteyam would view such actions as a betrayal. 

“He wouldn’t let you come along, huh?” You finally ask. 

Spider stops digging through the worn down hard drives. 

“Who?” 

“Neteyam. Didn’t want you coming to see the RDA off either?” 

Spider scoffs at the, leaving the tech behind to cross the small room. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not the one he’s worried about getting into trouble.” 

Spider may not have heightened senses like the Na’vi but you worry that he sees the way your hands ball around the thin blankets.

“So Lo’ak handed the role of babysitter off to you somehow.” You lean back against the cold wall, trying to appear bored by the conversation. 

“Just for today. He was clear that I would only be a substitute.” 

Your brows furrow at that. Maybe Lo’ak doesn’t mind watching over you as much as he lets on. Then again Lo’ak never fails to find your company amusing, and for all the wrong reasons. Some days you wonder if Neteyam would really be cross with you for slapping his brother across the face. Maybe if you batted your lashes and played it off as self defense….

“Well I’m sorry you can’t be there.” 

It’s Spider’s turn to look confused. 

“Why?” 

“Colonel Quaritch is your dad, isn’t he?” 

“That asshole is nothing close to a father.” Spider’s jaw clenches, posturing already shifting to loom over you. He may be human but his six foot frame of striped muscle greatly outweighs your own. 

“Oh trust me, I know. Quaritch has been nothing but a tyrant my entire life. I honestly don’t know how he managed to get back into General Ardmore’s good graces after half the stunts he has pulled. That’s why I was excited for today. Finally see that bastard put in his place.” Spider watches you closely. In some ways it feels like all he is missing he ears and tail of a Na’vi.

“Thought maybe you would want to see that too.” 

You know a good deal about Spider Soccoro. He is a story that is often shared among the recombinants but never in Quaritch’s presence. Many tales have been told of the feral stripped boy that was more trouble than worth. You wonder if the stories would have been different if he hadn’t chosen the Sullys in the end. Still, even with their biased filters you know that they put Spider through hell. 

Kidnapping is traumatic enough without having to watch islands burn and friends cry for justice. 

“I don’t care what happens to that bastard.” Spider huffs before promptly turning around and fishing through the hard drives once more. You’ve killed the already strained mood. 

“Well then you’re a better person than me. Good for you.” Spider doesn’t answer but you can tell he is listening. 

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Hell, I’ve only had to put up with him from a distance and I would ring his neck myself if given the chance.” 

Spider’s fingers fiddle with a blue hard drive, eyes staring down thoughtfully. 

“But I guess I should trust Neteyam to give him what he deserves. Watch that monster tuck his tail and accept his failure for what it is.”  It’s the one cause you consider Neteyam and yourself on the same side of. 

Leaning back, you prop your feet up onto the creaky mattress. 

“Yeah.” He says shortly. 

“Ugh don’t get me started on Lyle though-”

“What are you trying to do?” Spider springs to his feet, glaring daggers down at you. 

“What do-”

“Do you think I’m really that stupid? Neteyam told me you would do this. Trying to spin a story that would allow you to escape.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You’re startled by the outburst to say the least but at this point there is nothing to lose. This man you only met fifteen minutes ago is the difference between spending the rest of your days here and returning back to Earth. Neteyam’s punishments are far from being enough to deter you from taking this chance. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to-”

“Would it kill you to just stay out of trouble for this one day? For my sake?” The look he gives you is anything but tender in comparison to his words. 

The bitter taste of impending failure is already settling in. You can already feel the immense weight of this dread and it springs you into action. This can’t be the end. 

It won’t be. 

“Can you really blame me though? For wanting to say goodbye to everything and everyone I have ever known?” 

Spider goes quiet, hazel eyes suddenly avoiding your own gaze. 

“Believe whatever you want but the fact is this day will never repeat. This is literal history and…” You voice quivers, blunt teeth sinking into your bottom lip in restraint. The last barrier to holding the words back. “The last glimpse at my old life.” 

You don’t allow the gravity of those whispered words to plant themselves. This is all a ruse after all. Just enough sadness to get Spider to cooperate and yet saying it out loud feels like tying an anchor to your ankle. Truly realizing how stuck you may be from here on out. 

Spider doesn’t say anything for a long while. Neither of you look at each other, letting the silence sizzle between you. 

And then finally….

“We have to be quick.”

“And no touching anything. I mean it, shit out here can be extremely poisonous.” Spider rattles on, listing yet another rule to follow as the two of you venture through the thick terrain. You roll your eyes. You may not be a match for the creatures of Pandora physically but you’ve studied enough to understand what to stay away from.

“We’re there for five minutes tops, got it?” Spider says as he pushes a hanging branch out of your path. 

“Yes sir.” You salute him playfully. Now that you are less than a mile away from Bridgehead a certain giddiness begins to take over. It swirls together with your nerves and apprehension but it doesn’t deter you. This is the closest you have been to freedom in a week. 

Eywa’s mightiest creatures could not keep you from your goal. 

Years down the road when you wake up from kyro this will all be some awful dream that embeds itself into your revenge arch. Starting with Miles Quaritch of course. 

“I’m being serious. Neteyam will kill me if he sees you out here. I’m sticking my neck out for you.” 

“It will be worth it.” You say simply, a skip in your step when you recognize the familiar path that leads back to Bridgehead. This the same one you had carved deeper with every trip you had taken to your oasis. Looking back there is nothing more you regret but the sight of it still makes you smile. 

Spider never stops his stern rambling. Despite the fact that he is built like a Greek God, his speeches do little to intimidate you. Not when you’re used to nine feet of solid muscle and sharp canines. 

There is a bank that overhangs Bridgehead. A spot that Spider deems the perfect lookout for the two of you. You consider trying to convince him to get the two of you closer. After all, what good is a farewell that can’t be heard? Truth is, there really aren’t many people you would bother trying to say goodbye to. Jeremy moved on from you months ago, you have very little friends outside of that and what little you did have can be nothing but traitors by letting you get offered up without complaint. 

It feels like a risky move, however. Spider is sure to catch wind of your deception at the first hints of you disobeying.

“Here,” Spider mutters, suddenly pulling your arm so you stand directly in front of him. This leaves you sandwiched between the cliff’s edge and Spider’s tall frame. 

“Hey!” You snip at him, ripping your arm from his hold. 

“This way I can keep a close eye on you.” He smirks, hands resting confidently on his hips because he knows as well as you that his physical prowess greatly outweighs your own. It’s clear his trust is far from being earned. 

“Well do you have to breathe down my neck? Christ! I could use some space.” 

“No chance.” Spider responds shortly but his eyes are already scanning the crowd of RDA members below. 

“Neteyam doesn’t really take kindly to others sniffing around me.” 

You hate to play that card but it seems to be the only one you have in your deck and if you have any chance of getting out of here, Spider can’t be pressed up against you. A harsh glare is thrown down at you but with knitted brows and a fierce frown, the male takes a few steps back. It isn’t much, surely his presence will still be your first obstacle, but it’s a start. 

Every minute that passes by feels like torture. You watch as palettes of heavy equipment and artillery are rolled along the concrete with Na’vi supervising. Each one packed away is a signal of passing time, another stream of sand that falls through your hourglass of opportunity. The real nerves, however, kick in when the line of RDA members are escorted onto the ship. 

How long is it going to take them to load everyone?

How long until your hopes are dashed?

You spot Neteyam taking his place at the head. He is dressed up in his traditional Olo’eyktan gear completely with a feathered mantle and oval forehead jewelry, but this time he holds a gun. He holds it with confidence, finger strategically placed over the barrel and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His golden eyes spark today like fire. Even from your lookout spot from above, you can feel that darting heat. 

You pray that they never fall on you again. 

Spider shifts over your shoulder suddenly, blonde dreads ticking your neck. You scramble out of his space but instead of jerking you into place as you expect, he takes your spot at the front. Brows knitting together, you watch him carefully as he crawls forward. 

Finally you spot what has captured his undivided attention. 

Colonel Miles Quaritch sternly leads his band of mutants through the crowd. They tower so high over the rest of the Sky People the sight is almost comedic. However, Spider is doing anything but laughing. His mask fogs up as he watches the scene with intensity. 

It’s like he is dead to the world, eyes trained on the man that has been anything but a father to him. 

You expect him to cheer, snarl, anything that shouts of victory. It was promises of seeing karma after all that had bought you this outing but Spider is silent and still. And then there is something else that flashes over his demeanor, a pang of emotion that is hard for you to place. 

Pain?

Hatred? 

Guilt? 

This swirl of tangled feelings is confusing.

Perhaps there is still so much more to learn about Spider Socorro. 

Regardless, this is your chance and you plan to take it. Tension bleeding into the moment you watch Spider diligently while beginning to back away. It feels as if the world’s ambience has been muffled into background noise and the only sound breaking through is the obnoxious puff of each breath through your mask. Neteyam hadn’t given you the serum shot this morning, assuming you would be spending the whole day in the outpost. Now, however, you wish he had. 

Spider is so enveloped in the moment, however, that he gives no recognition of the sound or even branch you clumsily snap when backing down from the cliff’s edge. 

There is no telling how long this trance will last or at what point you will be out of ear shot so you risk it all. 

Bare feet tingling in protest, you race across the forest floor. There’s no sign of an easy and stealthy way down into Bridgehead. Going back down your normal path would risk Spider spotting you race by. That’s not an option but neither is falling to your death. On the east side the cliff shallows out into a grassy hill. If you’re lucky enough you might just be able to creep down it and remain hidden beneath the heavy greenery. 

Upon reaching it, however, you step on loose dirt and the world rapidly spins around you. With neither a hint of grace or stealth you clumsily roll down the hill. Your muscles ache by the time you clunk to the bottom and you’re sure there are other injuries to be found. Adrenaline dulling the pain and panic, you dart to hide in the nearest bush instantly. 

The scene is so much louder now that you are up close. Heavy trucks make blaring beeping sounds while reversing and Na’vi freely let out loose cries of victory and foreign threats. The commotion is just enough to have your presence remain undetected. 

You don’t bank on that lasting for long though.

Your scanty traditional Na’vi attire is sure to draw attention. You need different clothes and you need it fast. Scaling around the outskirts of the chaos, you miraculously manage to make it to that familiar run down door. Sector two-your building. 

Paranoia constantly scraping at your attention, you barely let the room equalize before ripping your mask off. These hallways feel so different than you remember them. Perhaps it is the feel of the metal floors beneath bare feet or the lacking furniture and crowd. It sends a chill up your spine as you sprint towards your room. 

How much time do you have?

They can’t have loaded more than half of the crew by now.

And yet, the sight of deserted halls makes your feet slap against the floor faster. 

Get dressed. Immerse yourself in the crowd. Hide until take off is through and then find a kyro capsule.

You mentally check through this list. 

Piece of cake. 

Maybe saying it out loud would make it sound less like a fool’s hope. 

Fuck it. The odds don’t matter and neither do your nerves. This is a necessity, pure survival and that will be enough to keep you going. It will because it has to. 

Your feet slip across the laminated floor when you frantically scramble to go back the way you came. Two tall and ominous shadows wrap from around the opposite corner and you are afforded just enough time to dart behind a wall before Lyle and Z Dawg appear. 

“You’re an idiot.” She says. 

“Yeah yeah say whatever you want but don’t pretend like you wouldn’t rip someone in half for a Big Mac right now.” Lyle defends himself, their shadows now paint the dimly lit corridor, stretching closer and closer to your tucked away spot.

You could run, but these are recombinants. They would pick up the sound of your footsteps in an instant. The wind from your sprint would carry your scent. 

“Sure, but I asked what your first meal back on Earth would be, not what your guilty pleasure fast food order is.” 

“These savages can keep their overgrown weeded garden of a planet. I want some fucking chicken nuggets!” 

As their voices become louder it appears that running will be your only choice after all. 

“I don’t even know why I ask at this point.” She sighs and a short hiss echoes down the hallway. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, feet repositioning as you prepare yourself to run. If you were smart you would have already been halfway down the hallway at this point but some part of you refuses to move. It clings to hope foolishly. 

“Well I’m sure-”

“Shut up asshole. The comm.” Z Dawg hisses and they both turn silent, no doubt listening to the orders on the other end. 

Your hands are shaking now, that tremor traveling up your shoulders as you await their response. 

“Copy that.” Lyle says and then the sound of heavy boots recedes into the distance. 

You can hardly believe your luck. 

That dark cloud of dread ripples away and hope takes its place once more. Maybe you can pull this off after all. 

Your room is exactly as you left it. No one has bothered to pack up any of your things or even dispose of your half folded laundry. This tiny corner of a shared living space has been your own for your whole life, everything you have known. It feels so small now. 

Rifling through the laundry basket you find a loose green tee and a pair of  tan shorts. You originally had a whole outfit planned for this day, something comfortable but nice. Those garments are, however, still crumpled up on the ground. This will have to do. 

As you hastily slip them over the beaded jewelry and tewng you pray to whatever god will listen that this will be enough to keep you incognito. You are barely finished buttoning up the shorts when heavy footsteps ring down the hallway. 

Their echo is soft, no doubt still several halls away but they are progressively getting louder. Now is not the time to take any more risks. This room is tiny and already cramped with scattered junk. Hiding under your bed would not only be idiotic but near impossible with the way your creaky bed  swoopes so low to the ground. There is, however, an old built-in cabinet above that you’ve used to hold your clothes. 

It’s just barely big enough for you to squeeze into so with those footsteps getting louder and your own terror sky rocketing, you push everything out of it and shove your body into the metal space. The door has metal slots with just enough slant to allow your visual through it. 

Your clammy right hand presses over your mouth when the door to the room creaks open.

Neteyam strolls in leisurely, eyes sweeping over the cramped space with interest. With wide eyes and strangled lungs, you watch him prowl through the area slowly. He bends down to run his fingers over the rumbled sheets, the back of his hand lingers over your pillow case. 

He takes his time looking through the various knick knacks and cords littering your night stand. He doesn’t hesitate to ball the old picture of Jeremy into his fists. Its remains are tossed to the side without care. 

Did he toss the real Jeremy like that?

You make a vow to find him as soon as you make it on board. 

Assuming Neteyam hasn’t already hunted him down. 

You could look for whatever is left of Jeremy.

You can’t think about that now, though. Not as your heart is pounding against your ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage. Not when Neteyam lifts his mask for a sip of air as he plays with your tiny music box. 

He is gentle with all of your belongings, roaming through the area like a man that doesn’t have hundreds of Sky People to threaten off of his planet. Surely, he will have to leave soon. He’s just here out of curiosity, more of his stalker tendencies pushing him to invade your space. 

The music box looks like a Christmas ornament in his palm and you worry that he will accidently crush it. It was a pain in the ass to get and a possession you have always treasured because of that. Neteyam’s ears push forward when he finally figures out how to start the music and that delicate ballerina begins to twirl. 

“Maybe it’s all of your silly trinkets.” He breaks the silence, you startle slightly. He can’t be talking to you, you remind yourself. Neteyam thinks he is alone, just nosing through your old room as he thinks out loud. “Is that what you miss so much? What has you running off and acting naughty, little gift?” 

He’s bluffing. There is no way he could know you are here. Your scent has to be strong in the room but that’s to be expected since this was your living space. Ironically this should be the perfect place to hide away. 

“You know,” He starts, carefully placing the music box back down. “I was planning on letting you bring some of these funny things back to our kelku once you start behaving. A little incentive to be my good girl.” 

The knot in your throat is near impossible to gulp down and when you do, his ears twitch. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You tug your legs closer to your chest as if you can contort yourself into a small enough ball that will magically disappear. 

“But it’s obvious now that you respond better to retribution than reward.” 

It’s a miracle that your lip doesn’t split from how hard your teeth press into it. Neteyam may not be able to track your scent here but the smell of blood would be a dead giveaway. All signs point to being caught but you aren’t ready to hand over the last shreds of hope yet. Neteyam doesn’t know about the cabinet. He’s bluffing about knowing you are here. No one has seen you. 

“We can revisit the idea of a reward system later, pet.” 

The muscles in your legs are cramping beyond relief, begging you to stretch out. You don’t heed these discomforts, too paralyzed by the proximity of your captor. Neteyam on the other hand appears deceivingly content and relaxed, rummaging through your things as if he has all the time in the world. 

He carefully opens your nightstand drawer and those hairless eyebrows raise immediately. The bras are tossed to the side with the same care as the picture but then tiny little lace fabric hangs from his fingers. It’s far from your greatest problem but your cheeks heat anyways when he carefully observes your light purple panties. 

Out of all the drawers to open it seems that Neteyam knows just the one to torment you with. 

“Then again,” The Olo’eyktan smirks. “These are quite cute.” And this time instead of inhaling from the respirator he soaks in the scent from the small fabric instead. Your thighs clench together. 

“Wouldn’t mind having my little tawtute model these for me.” He hums, while pulling out several more pairs. He tucks them away safely in a small pouch attached to his loincloth. “That is, once I finally get rid of this rebellious streak of yours.” 

You allow yourself a small sigh when Neteyam goes around to the other side of the bed, just enough distance for you to breathe properly. 

“Time to come out, little gift.” He squats down onto his haunches, prowling across the floor like a predator on track. He must be searching for you and if that is true then you may still have a chance yet. Neteyam may think you are in here but he doesn’t know where exactly. 

Thoughts race through your mind at a thousand miles per minute. They twist and twirl to find some way that you could get out of this situation unscathed. The doorway is visible through the slanted slits of the cupboard. With the proper footing you may be able to close that distance with a courageous leap. And maybe, just maybe that would be enough to catch Neteyam off guard and give you a head start. 

You make one fatal mistake, however. 

If there is one thing a good prey knows to do, it is to keep sight of their predator at all times. 

Your feet don’t even get the chance to hit the ground, instead dangling and thrashing once you are caught with a strong hold around your waist. Hoping is waning but disappointment sprouts into increased vigor as your nails digging into his arms and legs struggle to kick back at him. 

“YOU MOTHERFUCK-” Your cursing slings into a shriek when Neteyam grabs a fistful of your hair and uses it to strongly crane your head backwards. His golden eyes are dilated until only a thin rim of molten gold is visible. The weight of his angry gaze takes your breath away. 

“Enough.” He enunciates the word, like a drawn sword ready to slash. “Listen closely, pet.” The lump in your throat goes down with a strained gulp. “There is not an inch of this Sky Demon hell hole or corner of this planet that you can run to without being drawn back to me. You are mine and I’ve done well to mark my property.” The fingers intertwined in your hair tickle over the back of your neck, no doubt leaving the trail of his scent behind. “You reek of me.” 

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you flutter them closed to avoid his burning attention. 

“As you should.” His voice rumbles as nothing more than a growl against the nape of your neck. 

“I never asked for this!” Your fighting dimms down to nothing more than squirming as gritting the choked words out sucks your energy away. Before you can do anything to stop it, tears blaze trails down your cheeks. “Just let me go! Please!” 

“Quiet, pet.” 

Another yank to your hair and the words die on your lips. It’s clear now that the time for fun and games is over. Neteyam wastes no time in throwing you onto the creaky mattress and covering your body with his own until he becomes a shadow blocking out the fluorescent light above. His thighs straddle your waist, putting just enough weight down to keep you in place. 

“No more tears.” He sighs, with down turned lips, but doesn’t pause his bunching of your tee shirt. “It’s clear I’ve been spoiling you too much.” 

A broken grasp is pulled from your throat when he easily tears the shirt straight down the middle. You’re not sure what you are trying to accomplish as you swat at his working hands. The shirt was neither your favorite nor of great importance but you still try to stop the onslaught of ripping. 

Confused and overwhelmed you squirm as he rips it into wide ribbons of fabric and then without warning you are flipped onto your stomach. You scramble to crawl away but Neteyam’s plants a foot on your ass and that is unfortunately all it takes to pin you down. Your hands are snatched next, forced together behind your back as the ripped stripes of your own shirt are used as makeshift rope to tie your wrists together. 

Something about him using your own personal clothing to keep you bound for him has your legs kicking out fiercely. It won’t do much damage even if you manage to hit him, but there needs to be an outlet for your anger. You need to feel like there is still some wreckage for you to inflict. The last tiny shred of power that you cling to for dear life. 

Neteyam isn’t in the mood to put up with your outbursts. Much like a fresh kill from his hunting trips he keeps you pinned and makes quick work of binding you imobile. The action is so well rehearsed and instinctual in fact that he already moves on to his next task of destroying your shorts. 

Shrieks and small clawing fingers are simply background ambience for the Olo’eyktan as he works. Surprisingly the small tawtute sized Na’vi clothing is not exempt from the male’s destructive hands. They too become nothing more than rolling beads and scraps of fabric falling to the floor. 

Your string of bloody curses are only temporarily interrupted by your own gasp when Neteyam takes a seat on the bed and throws you over his knee in one swift move. Kicking is no longer an option for your rage when he swings one leg over both of yours. Blood rushes to your head but even dizziness can’t stop your violent outrage. 

However, it appears a cracking smack to your upturned ass can. 

The pain doesn’t ripple forward until a few moments after your shock has subsided. Neteyam has always had creative ways of punishing you but this is different. You’d figured that he would never lay a hand on you after all that he has droned on and on about how important it is to protect a fragile thing like you. 

But another hit accompanies the first and this time you can’t hold back your small squeak. 

“Just as I thought.” He spanks you again, his hand mercilessly hitting both cheeks with every strike. “You’ve been practically begging for a firmer hand.” The cry that the next rapid three slaps pull from you is one that you don’t recognize. 

“Pretty little things like you still struggle to remember their place.” 

“Stop! Stop!” You shriek, trapped legs still fruitlessly sprawling for escape. 

“Don’t worry, little gift.” He squeezes one of your pink cheeks after this last spank. “That’s what I am here for. I won’t let your silly little tawtute tendencies keep you away from me.” 

It doesn’t take long for the color of your backside to match your face as the blood drains to your head. Neteyam is persistent, hardly batting an eye at your cries and shrieks. From cursing to death threats, none of your spewed venom makes him flinch. If anything you manage to catch his small smirk when you twist to glare up at him. You don’t make that mistake again when you find this behavior only rewards you with condescending coos from the Na’vi. 

“That’s a good girl. Let all those nasty words go.” He purrs, heavy hand never letting up on your poor bottom. 

It’s this praise that has your mouth clamping shut. You hold back any and every sound you can as your ass takes a beating. Which is not a lot when the Na’vi male has unfathomable strength and your backside already feels like flames could erupt from it at any moment. 

“Oh pet, I’ve hardly even touched you and you’re already blushing so pretty for me.” Neteyam hums in delight, hand roaming over your burning ass like an art piece just waiting to be admired properly. 

Hardly even touched you?

Is this just his way of being an ass or are you truly that far from the finish line?

You jolt when one finger slips between the crack of your cheeks, teasing over your hole gently. A sound caught between a scream and whimper erupts from you without thought. Bound hands flatten and flail to cover the untouched area but Neteyam simply chuckles and lets his own hand retreat. 

“Mawey, tiyawn.” Neteyam pats your backside softly, almost in a casual reassuring manner. “Another day.” 

It’s hard to say what is more humiliating. Being bound and turned over the Olo’eyktan’s knee like a naughty child or the wetness trickling from your pussy at the feel of his teasing fingers in a place you’ve never dared let anyone else explore before. 

Pain is a great distraction from your humiliation. So much so that it eventually motivates you to dash pride to the side and begin your pleading. 

“A-ah Neteyam! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…eh-ah I-I’ll be good!” It’s not even clear what you are trying to say anymore. Your mouth runs on autopilot, throwing out any line of remorse in hopes of one doing the job. “I ngh-ah didn’t mean to! I won’t run! Can’t take anymo- ah! Neteyam!” 

He reigns his hits to warm the underside of your thighs too, moving between that vulnerable area and your ass in such an erratic way that it is impossible to anticipate where the next will land. 

Plea after plea is thrown out but resembles nothing more than garbled desperation, nothing that can pass as a full sentence.

However, one call catches his attention.

“Olo’eyktan please!” 

The sound of slapping skin stops. 

Tears continue to plunge down your cheeks even without the constant spanking, your ass burns and tingles in shock. The tuft of his tail poruses over your naked thighs, sending a sensation both painful and ticklish. 

“Repeat, pet.” 

“Wha-what?” You stammer, voice thick with tears. 

“What did you say?” That large hand comes down once more like a crack of lightning. 

“AH! Olo’eyktan O-Olo’eyktan please please please. No more no more!” 

He smooths over your knotted hair, pushing it away from your sweaty temple and tear stained face. It’s tempting to look away from his soft gaze but intuition tells you to let him see the trembling state he has left you in. Let him witness how pitiful and distraught a simple spanking has made you be. 

“I….I’m sorry, Olo’eyktan.” 

Neteyam smiles like one would at a lover, a tender pride lacing his lips. 

“You’re learning, pet.”

Putting batteries in that small remote was a mistake. A ridiculous useless mistake that now leaves you standing on shaky legs. The pink vibrator that has resided in your nightstand drawer dutifully on hand for years is now the source of your torment. 

Well, maybe not the source per say. 

No, the true origin of this humiliation stares back at you with knowing eyes and swatting tail, his large hand making that tiny remote look like a children’s toy. The vibrator buzzes inside of you on the lowest setting, but that relief can only last for so long with the way Neteyam enjoys jumping between the different levels. 

Every last shredded piece of your Na’vi and human clothing lays back on the floor of your old bedroom. The only savior of your decency is Neteyam’s cloak that he had thrown around your shoulders. With the size difference this cloak acts more like a dress and therefore gives you more coverage than you’ve had in a week yet somehow leaves you feeling more vulnerable than ever before. Trembling fingers never stray from the seams of the cloak, keeping it wrapped around you tightly as the crowds of humans and Na’vi continue to pass you. 

Neteyam has left you with one of the other Na’vi warriors but never out of his sight. It’s a miracle that your hands were cut loose in the first place but perhaps that is another sick joke the Olo’eyktan plays on you. He knows that you won’t run. He knows you can’t run. His attention and promised consequences for misbehavior are more than enough to keep you tucked in his pocket. 

That and of course his control over the rippling vibrations that torture your pussy. 

The nearest warrior is sure to be noticing your frazzled state by now. At least he has the decency to hide his interest, unlike another Na’vi that watched from the sidelines. Lo’ak, leaned against one of the hoverships like it’s a random Tuesday afternoon, watches with a small smirk and perked ears. If Neteyam notices, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with it because Lo’ak is left unbothered in his ogling. 

The tempo increases, the vibrator now picking a pattern of random pulses that bash against your sweet spot. Bottom lip bleeding now from your biting, it’s a struggle to keep your moans at bay. With the heavy machinery moving and hundreds of Na’vi and humans passing surely there must be enough noise to block out any degrading sounds you make. But you can’t take that risk. You’ve made the mistake of underestimating the Na’vi’s enhanced hearing before and that is what has landed you here. 

Neteyam twirls the tiny remote between his fingers like a fidget toy as another Na’vi warrior comes to report. 

You start to commiserate the loss of that ridiculous human sized loincloth Neteyam made you because at least then there was some fabric barrier to hide your wetness. Now, the thick Pandoran air runs up the cloak and over your soaked thighs and cunt. It reminds you constantly how pathetic you have become as orgasm after orgasm has escaped your grip. Even worse it reminds you how easy it is to carry that aroused scent through the breeze for all Na’vi to detect. At that rate, worrying about your noises is the least of your concerns. 

Lo’ak reloads the machine gun with practiced hands, moving with muscle memory so he can continue to stare and send silent messages your way. No doubt he is theorizing on what exactly his brother has done to diminish you to such a state. His eyes dance with those ideas, the little quirk of his lips telling you just how creative and vial his thoughts have turned. 

Another level up and this time it is Neteyam’s eyes that have you squirming. Your impending orgasm coils tighter and tighter with every passing second and you're so desperate to find some way to release this energy that your bare feet begin fidgeting against the concrete. It’s almost like a little dance, one that has Lo’ak laughing under his breath. 

It stops.

You breathe. 

There is some sort of commotion off in the distance. Not one that you can truly pin down the source of but you do notice the way Neteyam nods as a Na’vi female says something to him. With a wave she is dismissed and then the Olo’eyktan saunters off. Although slightly worried over the trouble, you are grateful for the respite. 

And then a nightmare unfurls before your eyes.

Instead of marching to the issue, Neteyam takes a pit stop to converse with his younger brother. Lo’ak’s tail whips in the wind at whatever is whispered in his ear but the real horror comes when that traitor of a remote is handed over to the younger Sully male. 

You are seconds away from stomping over there and crushing that pink little weapon before the other male can wield it. However, your dutiful guard places a hand on your shoulder after just one step. His eyes remain locked forward but the warning is enough as his hand retreats. You are still being watched. 

With one last glance your way, Neteyam has the audacity to give you, his little pet, a warm smile before leaving you in the hands of his brother. 

Lo’ak swings the gun around to his back in favor of playing with his new toy. Every dark and viscous fiber left within you is channeled into the glare you give him. It should say everything that your lips can not.

Don’t you dare.

Don’t you fucking dare. 

Now would be a good time to look into Na’vi curses, anything you could betrix upon him for what he is about to do, because of course Lo’ak won’t back down. If anything that fire in your eyes lights his own delight and has him sitting down and bracing forward. Forearms resting on his thighs he clocks your every movement.

This is sure to be the best entertainment the bastard has had in a long time. 

He savors the passing moments of anticipation. Never backing down from the ultimate seething looks you give him. Finally a crash sounds and that distraction is right when Lo’ak sets the vibrator to high. From zero to one hundred, pleasure rackets through you like a shock wave. The force is so much that it temporarily makes you stumble on your feet. The other guard wordlessly steadies you back into place. 

Lo’ak’s grin is feral. 

This silent battle slips between your fingers so quickly it is hard to comprehend, because all that can register in your brain is how fast you are hurtling towards an orgasm. After Neteyam’s denial your body is high strung and ready to take any sensation as fuel to push you over the edge. Nails digging into the soft fabric of Neteyam’s cloak, pleasure rockets higher and higher until only the whites of your eyes are visible. 

Knees bowing inward, ecstasy is finally yours. 

There isn’t enough energy left to question why Lo’ak let you reach your high. Instead you focus on riding that wave while simultaneously keeping upright. 

That persistent buzzing against your sweet spot continues until your nerves are short circuiting. The pleasure turns to overstimulation and you give Lo’ak a look that alerts him of this change. 

His amusement tells you that he already knows your predicament but his thumb remains far from the off button. 

Pathetic noises now bubble up your throat without restraint as pleasure ebbs into pain. It switches back and forth until another release is on the verge of consuming your being. The guard next to you doesn’t say anything when he helps to sit on the cold ground. 

The second orgasm has a bitter taste to it but your greedy pussy clenches around the toy all the same. It’s almost too bad that Neteyam decided not to gag you because at least that would muffle your cries as you rock down onto the toy. Lo’ak gulps at the sight, pupils blown wide when the first glimmer of tears scrape down your cheeks.

Regardless, he shows no mercy as he takes in the show with undivided interest. 

Vaguely you register the bustle and commotion around you as different Na’vi and humans rush to and fro, giant machinery finally backing into place but they are only background noise to your third orgasm. 

Your body is caught between delight and despair with every passing second. When you are close to reaching your peak for the fourth time your body is resistant to get you there all the way. The intense buzzing in your pussy is driving you wild but still not enough to drag out another orgasm after being too overstimulated. Despite the soreness that emanates from your wrecked hole, your clit throbs in agony. Begging to be touched. To be licked. Pinched. Flicked. God, anything at this point.

Memories of Neteyam doing just that surface, pushing you closer and closer to another dumbing climax and yet only serve as a reminder of how you are not getting the treatment you so desperately need. Pride is dashed to the side, you’ll worry about the consequences of grinding onto the toy in public later. 

Lo’ak’s hands roughly brush over his inner thighs and it draws your attention. The taunt muscle and smooth skin of those thighs would surely brush over your intimate flesh so perfectly. He would probably help you too, hands clawing at your hips as they urge you back and forth over the area. Even more so, the younger brother would not be able to pass up the opportunity to show his power over the situation, muscles flexing to tease your clit oh so beautifully. 

You’re not sure when Lo’ak became telepathic but he grips his knees and gives you a look that says he knows every dark desire that plagues your brain. His nails press into that soft flesh and drag until there are pretty red marks left behind. If you crawled over there sweetly, would he let you ride? Maybe if you healed those red marks with open mouthed kisses and kitten licks. 

Unaroused you would be ashamed of this train of thought but she is so far gone now. 

The only thing your poor abused cunt is begging for was attention. Anything to get this awful mix of heaven and hell to bleed into euphoric release and rest. 

The only thing stopping you from reaching down and finishing the job yourself is the assurance that Lo’ak would snip all pleasure in a bud at the sight of any touching. 

The area has been cleared of invaders. Na’vi begin to make their way off to the hills before take off but you are none the wiser. Caught in your own little bubble you don’t even notice when a sudden shadow blocks out the sun. That is until, large warm hands slip under the cloak and skate over your spread legs. 

Such a simple touch has never made you whimper more. 

Neteyam’s accent is thicker now, words heavy enough to hardly understand the meaning as he coos at you. “There’s my sweet pet. Little slut just wants to come again, don’t you?”

His fingers force your legs to spread even wider. Lo’ak’s stares as if his glare could heat up enough to burn through that cloak. 

With such delicacy it makes you want to scream, Neteyam uses two fingers to part your pussy lips and expose your pulsing clit. The other hand slithers down to rest on your thigh as you try to buck against the air. 

“Come for your Olo’eyktan, pet,” He growls and with the other hand he begins delivering rapid little taps to your clit. It’s humiliating how tiny the gesture that puts you over the edge is but you paint the toy white regardless. 

When the vibrator finally takes a rest you are too far lost in your own little world. Neteyam swaddles you in the cloak and carries you in his arm as you bury into his chest. And conveniently, when you are tucked back in the forest there is no awareness left in you to recognize the sound of launching ships. 

As always interaction and feedback not only means the world to me but also as a great motivator for writing and updating<3

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There's a good reason as to why you don’t talk about personal things with your coworkers.

The problem with most coworkers is, they either don’t know or don’t care about someone’s boundaries. They'll just do something like this because they think it’s a nice gesture, and you don’t understand the point when in reality, they just need another reason to get wasted on another saturday night.

Out of place didn’t even begin to cover the way you felt right now.

You knew parties could be fun and a good time for everyone. Not that you’ve been to many before. You just don’t want to be in the middle of this, can't stand the fact that all these people are clustered around, laughing and talking and celebrating you. It feels like a game of play pretend. You don’t even know half of these people that claim to be your friends. They’re not even coworkers, you think. A dozen of them you’ve never even seen before and you’re sure they don’t even work on the same floor as you.

Maggie is going to pay for this later, because she's the only one who could possibly have told them that it's your birthday, and you specifically told her you weren’t going to let her do anything for your birthday. But you should’ve known, the second she asked to do your make up, then stuffed you into this sinfully tight and entirely too short dress of hers because she convinced you it would be fun, and then coincidentally found a pair of heels to match the look.

You couldn’t actually be that stupid, could you? Obviously she had something planned for you, when she asked to spend the evening of your birthday with you for a coffee. Now that coffee turned out to be whatever liquor was filled into that plastic cup in your hand that was then downed with a loud, cheerful whoo of every women in the room because they convinced you that’s how it’s done at a party.

"Aren't you enjoying yourself even a litte?" Laura asks, looking a little like a puppy hoping for a treat as she watches you chew on the inside of your cheek, standing stiff like a rod in the far corner of the room. You’re almost a little disappointed in her, after you found out she helped planning all this. But you can’t be mad at her when she only means good. Apparently that’s what good cowork— friends. That’s what good friends are supposed to do for each other.

And even though you want to say no, you can't bring yourself to throw their kindness back in their faces. After all, they were the only ones that gave you a chance to prove that you could be more than just that nerd. That nerd that doesn’t even bother to make friends or go to parties, that nerd that doesn't even get invited to said parties because you’re no fun anyways.

You may have earned yourself that name, but it still stings to think too much about it. And maybe you don’t want to be that nerd forever. Maybe you want to let yourself enjoy this.

"Yes, I'm enjoying myself," you finally say, swallowing down a sigh.

"Then smile, and go dance with us!" Maggie nudges your side and you cringe at the thought of dancing in the center of the crowded room.

"Why?" You force out a laugh, even though the question is genuine.

"Is this going to be some kind of philosophy discussion?" The brunette rolls her eyes, and you can’t help but admire her talent in applying false eyelashes that long without poking her eyeballs out. "I wanna dance, that's why!"

"I don't dance."

"Everybody dances! You just move, and you're dancing. How easy is that?"

"No I mean, I don't dance. I spazz. It's painful to watch. Me, spazzing all over the floor…" Your voice has grown quieter with every word, until you’re nearly hiding yourself by taking another gulp of that bright yellow liquor in your cup.

It's sweet and fizzy and tastes like sunlight might if you could drink it, so you empty another cup.

Flashing lights give you a taste of what epilepsy might be like and you feel the music pounding through the air and floor caress your every nerve. You feel fuzzy.

But it seems to be a good fuzzy. Warm happiness flows through your body like thick honey. Okay, maybe that happiness was just this overly sweet tasting booze, but you still felt distant in a nice way, and your head seemed to be floating, only attached to your neck by a string. The feel of Maggie’s sweating hand wrapped around your wrist distracted you beyond words, until you realized she was trying to drag you somewhere.

"Well then, let’s find yourself some company so you don’t get bored while you don’t dance all night", she giggles.

The two of you wended your way across to the other side of the room despite every protest that came from you; dodging tables, drunks, dancers, and others with ease, until Maggie seemed to reach her destination with a proud smile on her face. A group of men, most of them as unfamiliar as the better half of people here.

One of them you knew, though. It was Phil from floor 3. G., that computer engineer that had earned himself the title of Maggie’s friend, but with certain… benefits. However by the way these two were looking at each other through that heavy drunken lust in their eyes, one could assume they were actually more than just that.

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you nervously nipped at your drink once again as Maggie introduced you to the group. A bunch of people that came to celebrate you, yet none of them even knew your name, you came to realize. Great. And if you weren’t slowly starting to feel very funny inside, that would’ve been just another reason for you to leave this party immediately, slip into your favorite pjs and call it a night.

"So, twenty-six, huh?" One of the men smiles and lifts his drink in a toast, gently tipping the cup against yours which snaps you out of your trance. Looking up, you’re met with long, silky curls that framed a slightly tanned and politely smiling face. Your eyes skimmed over his frame for a split second. His body was...compact, lean, firm, though not overly muscular. Just an average looking guy.

"Yep", you clear your throat and send the man an awkward smile that he answers with a chuckle.

"I‘m Ben", he says and for a second, you hesitate to take his hand that he holds out for you to shake. "Nice to meet you."

The impact of that barest of touches, a mere whisper of skin-against-skin as you shake his hand and he squeezes yours, was enough to send blood rushing to your cheeks. His hands are soft, too soft, you think. Ironically, that makes you think about the dozen times a day lately when you had caught yourself thinking about Quaritch‘s hands. His are rough, big and warm, littered in tiny scars that you could feel when he caressed your skin or when he held you in a bruising grip.

The ones that had you concentrate very hard, to not beg him to touch you, on running those fingers across your body. His hands weren’t soft like Bens, who probably worked behind a desk and spent most of his times indoors, preferably in an office of some sorts.

Ben was also polite, you realized right away. He held small talk like it was second nature to him, even though you couldn’t help the awkwardness in the beginning. But his voice is smooth like honey and his jokes actually manage to make you laugh. Genuinely.

But by the time you had emptied your next cup, you couldn’t even seem to focus on the conversation anymore. Everything had turned into a blur of movements around you, and you were grateful for Bens guiding hand as he placed a glass of water into one of yours and took the empty red cup from the other.

"Here, drink this", he said with a chuckle, "Can’t have the birthday girl pass out this early on her special day, right?"

For a moment that seemed endless to you but for anyone near sober it must’ve been nothing more than a few seconds, your eyes lingered on him. Ben was cute, you thought. Not that kind of puppy cute that could make you go aww and ruffle through his hair, but that kind that made you blush and feel hot all over. He was handsome too. For an average guy. But then again, you’re just an average woman, are you not? And kindness, real kindness, was something you suddenly felt very starved for, especially now that it was served to you on a silver platter.

Suddenly it felt as if that hunger was beginning to burn out of control. As if he could sense your feelings, Ben moved just a little closer, the heat from his body searing your skin as he placed a hand to your upper arm and tilted his head.

"Y-Yes, no, i mean–", you stutter, quickly adverting your gaze from him to the glass of water in your hand. "You’re right. Sorry, i didn’t mean to zoom out like that, it’s just been… it’s just been a week for me and normally I don’t drink. Not that much, at least."

His hand moves in a soothing motion, up and down on your arm as he listens attentively. Ben tells you that you have nothing to apologize for. He asks about your work, your studies. He nods along and smiles to everything you say and it makes you feel appreciated, on a level you can’t remember ever feeling before.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realize that you’re rambling about your work life. And it takes you even longer to realize that through it all, Bens hand hasn’t moved away. That all it did was move up, up, up until he reaches to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking over your cheek just as you explain to him how the the Pamtseowll can be used as a musical instruments due to the sound produced when the wind moves across the leaves of the plant. Looking back you realized, that must’ve been pretty boring for him to listen to, especially since Ben decided to cut you off mid sentence as he pressed his booze tasting lips against yours.

You’re taken aback from the sudden invasion of your personal space, especially when Ben wraps his arm around your middle and pulls you flush against him. But the alcohol in your system makes up for that pretty quickly, heat rushing up to your face and simultaneously between your thighs makes you feel tingly all over.

His tongue pushes past your lips and you gasp into the kiss, the cup in your hand almost slipping out of your grasp as you lean into it.

The allure of cruising for a quick fuck, or possibly hustling for one; no commitment, no strings makes itself known when a soft sigh, almost a whimper, escapes you. It could be so easy, you think. You could do it tonight and get it over with.

You had to do something about this, this feeling whatever it was, get it out of you.

And his lips already fit so perfect against yours, but that’s really the problem, isn’t it? They’re not too big or too small. His hands can’t close entirely around your upper arm. His chest is basically flush with yours. God, you’re almost eye level with him. He’s so normal, so average. It doesn’t feel special with him. There’s no spark behind his kiss, it doesn’t consume you, it doesn’t take your breath away. He doesn’t make you feel special.

No. This wasn't a good idea.

It was no use, picking a man that wasn't even going to be able to fill in for the one you actually wanted. The one who’s hands you wished were touching you now, instead of Bens. The one who’s lips you wanted on yours, so desperately, you couldn’t even stop imagining it were his instead.

Fuck it, you thought. If he could seek you out to find some temporary relief, so could you. And you needed one, needed him, before you did something you would surely regret in the morning.

Bens face was so close, you had to blink a few times to bring it into focus before you gave him a subtle little push and his lips finally detached from yours.

It must’ve been the sudden change of your facial expression, but he suddenly found the need to apologize for kissing you so sudden, so unsolicited.

"No, no, it’s not that. I just need some fresh air, I feel a little nauseous", you admitted sheepishly, which was both, the truth and a lie. You tried not to pay too much attention to the guilty look in Bens face as you excused yourself and quickly found a way to the exit without anyone taking notice of you, basically ditching your own party.

By now, you could make the walk through the dimly lit hallways to Quaritchs room in your sleep. Or, in this case, drunk and on uncoordinated feet.

Anticipation fills your hazed mind and with an enthusiastic thud, your knuckles connect with the metal frame, producing a muffled echo as you knock on his door.

Heart pounding rapidly in your chest, you eagerly wait for him to open, but the silence that follows is deafening. The realization slowly dawns on you that the Colonel isn't home and a mix of disappointment and frustration crosses your face. But you won’t give up that easily. If he’s not here, there’s only one place he could be at this time of the night.

Two floors up and down the corridor on the left, you could already see light beaming under the comically large door, loud voices and laughter echoing through the hallways that could already be heard as you had exited the elevator earlier.

Peaking into the common room that belonged to team Deja blue, you were greeted by a vibrant atmosphere where you knew the military men gathered to unwind after work. The space was adorned with patriotic decor, displaying flags, emblems, and photographs that reflect their shared commitment as well as their love for barely dressed na’vi pin up girls sitting on tanks and posing with guns. How ironic.

The air carries the smell of smoke and beer, and the musky scent of the day's work and you can’t help but shudder. Your inner warning sirens were working overtime as you stepped foot into the room, fear making your knees go weak, yet every sense of logic and common sense was overtuned by the alcohol buzzing through you. The room exuded a sense of unity, one you clearly didn’t belong to, making you stick out like a sore thumb.

Uniformed recombinant soldiers were relaxing on comfortable couches, their boots resting on coffee tables, engage in heated games of pool or cards -everything maximized to their ridiculous size.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the first pair of eyes to land on your much smaller frame, before nudging the recom next to them with their elbow, pointing at you with their chin.

You try to ignore their boring gazes, the sound of low whistles and snickering picking up the more of them realized your presence. Pulling your sinfully short dress a little down lower, a feeling of regret fills your cheeks in a dark blush. But before you can change your mind and turn around to exit, a large palm settles on your lower back, keeping you from walking backwards out of the room.

"Hey doll face, where ya‘ going?"

Craning your neck up, you’re met with a grin that belonged to a recom that had a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his bald head. You knew he seemed familiar, but the liquor you had consumed earlier made it impossible to concentrate enough to remember his name.

"Oh excuse me, I- I‘m– I was just, uhm, looking for Colonel Quaritch?" You winced at the way you made it sound like a question, cursing yourself for embarrassing you by drunkenly rambling to a stranger.

"The Colonel?" He exchanged a look over his shoulder with some of the other soldiers, who were seemingly interested in what you had to say. "Why’s that, buttercup?"

"I, uhm, want to give him something", you improvise. "It’s urgent." That much was true.

The man looks you up and down for a moment, his eyes nearly peeling the little dress from your body as he takes you in, brows raised high.

"Give him something, huh? Why don’t you give that little something to me?" He laughs.

"He’s not here right now, but we can have good time together too", one of the others calls from behind.

You swallow the lump in your throat, awkwardly picking at your fingernails as your hands begin to shake. Deciding to back off and step back from the whole situation, you set one foot behind the other, already preparing yourself to mumble an embarrassing excuse before an arm wraps itself around your waist and you nearly stumble forward and into one of the soldiers arms.

"C‘mere pretty, I don’t bite", he grins, then points his chin to the bald soldier on his right, "But the Corporal over there sure does."

The men laugh and shove each other like a group of rowdy teenagers, and you’re honestly scared one of them could accidentally crush you if they fell. You use the short moment of chaos to wriggle yourself out of the soldiers grasp, only to be stopped short by your wrist.

"C‘mon short stuff, don’t leave", the bald one shows you an almost apologetic smile that you still struggle to trust. "Ignore these fuckers. Stay for a drink, yeah? I‘m sure the Colonel will be back in a minute. And we have the best beer anyone could get in this shit hole!"

Blame it on the liquor, but your mind was slowly beginning to draw blank, throwing all logic and consequences right out of the window and welcoming the nervous excitement of the forbidden. It felt like there was a pressure in your ribcage, making it harder for you to breathe properly, until you finally exhaled a shaky response.

"Just one."

The thing about working in the military is that you learn to kill your own tells. Killing your own tells is what keeps you from getting that double-tap to the back of the head. But learning how to pick up on what other people do when they're nervous as fuck, that's what’s really helpful, you’ve only just realized.

In hindsight, you should have known that agreeing to one beer that ultimately lead to two more and then to a round of poker was a bad idea. And now you’re perched up on someone’s lap and you don’t even know how poker works. That someone is named Lyle, you remind yourself of the previous learned name. His chin rests on top of your shoulder, nose buried in your shared cards that you hold up for him to see, one of his hands squeezing your hip while the other holds your hands steady.

"This one next," he whispers into your ear, pointing at the card on the far left before you laid it down in front of the table as instructed.

"Three fours showing, and over here…" The recom named Prager slaps another card down face-up in front of you. "Still garbage, sorry sweets. Ace high." Grinning, he pushes three colorful plastic chips into a pile in the middle of table. "I bet three."

The rest of the group remains silent, save for the sound of grinding teeth and stressed sighs.

The nervous trembling of your thighs doesn’t let up when the next round of cards is handed out, so you reach for the can of oversized beer and gulp the rest of it down.

"Relax, buttercup," Lyle chuckles, his hand soothing over your thigh, "You need to work on hiding your tells. You don’t want us to loose, do you?"

"Yeah but ya’ gonna if she keeps that up, Wainfleet," another soldier laughs.

"Poor thing is shaking so much, you might as well bet her next to finally get a lucky streak."

Crimson red fills the apple of your cheeks, barely visible however under the alcohol-induced flush of your skin. But even though your senses are as if in daze and directed at what is happening in front you, you still got enough situational awareness to realise that there’s someone standing in the doorway watching with a tense jaw.

"You gotta be careful," that someone says, the words flowing like nothing ever has, making the hair rise on the nape of your neck. "Betting another man's things like that."

And it should bother you, how easily he can categorize you as one of his things, like a gun or whatever fucking possessions he had, but it doesn't, because you are his. Aren’t you?

"Ah, boss", Lyle laughs, and you may not be a marine or recombinant or anything of the sort, but you could tell that he was nervous. Silence bleeds over the rest of team Deja blue as the Colonel steps into the room, sending cards go flying as he yanks you up by your wrist and throws you over his shoulder like a dead deer. Prey.

You squeak once the room has turned upside down, hands instinctively reaching for the hem of your dress to keep it in place as soldiers ogled the way Quaritch was walking you out of the room without another word and marched down the hallway.

The amount of times you’ve found yourself in his room could be counted on one hand, you came to realize, once you’re thrown onto his bed, almost bouncing off the oversized mattress.

A finger is pointed at you, and shame and dread uncontrollably fill your eyes with tears that dare to spill over as Quaritch barks at you like he’s lecturing a child.

"You listen here very careful, kid", he’s damn near yelling, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Kid.

Being now twenty-six years of age, you certainly took a degree of offense when a man his age still called you 'kid.' There wasn't much childish about you, never have been. Not in the last ten years, so there was no need for him to go running his mouths at you like you were twelve.

Balling your fists at your side, you barked right back at him, "I‘m not a child!"

For several seconds, there was nothing, and you wondered if you’d truly fucked up this time, and you don’t even dare to look up at the man towering over you like a mountain. That is, until the bed suddenly dips and a hand effortlessly closes around your wrist and manhandles you to bend over his lap.

You would squirm and fight and run if it weren't for the iron grip on your wrists, pinning them behind your back like the wings of a butterfly to a board.

"That’s right," he murmurs that part, but the rest comes out more sternly, "So quit actin‘ like one whenever something doesn’t go your way!"

The first blow of his hand descended onto your upturned ass comes so sudden and unexpected, sending you sliding forward over the muscular thigh you were bent over, that you couldn’t help but yelp, before you sucked in a sharp gasp of air as the sting spread through you. "What the— fuck!" You hissed. "What are you even talking about!?"

"What am I talking about?" Quaritch scoffs.

You barely forced yourself to relax when the next one came, making you jump, and duck your head down even lower in a vain attempt to scoot farther away from his hand.

"I can smell the liquor all over you, hun. And the way you were throwing yourself at these little creeps? Don’t act dumb with me. You and I both know damn well what you were trying to do here."

"Y-You’re imagining things!" You protest. Another slap, and this time you could feel the smooth fabric of your dress riding up, giving him unhindered access to the tender flesh beneath. "Fuck, that hurt, you–"

Blow after blow came over you, cutting off every complain and every thought that might’ve formed if you could concentrate enough, and you might have tried counting them but there were so many. Too many, and your ass was burning and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to say you were sorry, you'd never do it again, and maybe the Colonel would stop soon and you could just promise to be good—

But he didn't stop and you heard the smack again and one more landed, and god damn it really fucking hurt. You only realised you had started speaking aloud, babbling apologies and begging for it to stop when fingers ran over your panties, feeling for your throbbing clit beneath the thin fabric.

"Tell me, would you’ve spread your legs for them like you did for me? Thought you could just take what you want because I’m not giving it to you?"

One hand squeezed and molded a cheek, and you moaned as he groped the overly sensitive flesh. If you could gather enough strength to crane your neck and look at him, you would’ve caught the way his ears flicked at the sound of that.

Another slap, this time aimed a little lower, more gentle, with fingertips brushing over your folds at the impact and you let out another moan, less like a painful one and more in a way that was so unmistakable, that when you felt the thigh you laid on tense, you could only guess what was coming now.

"Does this turn you on, getting what you deserve?" Quaritch said lowly, the spanks stopping for a while in favor of torturing you with the barest of touches, rough fingertips flicking over that little bundle of nerves until you were whining and squirming.

"No," you then responded in a hushed whisper.

Pulling the fabric of your panties taunt, Miles gave you a mean wedgie as he inspected the wet patch forming right there. With a chuckle he told you, "you’re pretty little pussy is telling me otherwise."

"That’s– that’s not true!"

"Oh, it’s not? That means you did enjoy all this attention they gave you today, hm? You enjoyed having all these fuckers look at you like you’re candy they want to peel out of its wrapper?"

"I- No, I didn’t–"

Rough fingertips run up and down your slit, cutting you off mid sentence as you feel him pull your slip to the side.

"What were you even doing there?" His voice sounds calmer now, collected, as he thumbs your exposed clit.

"Was looking for you", you mumble, all fight gone the moment warm pleasure fills your veins the more he plays with you like this.

"For me?" Quaritch chuckles, brows raised high. "Why’s that?"

"You know why…" You groan when one of his digits that had been circling your entrance slides into you, painfully slow and teasing, just an inch before it slides out again.

"I do. But I want to hear you say it."

Biting your lip prevents you from giving in to his teasing, but it doesn’t help muffle the moan that’s slips out when he pushes back inside, letting you feel the stretch of your walls as they envelop not one, but two of his thick fingers.

"Missed me, hm?" He grins. You can’t see it from your position, but you can hear that shit eating grin in his voice. And then his fingers start to move. His palm smacks your ass with every thrust, fingers curling inside you to feel for that spongey little spot that made you gasp.

"C‘mon, say it."

He speeds up fast. Too fast for you to catch up with, forcing moans and wet squelching sounds out of you, until you huff out in frustration.

"Fuck, okay! Yes, I missed you." That one actually makes him laugh, enough for you to grind your teeth, turn your head and bark back at him, "And you’re an… you’re a jealous old man!"

"Yeah? That so?"

His eyes seem to pierce right through yours as he glances back at you, grin sharp and dangerous before he grabs you by the waist and spins you around so you’re pushed with your back against the mattress, instead of being uncomfortably bend over his thighs.

If there was one thing that was able to set the butterflies in your tummy alive and making them do little jumping jacks, it was the way Quaritch so easily manhandled you so you were bend like a pretzel, panty shoved down and over your ankles, who were now nearly touching your ears. It was harder to breathe like this, that was for sure. But you don’t mind the position one bit, especially with the view of him laying down flat on his stomach, head neatly nestled between your spread thighs as he admires the wet glossy look of your pussy just begging for him to finally fucking do something.

You had guys go down on you before. Two in total. And it wasn’t like they were necessarily bad at it, it was just that they apparently had learned one way to do it and then decided to stick with whatever that technique was called. And that’s when you decided that being on the receiving end of oral, it wasn’t really for you.

But with Quaritch, you knew from the very second the tip of his tongue parted your folds from your slit to your clit, that it was gonna be different.

It felt like the pleasure was shooting straight up your spine, making your back arch off the bed as he repeated the same motion once more, groaning when your slick juices hit his tastebuds.

"Holy shit", you let the words out in a shaky breath, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you.

"Eyes on me, cherry."

Glancing down on yourself, you catch the moment he spreads your folds with his thumbs to get better access to your clit that coyly peeks out from under its hood. Quaritch gives the little nub a teasing tap with his fingertip, and you both watch as a thin string of arousal and spit connect your clit with his finger before it breaks. Not even a split second later and he’s on you again.

You nearly choke on a moan when his lips close around your clit and sucks, his mouth halfway covering your whole cunt as he eats you out, tongue swirling around those sweet spots of yours. The noises he makes are wet, sloppy and so dirty, and it brings you to the edge of that pleasure high faster than you could process.

A hand reaches for his buzzed down hair as he gives you a filthy kiss right where you need it.

"Oh- Oh god, I think I’m gonna come", you moan as his hands slide up to hold you more open than you were before, so that he could taste you again and again, his tongue dipping deeper and deeper inside every time. Your hand curls tighter in his hair, tugging, and you worry for a moment that you were hurting him. Not that this was even possible. Still, you just couldn’t help it– touching him was the only thing anchoring you, as if you would float away and disappear if you‘d move your hands just an inch.

But Quaritch doesn't seem to mind, not if the way he groans, grinds his face against your pussy and thrusts his tongue deeper into you is anything to go by.

You could feel the pleasure growing inside you, in your toes and in your spine and behind your eyelids, and you arch against him, moaning at each touch of his tongue, his lips against your clit– sucking and slurping and kissing. It's building and you’re reaching for it, hips jerking violently as though to follow his mouth, and then you’re falling apart with a gasp that ebbs into a moan.

You don’t even hear yourself for the first couple of seconds, the blood rushing behind your ears drowning out the volume of your moans before your legs finally stop trembling and clenching around the head nestled between them.

Arms falling limp to your sides, you watch your own chest raising and falling in frantic pants. You’re spent and exhausted, truthfully. But you can’t help but notice that the wet glide of the Colonels tongue hasn’t stopped yet. It circles around your clit, not quite touching it, just teasing.

"Miles", you call for him, soft and quiet, voice hoarse from moaning. You’re not prepared for the sudden suction on raw nerves created by his puckered lips, and you cry out in surprise. Your legs twitch in overstimulation as he sucks and groans, the vibrations only adding further to the stimulation that quickly morphs from uncomfortable to pleasurable. "M-Miles, fuck! I- I can’t, wait!"

Your back nearly arches off the bed, if it weren’t for his his hands keeping you in place. It felt like his tongue was everywhere at once, licking every inch of your cunt, all those places that brought yet another orgasm rushing forward.

Unable to control the movements of your body, you pump your hips against his face as your stomach muscles clench and your head digs into the pillow underneath you.

"Can’t, I can’t", you mewl, "s‘too much!"

"No, you will take it", he says, barely lifting his head to speak and the air that blows out between his words send a full on body shiver through you. "You will take it because that’s what little sluts get. I‘m only giving you all this attention that you were seeking today and now you’re complaining?"

It takes a moment for you to find your voice.

"I‘m not- not a slut", you protest. Glancing down at Quaritchs face, his wet chin and lips slicked with you, his lips curl in diabolical pleasure.

"No? Then whose humping my face like this? Who’s been fucking dripping all over my thighs from being spanked, huh? Cherry, you are a little slut. A desperate one too."

His sharp tongue then flicks over your clit again, and you break into a thousand pieces. It feels so good you’re shaking, as red hot pleasure surges through your veins and clouds your vision. Your second orgasm ebbs away faster than the first, but is nonetheless as intense. The feel of sticky wet arousal soaking the sheets below you makes you cringe and you want to move away, but the iron grip he has on your thighs doesn’t falter. If anything, he just holds you more secure, pulls you closer, to press his tongue into you as far as it could reach.

"Oh god- please, I can’t!" You nearly sob, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes while Quaritch flattens his tongue to catch every droplet of slick running down your slit. "Give me a break!"

"One more," he purrs, dark and sinister, his sharp grin visible even as he peeks up from between your legs.

"I don’t know if I can," you whine, throwing your head back at the invitation of sensations that just don’t let up.

"You can and you will."

The pressure of his suction continues as he moves his tongue, trailing it along your lips and over to your clit again. He sucks the sensitive nub and then slides two fingers inside your body, curving them, increasing their pressure as your loud moans turn into screams.

Miles wraps his free arm around your waist, stilling your trembling hips and locking you in place. He increases the thrusts of his digits, rubbing intently against your walls as he sucks harder on your throbbing clit. He's determined to make you see stars and it’s for him to decide when this insanely pleasurable form of torture is finally over.

You could only hope, pray and moan to him, god or whoever– as you felt the beginning tremors of what you hoped would be your last orgasm for the night course through your body, and your legs clamp tightly, unable to withstand the sheer intensity of it.

Sensing the growing tension in your body, Miles suddenly pulls back, replacing his mouth with his thumb on your clit, stroking around the glands before touching it directly, causing you to cry out.

He grins, catching his breath, and then continues his assault on your body until you’re past the point of return, walls clenching around his fingers and thighs pressed firmly to his shoulders, framing his head.

It’s heat against heat, hot tongue against hotter folds, and you throw your head back and sob with relief. It’s good, really good— his tongue is long enough so that when he laps at you he hits your clit on the upswing every time. Your hips buck once its too much, his tongue nearly rubbing you raw but he holds you down and then it becomes just right as you fall apart with a cry.

It takes several minutes for your senses to come back together, regain your vision and hearing, and when you blink your sore eyes open, you’re met with Quaritch‘s, just as he’s finishing leaving a final mark on your inner thigh. His teeth have left a purplish imprint on your soft skin and he grins at you.

"You’re mine. Never forget that."

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