The tall man stood, arms folded behind his back, and watched with well-concealed impatience as the operation taking place before him drew to a conclusion. It had been six hours since the mercenary frigate Antagonist had overtaken the civilian cruiser and, recognizing its design and registration as those of its contracted target, subdued it in a brief and one-sided firefight.

While the civilian ship was nearly twice the size of the Antagonist, in terms of firepower there had been no comparison. A boarding action had been undertaken immediately, and a veritable laundry list of criminals, rebels, and anarchists had been executed on the spot, as per orders. Now the last of those boarding shuttles was returning, leaving only a ragged collection of crew and civilians aboard the crippled vessel. Still, witnesses were witnesses.

“Fire.” The tall man said simply.

The target already having been disabled, no spectacular volley was needed to strike the killing blow. A single azure beam leap from one of the frigate’s many turrets, striking the cruiser’s bulbous engine module. It lingered there for a moment and then, with a puff of escaping air, pierced the hull and struck home. The ship shattered and disintegrated, explosions ripping across its length from rear to front. The bridge crew erupted into a cheer, pleased to see another mission completed.

“Excellent work, Captain.” The tall man said, his satisfaction evident. “As always, your ship and crew are well worth their fee. Take us home.” Without further discussion, he turned and exited the bridge.

Walking briskly down the corridor, Rasmus mulled over the assignment that had just been wrapped up. He quite enjoyed working in the field. It gave him a sense of independence and command that working in the bureaucracy could never provide. It was that independence he particularly relished at this moment. His orders had called for no prisoners to be taken, but…

He knew from experience that the Antagonist crew cared little about his personal indiscretions one way or another, provided they collected their pay, and prying eyes were not a concern of his. It was the case that a single prisoner had in fact been taken, during his supervision of the initial boarding operation. A prisoner who had done an excellent job of grabbing his attention. She had somehow managed to seize a rifle away from a soldier nearly twice her size, and had demanded the release of herself and the others. Ridiculous, of course. The soldiers would simply shoot her dead, and if one of their own fell in the process, then so be it.

Still, Rasmus had admired her tenacity and, sensing that her death would be something of a waste, managed to slip behind her and drop the butt of his own rifle across her skull. Bringing her aboard himself, he had ordered his personal physician to attend her. He hated immensely the idea of having her brought to him damaged. He considered it akin to receiving an apple with a bite already taken from it. There was now no sign of the bloody gash which had marked the back her scalp only a few hours ago. She lay in a room seemingly too comfortable to be a cell, sprawled across the bed in her original clothing. Mildly sedated, she looked for all the world like someone who had fallen asleep without undressing after a long night. The room was spacious by shipboard standards, decorated in dark blues and steel grays, but had a sparse and unlived-in feel to it. It seemed like it had been prepared specifically for this circumstance, and in fact it had been. Rasmus stepped in through the door, pleased to see the girl stir slightly at the quiet hissing sound. He rapped loudly on the wall with his knuckles. With a groan, his subject rolled over and regarded him uncomprehendingly.

“Hello.” He said.

She blinked a few times, sat up slowly, and touched a hand gently to the back of her head. Memory returning, she glared at Rasmus accusingly.

“Where am I?” she asked. She received nothing in the way of a reply, as Rasmus simply leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms without comment. There was no real expression on his face, but he radiated a smirking superiority that would have irked her under even the best of circumstances. “Well then, where is everyone else?” she continued, trying to keep her voice even.

To this the tall man, the one she recognized now as having struck her, responded with a slow shake of his head. Her stomach dropped with the gesture. “There were over three hundred people aboard. You can’t have executed them all!” she said, disbelief and desperation creeping into her manner. She remembered being forced, along with her friends, to kneel on the deck. One by one, as their names were read from some sort of list, the kneeling prisoners had been unceremoniously shot. It was then that she had managed to snatch a rifle away from one of the guards, only to be smashed across the head by this man.

“Most of the people aboard were nothing but technical and maintenance people anyway.” Finally, the man spoke. “We didn’t exactly execute them.” He said, walking across the room to idly swipe imaginary dust from the surface of a shelf. “I’m afraid their engine core suffered a bit of a malfunction.” He was now within two yards of his prisoner. Looking and sounding as casual as could be, he turned his back to her and delivered a line he knew would spark a reaction. “Something to do with our drilling a hole in it. Made for quite the fireworks display.”

Stunned, and then outraged at the death of her friends and crew, she rushed at his exposed back with little in the way of rational intent save for the desire to inflict as much damage as possible. Exactly the reaction he had been trying to provoke. As she closed the short distance between them, he quickly spun around and grasped her by the throat, half strangling her with her own momentum.

“What were you going to do?” he asked mockingly as she pried uselessly at his hand. “Beat me to death with those tiny fists of yours? You’re barely half my size.” He slapped her once roughly with the back of his free hand, then once more, and watched as her face began to turn red for lack of air. Releasing her suddenly, he struck her a middling hard blow to the solar plexus. She collapsed to her hands and knees and remained there, gasping for air. Rasmus crouched down beside her.

“Everything you are, everything you have, is no more.” He began, his voice low and his earlier humor fled. “Your ship, your friends, your absurd politics, all of them are destroyed. They never existed. You are all that is allowed to remain, and only so that you may do as I wish. Do you understand?”

Her breath returning, she replied by spitting directly into his face.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Rasmus said calmly as he stood up.

“Fuck you!” She hissed, glaring up at him.

“Exactly.” He replied, grasping a handful of her hair and dragging her to her feet. With alarming strength he wrapped an arm around her torso, and dragged her effortlessly toward the bed. “No need to be difficult.” He added as she struggled vainly against him. “By the time we reach that point, you’ll be more than ready for it.” He cast her down onto the bed and, moving too quickly to be avoided, climbed atop her so that he straddled her waist. She arched her back desperately, trying to throw him off, but the effort was futile.

Reaching down, Rasmus slid his hands underneath her shirt and upwards past her stomach, cupping her breasts through the thin material of her brassier. She instinctively reached out to stop him, grasped his wrists, prompting him to squeeze hard enough to elicit a gasp of pain. “Hold still.” He said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Or I swear this will only get worse.”

A small voice in her mind screamed at her to fight on anyway, hopeless as the situation was. Strangely, she allowed it to be drowned out by another voice, one that urged her to relax, to accept the inevitable. It was this voice, this aspect of her personality, that held sway as she let her hands drop to her sides, and allowed herself to be mauled by a man who was a virtual stranger at best, and a casual murderer at worst.

Sensing her acceptance of his will in this matter, Rasmus unfastened the front clasp of her bra, exposing her breasts to the air. He attacked them aggressively, pulling and kneading them roughly. They remained in this position for some time, him sitting astride her, plying her flesh without resistance.

Despite her complacence, she flushed with embarrassment as she felt her nipples stiffen under the assault of his fingers. Rasmus felt them as well. Leaning in, he whispered “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” His voice was low, almost hypnotic as he continued. “Why shouldn’t you? You’re all alone, aboard my ship. You have nowhere else to go."

"Only because you killed everyone.” She replied, her voice small. “My friends…"

"Your friends died through fault on their own part,” he said, hands sliding down across her torso and back up. “They knew the penalty for their actions when they took them. Do you think I could have spared them, even if I had wanted to? I have superiors of my own to answer. At least you yourself survive.” He bent downward, and took one nipple wetly into his mouth, causing her to take in air sharply.

“I… don’t want this,” she said quietly. Rasmus sat back up suddenly and, without warning, drove the back of his hand across her cheek. His fist wasn’t closed but, with most of his strength as well as gravity behind it, the blow carried a fair amount of force. Her head snapped to the side, wisps of hair flying across her face. She leaned forward as if to sit up, but a second strike returned her to her back.

Without pause he continued his attack, raining blows across her face, neck, and breasts. None were hard enough to do truly serious damage, but if her arousal and his reasonable tone had diminished her fear, this new assault more than brought it back. Halting after a few moments, he looked down at her, red-faced and tearful beneath him.

“You’re lying,” he said simply. He roughly pulled her arms up above her head, and secured them with a set of manacles pulled up from between mattress and headboard. The cables they were attached to anchored directly to the frame of the bed and, in the absence of an industrial cutting torch, were effectively unbreakable. Rasmus rolled off of his victim to stand beside the bed. “I can’t tolerate liars,” he said, drawing a long straight knife from his boot.

Her eyes suddenly shot wide with fear, and she began thrashing uselessly against her bonds. He stilled her immediately by reaching out and letting the cold edge of the blade rest against her throat, just below the jaw. Without further comment he let it slip slowly downward, past her neck and clavicle, until it found her shirt where it bunched up just below them.

A few deft slices, and the remnants of the garment were tossed to the floor. Her brassier was removed completely and quickly joined it, leaving her stripped from the waist up. The blade moved upward again, until it rested against her throat once more.

“Does this frighten you?” He asked. Though she kept silent, the fearful look in her eyes made the answer obvious. “It shouldn’t.” He said, setting the knife aside. He grasped her tightly neck tightly, and for the second time that night her face began to redden for want of oxygen. “What makes you think I need it? Your life has been in my hands from the moment I boarded your ship.” He tightened his grip further, and watched as true panic spread across her face.

Her arms pulled vainly against their shackles, and her feet kicked uselessly at the air. She spasmed uncontrollably as the sound of her pulse throbbed loudly inside her head, and her vision began to cloud. Abruptly the grip was released and, as she fought for air, Rasmus began sliding her pants down off her hips. She clamped her legs together in an attempt to slow his progress, but he simply pulled that much harder and tossed them aside. Embarrassed at her further exposure, she drew her legs up close.

“No.” Rasmus said simply, pleased to note that she offered no further resistance, allowing her legs to be pulled out straight and her ankles buckled into a second set of restraints. The reason for her reticence, as if any were really needed, was obvious in the dampness of her panties.

“I though you said you didn’t want this.” He said with a laugh. He retrieved his knife, and quickly sliced the damp bit of cloth away, leaving her completely stripped. “Like hell you don’t.” He continued, open lust creeping into his voice. “You’re dying for a good fuck, aren’t you?” He lay down next to her, turned on his side so that he faced her, and let his fingers play across the lips of her vagina, causing her to jump slightly.

Ashamed, she turned her face away from him. He let his touch brush across her clitoris, and heard her breath catch. As he slipped two fingers deep inside her, feeling her wetness, his other hand reached out to cup her chin. He turned her face toward him forcefully, the message to let it remain there unspoken but plain. Unable to look away, a look of arousal slowly spread across her face as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. His free hand roamed her exposed body, up across her flanks to her breasts, further up to her neck, then back down again.

He stroked his thumb across her clit rhythmically, eliciting a quiet moan. Her wetness increased further as time went on, and eventually her hips began to instinctively move in time with the motion of his hand. He knew then that he had her. “I wonder what your friends would think.” He said, his voice low. “Dead for not even a day, and here you are humping away obliviously for the one that did them in.”

Humiliation flooded across her face to mix with the excitement already present, but before she could turn her face away again, his free hand trapped it in place. He picked up his pace, and watched her grit her teeth silently as her body reacted to his touch against her will. “It’s too late to fight now.” Rasmus said. “You can’t take this much longer, you’re about to cum.”

Held transfixed by his gaze, she lay there helplessly as he fucked her with his eyes as much as his hand. She couldn’t hold out any longer. With a long, almost desperate groan of shame and pleasure, she surrendered to the sensations running through her. Her hips moved uncontrollably, jerking upward to meet the plunging of his fingers, as if to draw him in as deeply as possible. She pulled spastically against her bonds, unable to halt the thrashing of her body as she came. When she had settled down sufficiently, Rasmus brushed the hair gently from her eyes, an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture.

“And now that you’ve had your fun…” He said. “It’s time I had mine.” He sat up and leaned toward the foot of the bed, releasing her ankles from their shackles. She began to slide her body upwards, aiming for a sitting position against the headboard. When she was halfway there, he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “That’s far enough.” He said.

He climbed up as if to straddle her as before, but this time moved all the way forward, until his knees were practically underneath her arms. Grasping her hair firmly with one hand, the other hand reached down to unzip his pants and expose his throbbing cock to the air. “You know what to do.” He said. “You’ll do this, and everything else that is asked of you from this point forward, without question. Otherwise I’ll bring in one of our professional torturers, and have them do things to you that you simply wouldn’t believe. And when he’s done, you’ll do everything you were asked anyway.”

The last vestige of her dignity stripped away by the shame of her climax, she opened her mouth to him. His free hand gripping the top edge of the headboard, he leaned forward into her, the warmth and wetness drawing a growl of pleasure from him. He began moving his hips, at the same time pulling her by the hair, and fucked her face as tears began to stream down from her eyes. How long this went on she couldn’t really say, but as time went on his thrusting became more aggressive.

“Take it… slut…” He gasped almost incoherently as he pressed into her even further. His cock entered the back of her throat, triggering her gag reflex, but somehow she was able to acclimate herself. Furthermore, a deeply buried aspect of her personality, a dark corner of her soul, the one that had compelled her to accept his initial groping of her breasts, broke free completely.

For reasons that she could not as yet truly understand, she put her instinct to gag aside, and began to suck him in earnest. Her head bobbed independent of his grip on her hair, and so he released it. Both hands gripped the headboard now as he ground himself into her, thrusting himself as far down her throat as possible, violating her completely.

“Good… take it…” He groaned, as he began to shudder with an orgasm of his own. With a gasp of ecstasy, he thrust himself as far forward as he could, driving her head back as he fired his semen down her throat. He remained in that position for some time, pressed into her, until the adrenaline began to drain out of him. Sliding back down into a sitting position, he looked at her disheveled, tear-stained face.

“I knew you were my type.” He said, brushing the hair from her eyes again. “I’m never wrong about these things.”

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