The Shipment

Closed: Caela & Eesomebeastie

Orbital Station 3, Gray’s World, on the edge of human space, mid 26th century

Name: Stavan Grant
Age: 38
Description: 5 foot 10 tall, straight mid brown hair and brooding, cynical expression. Penchant for dark clothing. (Yes, I fancy myself as Kerr Avon from Blake’s Seven!)
http://i160.photobucket.com/albums/t196/orac1977/dwavon.jpg
Bio: Not much is known about Stavan Grant’s background before he rose to prominence in the underworld of the outlying Felix Sector on the edge of human Commonwealth space, a rise that followed the painful deaths of several rivals from a mysterious alien virus. Known for his paranoia and sadistic violence, he keeps a firm grip on his black market empire, insisting on personal meetings with those he deals with. He operates from several bases, one of which is the station orbiting the Batraat home planet of Gray’s World.



Stavan Grant looked again at the message he’d just received. Have made final collection. Will arrive in 2 days. At last! But nearly a week late. Govan Macallister was normally more reliable, though with that rust bucket he flew a breakdown wasn’t inconceivable. Or maybe his bad health was finally telling. Macallister had been looking more haggard and wasted each time Stavan met him. He made a mental note to put out feelers with his other contacts for a black market kidney – good smugglers were too rare to let one die without making a little effort. Not for free of course, but maybe he could offer a discount, a generous 5% off as recognition of their long years of working together. Or he could just have some lone traveller kidnapped and killed for the organs – a student backpacker who wouldn’t be missed for months…

He’d have to slip the usual bribe to Keel’aan, the female beetroot who ran station security and port customs. He hated dealing with the dull purple natives of Gray’s World; Btraat they called themselves, or at least that was as close as it could be rendered in human speech. Beetroots, humans scathingly nicknamed them. The station was mainly human tech, as the Btraat had barely been exploring their own solar system when the first human ships made contact. Yet the Commonwealth had funded the technology transfer programmes that built this station and then let the beetroots run it themselves. Damned backward natives! He was careful to have them owing him, though, and not incur a serious debt himself. Their weird custom of settling honour debts with ritual sex disturbed him. He didn’t want to have to stick his cock in one of their short furry purple females, and the thought of being buggered by one of the taller and powerful males made him wince.

He was about to punch up the fake maintenance signalling channel that let him send untraceable messages to the key station staff in his pay, when he paused. His gut was warning him that something was up. Something in the message just didn’t ring true. Macallister would normally have apologised for being late – he knew the importance of keeping Stavan, the most powerful black market dealer in the sector, sweet. Well, he’d still meet with the old smuggler when he arrived, but he’d take a few extra precautions and he’d be extra vigilant.

Name: Raven MacAllister
Age: 27
Appearance: View attachment 985252 (Favorite pilot ever!)

Bio: Raised by her father, her mother lived just long enough to name her Raven but not long enough to see the head full of blonde hair that made her the antithesis of her name. She grew up working on her dad's ships and eventually passed pilot training (graduating first in her class despite some of her more adventurous antics with schools birds) the and took a job with the Intergalactic Freight and Shipping Company.

Her long term goal had been to save up enough money for her father to be able to retire in comfort. A dream that was squashed when Tritan, another pilot, had decided to try copping a feel and she'd laid him out flat for it. The company had fired her and apologized to Tritan for her uncivilized behaviour.

To this day she wished she could blow up the engine on every bird they owned!

Now she worked for a father who was desperately in need of a new kidney and failing fast. If she didn't finish this run for Stavan Grant they'd never have the money for it. But the SOB only saw his smugglers in person and wouldn't have accepted a shipment from her even on her father's word. Instead she'd padded her father's suit so it would fit her frame better (his having grown so gaunt with his illness made them nearly the same size), tied her breasts down tightly...and prayed to every god and goddess she could think of.

* * *
Have made final collection. Will arrive in 2 days.

Raven stared at the message she'd sent and prayed again. It was curt and to the point which was how most of her father's communications looked, though perhaps with Stavan Grant she should have added an apology for the late run as well. The man was a known sadist and it was always good to keep him happy...especially when she needed his money to pay for her father's surgery. Still she didn't want to sound like she was groveling either. She was already late, no reason to sound weak on top of it and perhaps incite him to change his price for this particular load of goods.

Checking her vectors she set the auto-pilot and rose from the flight seat to take the two steps to the bunk in the wall of the small cabin where she stretched out. This was going to be the longest two days of her life...or so she thought.

* * *

At last the board signaled that they were within range of the station and it was time to suit up. Not for the first time, she was grateful that the station's environment was designed for the Beetroots and not humans. It meant she'd have to be helmeted and the helmet was tinted to give the illusion of light from a yellow sun instead of the blue giant that Gray's World orbited, and the lighting in the station mimicked. It meant that Grant wouldn't be able to see her face and would, hopefully, not recognize that she wasn't her father.

Checking the banding around her breasts to make sure it was securely fastened she slipped into her father's suit as the stations landing beams drew her ship into the bay. It fit snuggly with the slight padding she'd added to the shoulders and arms. There was nothing she could do about the fact that her hips flared slightly more than her father's or that her bottom had more curve to it but she hoped (all right, prayed fervently to every god she could name) that no one would notice that small discrepancy.

As the loading gate to her ship opened she lightly stroked the framework just as her father always did, silently thanking the bird for another trip in which they landed alive. His motto was any trip you lived through was a good one and a ship should always know she was appreciated. Drawing up straight she practically stalked down the gangplank and hopped down onto the stations deck.

Looking around she caught the attention of the nearest Beetroot with a polite gesture of greeting - her father was always polite to the native where he landed, even if he despised them in private.

"I'd like to see Stavan Grant please. Let him know that Govan MacAllister is
here and give him my sincerest apologies for being late."

Stavan Grant’s message board beeped. It was his secretary software letting him know that MacAllister’s ship had requested docking. Fine. He’d let the old man contact him in his own time.

Five minutes later one of the station staff called him to let him know that MacAllister had disembarked and was requesting a meeting, passing on his apologies for his lateness. He told the beetroot to have MacAllister escorted up here to his office. That nagging worry that something was up hadn’t gone away, so he called over Tradak, his bodyguard and assistant, a hulking gorilla-like native of Orion 2C, and awaited MacAllister’s arrival.

Not long afterwards, his door chimed. Stavan checked the vid screen on his desk. Yes, it was certainly MacAllister’s suit – he could see the ship’s flash on the right breast pocket and there was the patched rip on the right shoulder that he remembered from last time. He called out “Come in,” over the intercom. Pressing a button, the door whirred and slid open.

As MacAllister stepped through the doorway, Stavan looked down again at the screen on his desk. The passive millimetre-wave body scanner he’d had fitted in the doorway only a month ago to check for weapons showed an outline of the body under the suit. No sharp shapes that looked like knives or blasters, the only metal being the expected seals and tanks of the suit. But the silhouette looked a bit wrong. A bit too flared at the hips. And what was that excess material over the shoulders? This didn’t look like the once heavily muscled, but now gaunt MacAllister that he remembered. He froze the image and covertly pressed a button to send a yellow alert to Tradak in the corner of the room.

He stood and greeted the supposed MacAllister: “Hello, old man! I hope you had an uneventful run? Do take a seat.” And he gestured to the seat opposite his at the desk. The seat that had concealed stunners trained on it.

Step one was complete. She'd landed and been invited up to Stavan's office. She just had to keep the meeting short; get in, get out, get gone with the money. When she'd left her father for this run he couldn't even get out of bed. He'd tried, desperately, to dissuade her from this course of action but it was the only way she could see clear to paying for his kidney transplant.

Drawing a deep breath she entered the office and felt a grin spread over her face. Oh he wouldn't be able to see it but it was better to fake the whole range of emotional response, not just the body motions she'd need. Less chance of screwing up that way.

“Hello, old man! I hope you had an uneventful run? Do take a seat.”

With anyone else she would have offered her hand before taking the offered seat but her father had warned her that Grant was paranoid so she simply settled into the offered seat. It didn't take a genius to know that she'd been scanned at some point, or that there were guns of some fashion pointed at her, even though she hadn't seen the scanner and couldn't see the guns now. If she'd thought she could get this far without the threat of danger she might have walked in here arms...her father had warned her though and she knew better.

"Old!" she said in her father's gruff voice, "Sickly I may be man but I'm not old! And between my kidney and my daughter I'll likely not last longer. I don't know which is the bigger plague on me," she said sharply but she mimicked her father's rough affection perfectly. It was a complain she heard on an almost daily basis from him and one she could have repeated in her sleep.

Looking around she pretended to be taking in the office, though all she really saw was Stavan, "It looks as if business is still good for you Grant," she said, managing to inject a rough respect into her voice that she didn't really feel. She might not have said Mr. Grant but you could hear the article in the way she said his name. It was teaching her such subtle nuances that had made her late for the run...but that her father insisted would save her life.

"Speaking of which, I'd appreciate it if we could conclude ours as quickly as possible Stavan. I've no doubt my daughter will give me a tongue lashing whose length with have a direct correlation with how long I'm gone."

Stavan checked a panel on his desk. “Of course. Dock Ops have just informed me that the crates have been offloaded from your ship and transferred to my bonded store. But I hope you won’t mind if one of my men has a look first, just to check everything is in order. It’ll only take five minutes.”

He tapped out a brief message to one of his underlings and pressed ‘send.’

“In the meantime, there’s something I’d like to show you. Something you’d find very interesting. Something that would shortcut the official waiting list on the core worlds for a new kidney.” He stood up and walked to a door in the back of the office, a door very few people had been through, and that didn’t include Govan MacAllister. He pressed his hand against a security pad and the door slid open revealing a short corridor. He gestured politely, and insincerely, to MacAllister to step through, nodding to Tradak to step up behind his visitor in implied threat.

“Oh, and I heard some gossip about your daughter, that she was booted out of IFSC for attacking a fellow pilot. That she led him on and then laid him out cold when she tired of the game.” He leered as he passed on the slander. “So what’s she doing these days?”

Five minutes. She clung to those words. She could hang on for five more minutes. Five more minutes and she'd have the money to pay for her fathers surgery and a little left over to stuff into a bank. She wouldn't let him use it for repairs or parts for the birds. It would sit there earning interest and only be tapped for his medical care. She'd learned her lesson about letting all their money be put into the ships. Sometimes you had to have cold hard cash on hand or you ended up doing stupid and dangerous things.

Like she was now.

Grant said he wanted to show her something and for a moment her heart race and fear lanced through her heart. Her father had said he'd never been further than Grant's office, though he was certain that there was something beyond it. Men like Grant always had spare rooms and tunnels hidden away where you wouldn't expect them.

Rising from the chair she moved to cross into the hallway that Grant had revealed when she was drawn up short at his words, “Oh, and I heard some gossip about your daughter, that she was booted out of IFSC for attacking a fellow pilot. That she led him on and then laid him out cold when she tired of the game.” He leered as he passed on the slander. “So what’s she doing these days?”

A low growl filled her throat. It was her own rage but it could easily be mistaken for a father's protectivness. Especially a father as protective as hers.

"Raven did not lead that boy on. At the official hearing more than one pilot told the IFSC board that his testimony was full of shit. She'd rebuffed him repeatedly and his ego couldn't take it so he tried to take what he'd been told she wouldn't offer and that's when she laid him out cold.

Just like her Daddy taught her," she added and let a small tinge of pride fill her voice with the words. The punch she'd thrown had been perfect and her father was proud of her for it. "But the IFSC doesn't like women pilots to begin with so this gave them a reason to get rid of a pilot they'd never really wanted to hire but hadn't been able to find a reason not to with an impeccable school record and graduating first in her class."

She ignored the leer on his face just as her father would have, focusing on his words and clearing her own name. She wasn't really sure which had rankled more, that rumor accused her of being such a manipulative whore or that it linked her, voluntarily, with Tritan. The man had an ego the size of the blue giant outside and could never understand, or handle, when a woman turned him down.

"These days she works for me. She takes most of my runs for me, except the ones where the buyer wants to see me personally. In a few months it's likely the company will be hers," she added with just a touch of regret to her voice. The regret was real. She didn't want her father's business, she wanted her father.

Stepping into the hallway she moved forward a few pace but, since she didn't know what she was looking for, turned her head to glance over her shoulder, "So what are we looking at Grant?" she asked, again with that tone of respect that made his name sound like a title in and of itself.

Stavan Grant gestured Tradak to follow MacAllister into the featureless corridor, then stepped in last himself. The door behind him slid shut but the one at the other end did not open yet.

“Oh this is just an airlock leading to my own rooms. Where the item is. My personal rooms are Earth atmosphere. You didn’t think I spent all my time on station in an atmosphere suit, did you?”

He waved his hand over a blank area of wall and a hidden touch screen control panel lit up. Tapping one control, there was a hissing of air. After about 10 seconds a green light came on. Stavan twisted the helmet of his suit and lifted it off.

“Ah, that’s much better,” he sighed. “You should take yours off too, old man,” he suggested.

The evil smile on his face made it clear this was not an offer that could be lightly turned down. An impression reinforced by the weapon barrel that suddenly pressed against MacAllister’s back, held firmly by the massive Tradak.

“Oh this is just an airlock leading to my own rooms. Where the item is. My personal rooms are Earth atmosphere. You didn’t think I spent all my time on station in an atmosphere suit, did you?”

Every curse Raven could think of flashed through her mind at what she knew was to come now. Obviously he was suspicious and she had no doubt she'd be forced to remove her helmet when they reached those rooms. As paranoid as this man was reported to be she didn't even want to think about what he was going to do to her when she removed the helmet and revealed she wasn't her father. She also tried not to think about the fact that she wouldn't be returning to her father with the money they so desperately needed.

The more she tried, the more the only thing she could think of was that they were both going to die alone and in pain.

Pausing inside the rooms she watched as Stavan removed his own helmet and drew a deep breath. She would refuse to show this man the deep well of despair that was wanting to fill her heart. Despair that she hadn't been good enough to pull this off and save her father. She was less worried about her own death than she was about his. She wouldn't wail and she wouldn't beg for her own life, though if he gave her the chance she would try to bargain for her father's. After all it wasn't his fault that he'd grown too damned weak to make this run...and too weak to keep Raven from doing it as well. Maybe she could convince Grant to pay her father anyway. After all, she had completed the run. He had his goods, even if he had his bodyguard kill her maybe her father could still get paid and have the surgery he so desperately needed.

It was a thin hope but the only thing she could cling to as she felt a gun barrel pressed to the small of her back and Grant's invitation to remove her helmet rang in her ears.

Knowing the helmet was coming off one way or another she sighed and reached upward (slowly, not making any sudden movements that would make Tradak pull the trigger) and released the seals that held the helmet in place. Pulling it off she shook out her, shortly cropped, white blonde, hair and shot a grim look to the man across from her.

"Raven MacAllister at your service, Sir. Checkmate is yours," she said barely managing to keep her fear out of her voice. It was bluff and bluster and she had no doubt he knew it but she'd been taught that trembling before a predator only made them want to hurt you more. If they respected you they tended to kill you more quickly and right about now all she could hope for was a quick, clean death and not the torture this man was famous for.

Stavan stepped into his private suite and ushered his visitor in after him, at gunpoint. The small lounge they stood in was well furnished, with plush seating and what looked like a real mahogany coffee table, an astonishing luxury this far from the core worlds.

“So… the father sends the daughter to do his dirty work. His poor, fallen daughter. Not a star pilot for a fancy corporation any more, all salaried, with medical plan and index linked pension. Now just another smuggler in a rustbucket of a ship. But you still think you’re high and mighty, eh? Thinking you can fool Stavan Grant!”

He walked back and forth in front of her as he talked, then stepped closer to twine his fingers through her blond hair. She really was beautiful, he thought. He’d have fun with this one.

“Oh, I had my suspicions from the moment you stepped through my office door,” he went on. “But I wasn’t lying when I said I had something that would interest to you.” He stepped to a mirror on the wall and tapped a corner. It slid aside to reveal a cupboard. And on a shelf in the cupboard sat a grey box with the red cross that had for centuries denoted things medical. It was a standard Commonwealth chilled medical container, as would be used to transport organs for transplant.

“Yes. A kidney. And a healthy one with full medical history too. I was going to offer it to your father for half his fee for this run. Not out of kindness, you understand. Just to keep him alive and useful to me. But then you go and try to deceive me. I don’t like people trying to deceive me.” His voice was getting louder and higher, shrill almost.

“The price has gone up. Half the fee for this run…” He looked her right in the eyes, a malevolent lust playing over his features. “Half the fee … and you.”

“Stun her!” he barked to Tradak, and the air suddenly stank with ozone as the stunner discharged into her back.

“So… the father sends the daughter to do his dirty work. His poor, fallen daughter. Not a star pilot for a fancy corporation any more, all salaried, with medical plan and index linked pension. Now just another smuggler in a rustbucket of a ship. But you still think you’re high and mighty, eh? Thinking you can fool Stavan Grant!”

She wanted to argue his words. Wanted to tell him that her father hadn't sent her anywhere...he'd simply been to ill and weak to stop her. If he'd been healthy he'd have locked her in a closet before letting her try her foolhardy scheme! Since he couldn't physically stop her he had tried to help her but she wasn't going to mention that to Grant. If she ever got to get a word in edgewise she'd make it out to sound entirely her fault.

Before she could even think to argue about the "high and mighty" part of his little speech his fingers had threaded into her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to face him. She couldn't stop the fear that shot through her eyes but that fear was quickly replaced with awe when he showed her the box he claimed had a kidney in it. A kidney for her father! She didn't care that the price he named was half her father's fee. She'd have let him keep 90% of the fee (wanting that last 10% to pay the surgeon, after all a kidney did no good if you couldn't pay the doctor to implant it) and sold her soul in the bargain to get that box!

“The price has gone up. Half the fee for this run…” He looked her right in the eyes, a malevolent lust playing over his features. “Half the fee … and you.”

“Stun her!” he barked to Tradak, and the air suddenly stank with ozone as the stunner discharged into her back.

She barely had time to think that he'd sadly underestimated her love for her father if he thought he was going to have to stun her into compliance. For that box she'd have given up much more than he seemed to be demanding. Or at least she thought she would.

Before she could get past that thought however she felt the electric burn of the stun gun at her back. At such close range the shock of it made her body seize into a sharp rictus of pain as it burned her flesh and sent electricity surging over her nerves. Her muscles spasmed so tightly she couldn't even scream before suddenly releasing and dropping her to the floor in a gasping, barely conscious heap. Glancing up she eyed that box as if it were the holiest of relics before her mind slammed under a black wave of unconsciousness.

* * *

She didn't know how long it was before she woke, all she was aware of initially were two thoughts, 'My father will live' and 'I'd love to turn that damned stun gun on that fucking bodyguard!'.

The next thing she was aware of was pain. Her back ached where the stun gun had hit her and she groaned softly. It was when she tried to shift to ease that pain that she really paid attention to her immediate surroundings. The room she was in was bare except for rings embedded into the wall, floor and ceiling and a few posts pushing out of the wall that looked as if they were meant to hang something on.

She knew what the rings were for because she herself was bound using them. Her arms were up above her head and her feet roughly shoulder width apart. There would be no getting out of those bonds since the ceiling was high and the chains holding her taut. There was barely enough slack for her to shift her weight much less to actually struggle. She wasn't quite pulled tight enough for it to be an agony but she suspected that in itself was meant to be it's own sort of torture. It left her thinking she might be here for awhile.

Looking down she sighed but was unsurprised to see that she had been stripped down to the black lace of her bra and panties. They stood out starkly against the paleness of her skin which was part of what she had liked about them. The contrast. At least the room was warm enough that she wasn't shivering though it wasn't precisely comfortable.

"He's got a new toy and he's not ready to break it yet," she muttered to herself.

Realizing she had few options she rested her head against her arm and simply relaxed into her bonds. Stavan would appear when he was good and ready and, until then, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of screaming, wailing, or pleading. If that was what he wanted from her it was going to take more than this. She was no fainting miss to wail at the first sign of adversity! She was made of sterner stuff than that. She was MacAllister by gods and she'd act like it!

The door slid open and Stavan Grant entered.

He smiled at his new plaything. “You’re looking good for someone with Ventarian ‘flu.” At her confused expression, he explained. “I’ve bribed station medlab to fake positive readings on the med scans at the docks. As far as the official records show, you’ve been rushed to the isolation ward and your ship is quarantined. Even if your father can raise himself out of his sick bed he won’t be allowed off the ship. So don’t expect rescue.”

He walked round her slowly. God, she was beautiful! The pale skin of someone who very rarely felt the rays of a sun direct upon her, but firm flesh and well toned muscles. She must take her exercise seriously.

She was almost flawless. The body of one cosseted within a mega corporation, not beaten and battered by life on the rough frontier. The small of her back was red with the burn from the stunner, but apart from that the only blemish was a short scar just below her rib cage on her left side.

He stepped up close and ran his finger gently over the rough white line. How many more would mar her flesh by the time he’d finished with her? His cock strained against his black leather trousers at the thought.

From there it was mere inches to her black lace bra. He’d never seen lingerie this fine. Silk, with cotton lace, if he wasn’t mistaken. It was obvious what she’d spent her bonuses on, when she was a corporate pilot. He traced the underside of her left breast, then up to circle in on her nipple, finally brushing it with the lightest of teasing touches.

“Not able to lay me out cold are you, sweetheart!” he chuckled.

He stepped back and crossed his arms. “So what do you have to say for yourself now, eh?”

Ventarian Flu? So that was the excuse he was using for holding her here. Well that would give him a solid two months anyway. The damned bug seemed to like humans better than Ventarian's and lingered far longer in their systems. A Ventarian could shake it off in roughly a week, a human wasted away for weeks on end and remained contagious for roughly 6 weeks. And 8 week quarantine was a standard precaution. The man was clever, she'd admit that...though not out loud.

She simply stared as he circled her. She felt like some sort of animal up for auction and almost made a comment about being surprised he hadn't checked her teeth but she kept that remark to herself...why give him ideas?

When his fingers brushed over the scar on her side her entire body shuddered in revulsion and she could help trying to flinch away. She had no doubt he was going to do a lot worse than touch her, or else why buy so much time for himself, but that didn't stop the instinctive reaction. Also she didn't want him wondering about that scar. It was a physical reminder of her father. He hadn't actually given her the scar himself but had been watching when one of his friends had.

His friend Crotel (a Printak, a race famed for their knife skills) had taught her to use a blade just as her father had taught her to throw a punch. When he'd thought she was ready they'd gone from practice blades to the real thing. At first he'd left only shallow cuts, that wouldn't scar, but one day she'd left a blatant opening on her left side and he'd sliced her deep. When she'd bitched about it he'd simply told her it would be a reminder and that from now any opening would be taken advantage of in such a way. If she' didn't want more scar she'd damned well better fight with all the skills he'd taught her.

She took the warning to heart and he never scored her flesh again. Two weeks later he'd said there was nothing more he could teach her since she was only human and didn't have the second set of fighting arms that his own people had.

It was a memory she was glad to slip into, only coming out of it when she felt Stavan's hand on the underside of her breast. This time she managed not to flinch away. Flinching was a sign of weakness and she was already in a weak enough position.

“Not able to lay me out cold are you, sweetheart!” he chuckled.

He stepped back and crossed his arms. “So what do you have to say for yourself now, eh?”

"I only did what I needed to do for my dying father. You wouldn't meet with anyone but him and canceling the run due to his health would have meant his sure death. It wasn't about lying or trying to fool you...it was about trying to save him.

As for being able to lay you out flat, let me out of these chains and we'll see about that," she said with a low growl in her voice and sharp glare firing through her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter why you tried to trick me. Only that you did!” Stavan was shouting now, his paranoid raving such a contrast to the determined calm radiating from the woman in front of him. And then she had the cheek to threaten him! Well he’d sort that out!

He clenched his fists, fingernails biting hard into his palms, the pain grounding him. Deep breaths, he thought. Take deep breaths. Don’t let this little girl make you lose it. You are in control, Stavan, you are in control.

The silent mantra helped, and he stepped back from the precipice.

He glowered at her and strode from the room. OK, round one to her. But she’s not going anywhere.

* * *

Five minutes later Stavan was back. He marched straight up to her, grabbed her under the chin, thrust the stubby stunner against her left nipple and discharged it without warning. It was on its lowest setting, not enough to knock her unconscious, but enough to cause excruciating pain, especially when held right against her, and on such a sensitive spot.

Once more, then a third time he sent the searing charge into her flesh. The smells of ozone and charred silk mixed unpleasantly. Then suddenly he pulled her face to his and mashed his lips and teeth against hers in a violent kiss.

“It doesn’t matter why you tried to trick me. Only that you did!”

Meeting the gaze of the man ranting at her she knew she should be scared, terrified even, but she couldn't get there. The ranting, the out of control expression on his face, it only served to increase her own calm demeanor. If he was that paranoid, that much of a control freak, then he could be manipulated. She watched him fight for control and she let her contempt for the effort show in her eyes. She might be the one bound and nearly naked, but that didn't make him the one in control.

She wasn't surprised when he turned and stormed from the room. As the door slid closed behind him a small smirk curved her lips. She knew she was likely going to pay for being more in control than him, but it had felt good to best him in such a small way.

When he came back in she could see the dark light in his eyes and felt the first shiver of fear. She didn't see the stun gun in his hand until she felt the first wave of pain slam into her body! She couldn't stop herself from screaming on the first blast of pain, it had been such a surprise! When he pulled the trigger twice more she forced herself to keep from screaming, though she did make small grunts of pain, unable to keep completely silent.

She could smell the burnt lace of her bra, but over that she could smell the singed skin beneath it as well. The material of her bra took the worst of the heat but didn't stop it entirely from burning her. When the hand with the gun dropped she was about to speak, to curse the ground that Stavan walked on when he suddenly mashed his lips to hers.

The twisted parody of a kiss drew a low growl from her throat and without thought she did the only thing open to her...she bit down sharply on his lower lip until she tasted the coppery sweetness of blood.

Ouch! The bitch had bit him!

He tried to pull away without ripping his lip, but she wouldn’t let go until he yanked her hair to surprise her into opening her mouth.

“Don’t do that again. Ever,” he told her, keeping control of his temper by the thinnest thread. “If you do, I’ll pull out one of your teeth.” The threat was said slowly and coldly. He meant it.

He stepped back and looked at her. “I’m going to have to spell it out, then. The kidney is real. Your father will get it. But how fast - whether it’s while he’s still fit enough to survive the operation – well that depends on whether you co-operate.”

“So let’s try this one more time.”

He stepped back up to her, placed his hands on her ribcage either side of her breasts, and moved in for another kiss.

“If you do, I’ll pull out one of your teeth.”

The threat might have been cold but she could see his temper flaring in his eyes. She recognized a fury that matched the one she was keeping bottled inside of herself. She considered letting him know she didn't really give a damn about her teeth but decided to keep her mouth shut. The stun blasts had made it clear he was going to hurt her, why give him reason to do so unless she could hurt him at the same time?

“I’m going to have to spell it out, then. The kidney is real. Your father will get it. But how fast - whether it’s while he’s still fit enough to survive the operation – well that depends on whether you co-operate.”

His words this time drew a small, cold, smile from her lips. A smile that didn't reach her eyes in the slightest. It was the threat she'd been waiting for and expecting. It was also a threat that bought him a very limited amount of cooperation. She'd left her father a week ago and he'd been bedridden then. He wouldn't last long without that kidney and at that point she had no reason to cooperate further with this psychotic fiend.

“So let’s try this one more time.”

She flinched at his touch on her flesh but as he moved forward she didn't pull away from his kiss...or seek to bite him again. She also didn't return the kiss, she stood still as a doll, letting him do as he wished but giving him no reaction at the same time. When at last he drew back her eyes were flat and cold...and she spoke before he did.

"Your threat buys you three days. If my father hasn't had his operation by then he'll die whether he gets the kidney or not. My word as a MacAllister that for those three days you'll have my cooperation and I'll seek to harm you in no way. After those three days...well then we'll see how the situation has changed."

Her voice was as cold as her eyes but she'd given her word and so she did the only thing open to her to seal the promise she'd just given, she cooperated in the only way she could, by tipping her head and placing a tender kiss on Stavan Grant's lips.

She’d appealed to a part of him that was core to his being. No, not his lust for her, but the almost equal joy he got from making a deal, from bargaining and negotiating.

He melted into her kiss and ran his hand gently down her back, down to stroke and cup one delicious buttock.

But the deal wasn’t finalised. He reluctantly broke the kiss and stepped back.

“Three days? OK. It’s mid afternoon now. At noon, three days from now, the kidney will be in medlab where a surgeon will be waiting. Your ship’s quarantine will be lifted and I’ll even have nurses bring your father from the ship to the operating theatre.”

“In return, you do whatever I ask for the remainder of these three days. I may beat you. I may torture you. I won’t do anything to cause permanent damage, but you will feel excruciating pain. I may fuck you. And when I do, you will at least pretend to like it, and join in enthusiastically. And as you say, you will do nothing to harm me. Or my colleagues or my operations here.” That last he added, lest she think she could torch the place and still be within the terms.

“I don’t offer you freedom. Not yet. That’s still to be decided.”

“So do we have a deal?”

She felt him lean into her kiss, felt the hand that gripped the curved of her bottom and also felt the reluctance in the line of his body when he pulled himself away from her. She had no doubt that he wanted her in some way but she did doubt that it was her charms that had truly gathered his attention. When he started talking, negotiating further, she knew that doubt was right. He was seeking to strike a deal just as she had! She should have realized...and she should have bargained for her own freedom.

Later, it would be the next thing she bargained for, firstly though she needed to see her father taken care of.

“In return, you do whatever I ask for the remainder of these three days. I may beat you. I may torture you. I won’t do anything to cause permanent damage, but you will feel excruciating pain. I may fuck you. And when I do, you will at least pretend to like it, and join in enthusiastically. And as you say, you will do nothing to harm me. Or my colleagues or my operations here.”

She couldn't stop the slight smile that tugged her lips when he added the last. It had been in her mind to keep strictly to the letter of her word, she wouldn't have sought to hurt him...but she might well have sought to bring down the station around him. Clever boy.

Still there was some fine tuning to do in his bargain as well.

“So do we have a deal?”

"We might. I want your definition of 'permanent damage' first. Does it mean I'll leave with not a mark on me, or that any scars you leave simply won't impair function? And what of mental damage? You've a reputation as a sadist and I prefer my mind as intact and functioning as my body. Swear my mind and body will remain fully functional and intact and we have a deal."

Pain she could deal with. She had no doubt he would hurt her, most likely hurt her beyond what she would have thought she could bear, but if she agreed to it, she would bear it. The sex was a trickier issue. Despite the reputation the incident with Tritan had given her, she had little experience with men. It just wasn't prudent to sleep around while in school (such a distraction!) and once she was working it was definitely not a good idea to sleep with the other pilots and earn a reputation...it tended to get used against you. Not to say she hadn't managed to find time here and there, just not much.

She wasn't sure how well she would do at faking it. She'd do her damndest though, she'd given her word. If he agreed to her stipulation about permanent harm then she'd do what she could.

In the back of her mind her own small voice added quietly, And when I'm free I'll incinerate every ship of his that leaves this station. After all, he'd only stipulated she couldn't harm those here. Once they left, they were fair game.

Damn! She was a hard bargainer. But then she was a MacAllister, so what did he expect? And hopefully, like her father, once the deal was struck she’d honour it absolutely.

“OK. No permanent damage. Nothing that won’t fade or heal within a few weeks. And if I do accidentally mar that pretty hide of yours with a scar, I’ll pay for dermal regeneration.”

He considered her other stipulation. “Mental harm? That’s a tricky one. How does one define that? And I don’t know how much you can withstand either.” He pondered for a moment. “I’ll promise not to do anything calculated to drive you insane. That’s as far as I can go. But you’ll probably have nightmares about this time for years to come.”

“So will that do? You’re not exactly in a good bargaining position here, you know.” He smiled as his eyes roamed over her body, hanging from the chains, limbs spread, clad only in a few delicate bits of silk and lace.

“I’ll promise not to do anything calculated to drive you insane. That’s as far as I can go. But you’ll probably have nightmares about this time for years to come.”

Nightmares she could live with. It was teh being driven insane that she wanted to avoid. Of course he hadn't sworn not to drive her crazy...just not to do it on purpose. Still that was probably the best she was going to get from him and he'd promised not to leave any permanent marks on her body. Of course there were plenty of ways of hurting someone without leaving any marks at all but it would still put her in a better position than she was now.

Stavan Grant might have a reputation for being a sadist of the first order but he also had a reputation for sticking to his word once he gave it.

“So will that do? You’re not exactly in a good bargaining position here, you know.”

Glancing up at the shackles holding her hands above her head she chuckled softly, an action that made her breasts move and sent flares of pain through the left one where he'd, repeatedly, stunned her. It brought a small grimace to her mouth but she had no doubt she'd be enduring worse in the next three days.

If it bought her father his life it was worth it.

"My father always taught me you bargain with what you have. Yes we have a deal."

Glancing up at her arms again she decided to add one more comment, in the interests of their bargain, "Would it be possible to have you let my arms down? They've gone numb from being up so long. It's hard to cause pain if the flesh is desensitized," she added the last in the hope that it would be the most likely reason for him to let her arms down, and she avoided asking for her feet to be released for the same reason. As he'd said earlier they hadn't bargained for her release yet.

Stavan nodded, feeling magnanimous after getting the deal he wanted. “Of course, my dear.”

He took a remote control from his jacket pocket and pressed some buttons. The cuffs around her wrists snapped open, and she was able to lower her weight down off the balls of her feet and stand comfortably for the first time in nearly an hour. Or at least as comfortably as possible with her feet still held almost a metre apart by the shackles and short chains on her ankles.

Then he pressed another button and one ankle shackle sprang open, leaving her able to move more freely, though still chained to the last ring in the floor by the other ankle.

“You can have five minutes to restore your circulation.”

He walked over to the simple chair in the corner, picked up a book from underneath it and sat down to read as if she wasn’t present.

* * *

Five minutes later his watched beeped.

“Rest time’s over, dear,” he called out cheerfully, standing up and placing his book on the seat.

He walked over towards her slowly. “What to do first, I wonder? Torture, fuck, torture, fuck…” He moved his open palms up and down as if weighing the two options. In reality it was no contest. His cock strained with pent up need. He’d bored of the few human prostitutes on this out-of-the-way station and hadn’t had a woman for almost a month. Torturing her could wait.

As he reached her, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pressed down. “On your knees. Suck me off until I come in your mouth. And know that the better you do this, the shorter the next torture session will be. If you lack enthusiasm, you will pay for it with pain beyond your imagining.”

This was the moment of truth. She’d promised to do what he said, and not to harm him. He judged that her sense of honour and her concern for her father would see her stick to her word. He was normally a good judge of character, but he was about to test that by placing his cock between those very teeth that barely twenty minutes earlier had drawn his blood. The tiny thrill of fear and doubt made him harder still.

Of course if she did try to bite his prick off, his implanted medical sensors would sense the shock and his bodyguard would rush in. And after the long restorative surgery, he’d make sure to kill her in the slowest and most painful way he could devise...

Raven hoped her surprise at his granting her request didn't show too clearly on her face. She hadn't actually expected him to let her arms loose. When the shackles opened her arm fell like lead weights and she had to fight down a low groan. She knew it wasn't going to be any fun when the circulation started to come back to them, even now she could feel the tingling, pins-and-needles, sensation that presaged the full burning of a limb with returning circulation.

What surprised her further was when one of her ankle shackles was released as well. It was good to roll back onto her heels and stretch her legs once more. She hadn't realized just how strained she'd felt caught up on the balls of her feet as she had been.

“You can have five minutes to restore your circulation.”

My my wasn't he magnanimous! She kept her scathing thoughts to herself and made use of her time by pushing herself through a series of stretches Crotel had shown her when he'd been teaching her to fight with a blade. Some of them he'd had to modify for her human form but it was a recognizable series and she did it for two reason. The first was that it was incredibly effective. Before three minutes was out her circulation was restored and her limbs felt limber once more. The second was more subtle. It was a series of stretches common only to the Printak and their Royal Guard, something Crotel had been in his early life. It would send the message not to underestimate her and she had no doubt that Stavan would get that message despite the book he appeared to be reading.

This wasn't a man who missed anything in his vicinity. It also wasn't lost on her that his allowing her to stretch was a test of it's own. She might still have one ankle shackled but the chain was long enough that she could have lunged for him if she'd been feeling particularly stupid. She had no doubt that his bodyguard was nearby and he still had that stun gun somewhere.

She was just finishing the first series (there were ten in all and if he left her free enough when he left her for the night she'd finish the series as she did every night) when the alarm on his watch went off.

Now would come the real test.

Standing silent as the grave she waited while he pretended to decide what he was going to do with her first. She refused to react while he was, supposedly, thinking. He'd do what he wanted and if she reacted to either option he might choose the one she wanted least...not that she was really sure just which option would be worse at the moment...extreme pain, or what amounted to rape by consent.

When his hand pressed on her should she knew his choice.

“On your knees. Suck me off until I come in your mouth. And know that the better you do this, the shorter the next torture session will be. If you lack enthusiasm, you will pay for it with pain beyond your imagining.”

For the briefest of seconds she thought to argue but her sense of pride and honour wouldn't allow her to. She'd made a bargain and she'd stick to it. Still if she was going to pull this off, with enthusiasm, she was going to have to avoid looking up at him. The only way it would work would be if she faked it all the way through.

Dropping her eyes (and cursing the blush of humiliation that colored her cheeks) she dipped her head forward and did something her first lover had taught her. Using lips and teeth she gently opened the fastening of his slacks. It was a trick she'd always enjoyed because it required some skill. If you weren't careful your lip got caught in the zipper and that hurt like a sonofabitch! It also usually entertained the man it was performed on as it hinted at the service he was about to receive both in the action itself and from the feel of heated breath working it's way through the material of their pants to wrap invitingly around their cock.

Only when those slacks were open did she reach up and allow her hands to come into play. Gently her fingertips brushed along his waistline, skin just barely brushing skin and the slightest press of nails to flesh. Not in any way near hard enough to constitute a threat, just enough to make nerve ending flash and add to the sensation. Slowly she let those fingers work into the waistband of his slacks and undergarments and worked to slide them down his hips, freeing the cock that had been straining under them.

Here she paused for a moment, clearly contemplating the piece of male flesh before her. She had to admit, if only in the privacy of her own mind, that it was a fine piece of flesh. Well shaped and large enough to be enticing without being intimidating. If it had been attached to almost anyone else she'd have been looking forward to the task put before her.

Tilting her head she let her lips part slightly and her tongue dance out as one hand came up to slide along the shaft, steadying his cock and caressing it at the same time. She kept a slow but steady pace as she got to know his cock, not just jumping onto it like a slavering beast but becoming familiar with it, finding each vein and small bundle of nerves, paying attention to which once made him give even the slightest shudder and making sure to come back to them with repeated teasings of lips and tongue.

While her mouth worked her hands were busy as well. She stroked and caress, not just his cock, but his thighs, buttocks, waist and even that heavy sac beneath his cock as well. There wasn't a piece of flesh revealed to her that she didn't touch.

He wanted enthusiasm and she gave it not with the raging gusto of a porn star but with the sheer thoroughness of lips, tongue and fingers. At some point she even managed to let herself forget just who was standing before her and simply let herself enjoy what she was doing.

She always had enjoying giving head. Enjoyed being on the receiving end as well but she doubted she'd get much in the way of pleasure from this man.

Shit! She was good at this! She didn’t gobble him in a desperate attempt to get it over with as quickly as possible – instead she explored his cock, paying attention to his reactions, working out what gave him the most pleasure and adapting her technique. And her hands! They played over his thighs and backside, expanding the stimulation beyond his groin.

When she started fondling his balls, he almost lost it completely. His breath came heavier, louder, as she worked on him, and waves of pleasure spread through his belly and arse.

He ran his fingers through her hair, loosely, not constraining her movement as she licked and nibbled up and down his shaft between each bout of sucking him deeply, glorying in the soft feel of her straight blond locks.

Several times she brought him to the brink then backed off, each tease bringing him to a new plateau of ecstasy. Finally he could bear it no longer. He felt the familiar tightening of muscles across his belly, the clenching of his buttocks and arse, the lifting of his sack as the pressure built at the base of his cock. The need to come gripped him like a straightjacket, tightening round him as his muscles tensed. Then he felt his cum surge up his cock, the pressure bursting through the engorged tissue in a glorious release. Careless of her comfort he grabbed the back of her head and thrust forward hard without any warning, raping her mouth, forcing the head of his cock into her throat as he pumped his seed down her gullet.

For a good five seconds he held her like that, wad after wad of cum blasting down her throat; five seconds that seemed like an age. Then just as suddenly as he had forced himself into her, he pulled out, pushing her back roughly as if she was a dirty creature he had no more need of. His eyes stared wide but unseeing up towards the ceiling and his mouth gaped as he came down from the most glorious orgasm he had had in ages.

In the back of her mind, Raven, wondered if he realized just how tender that stroking touch through her hair was. She doubted it. Or at least doubted that he would admit it to himself. No doubt he told himself he was simply remaining out of her way while he enjoyed her work. Whatever he told himself she didn't care, each reaction to what she was doing told her something about him, and that gentle stroking told her that he could be manipulated with pleasure. Just how far, or in what way, she didn't know yet...but every small piece of knowledge was worth having.

She felt his body tightening and recognized the signs of an impending release. Knowing he was a violent man she drew a deep breath and wasn't surprised when he forced her head down on his length and held her there. Her tongue and throat worked in unison, taking every blast of his cum and simply swallowing it down, her tongue swirling quickly so that none of it escaped past the tight seal of her lips.

As quickly as he'd pulled her down, he shoved her away. If he'd been someone she was dating or interested in she might have been hurt by the harsh gesture but as it was she simply let her body roll back to the floor. She'd done her job, completed this first part of their bargain by doing what he wanted and doing it enthusiastically.

Glancing up at him a small smirk curved her lips at the look on his face. Oh yes, she'd done her job well. Now it was time to remind him that she wasn't some mindless doll or some prostitute he'd paid to fawn over him. While he was coming down from his orgasmic high she rolled up to her feet, plastered a bored expression on her face, and started working her way through the second series of Printak stretches.

She loved this series. Each one of the ten had a theme to it. The first sequence was meant to warm the muscles, stretching them to make them limber and ready for the rest. The second was like a dance, her feet slid on the floor, legs lifting in motions vaguely reminiscent of old Earth ballet, while her arms and hands moved sinuously around her body. Crotel had told her it was often a favorite series among the females of his race when they were searching for a mate.

She moved now with a deadly grace and that bored expression as if her body ached to be touched, while his presence did nothing for her. He'd treated her as if she were dirty, she now treated him as if he were beneath her notice, despite her chains.

Despite himself, Stavan was impressed with how she could disassociate herself like that. One moment enthusiastically giving him head, showing every sign of enjoying it, the next going through her exercises with a calm poise and grace barely hampered by the one ankle which was still chained to the floor.

And when she went into the second set he was simply astounded by her fluidity and control. Astounded and turned on again. The way she ran her hands over her hips and torso, emphasising her slight but still attractive curves, up her ribs to brush ever so lightly against the underside of her breasts... Words failed him.

Whilst she avoided his gaze, looking past or through him as if he wasn’t even there, he showed no reservations in letting his eyes feast on her body. Firm, toned, slender, but with enough curves to declare her femininity, she was simply superb and despite being so recently depleted, his cock responded again in appreciation.

When she ran her hands down the small of her back, her chest thrust out, the scorched material of her bra finally gave out. A tear appeared in the centre of one cup and her nipple poked out. It was all he could do not to stride forward and take it between his lips. But that would make it clear how entranced he was becoming by her and she might use that to try to negotiate her release on better terms.

He had to take control once more. When she reached a pause that he thought indicated the end of that set of exercises, he broke the silence. “Stop, now,” he said, quietly but clearly. “Clip your free ankle back into the shackle. Then arms above your head.”