Surrender To The Cyborgs

By: Grace Goodwin

Interstellar Brides: The Colony, Book 1

Chapter One

Rachel Pierce, Interstellar Brides Program Processing Center

“You can’t escape us.” A rough male voice whispered in my ear. The room was dark, nearly black, and I could not see his face, but his tone excited me. I should have been afraid, terrified, and yet my body arched off the bed at his words, eager. Wet. Throbbing with need.

I tugged at the bonds about my wrists, the unbreakable cuffs secured over my head. The fit was snug, but not painful. They ensured that I was well and truly captured, yet unharmed. There was no give in the restraints, but the soft yield of the bed under my back was soothing. So were the calloused hands that ran over my heated skin, that cupped my upturned breasts, the insides of my spread thighs, my bare mound.

“Our little prisoner.”

I stilled at the voice. The second voice. There wasn’t just one man in bed with me, but two. Two sets of hands.

“Ah!” I cried, when little erotic bites elicited a fiery burst of pain at the tips of my nipples. Two mouths.

I couldn’t see their faces, but I could feel their hands, hear their ragged breathing, feel their heat, smell their dark, spicy scents.

“I want to touch you,” I replied, licking my dry lips. I tugged once again on the binds, but they were unforgiving. I didn’t need to see them to know they were big, so much bigger than me. Their hands were large, spanning the breadth of my belly, dwarfing my breasts, which were far from small, gripping my knees and holding them apart so that my naked body was open to their every urge, every desire.

I should feel panicked, for while I didn’t seem to know these men, I knew them, felt safe with them. Safe enough to be tied up and at their sweet mercy.

I’d never been into bondage play or any kind of BDSM before. Not even a little kink tossed into a wild night. My sexual experiences ranged between high school fumbling and wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kinds of encounters.

This, this was something else entirely…and I liked it.

I liked the heavy weight of the cuffs about my wrists. I liked the way there was no give in the rope. I liked the way the men were touching me, arousing me to a fervor I’d never known before. And they were only touching.

When a hand dipped between my thighs, I arched my back, pushing my hips into the touch. “She’s dripping. You like to give over control.”

I didn’t know that to be the case before, but with these two, now, I did. Hell, yeah.

I moaned at the feel of his fingers stroking over my folds, circling my clit, pulling back its protective hood for…oh fuck. His hot breath.

When his mouth closed over my clit, I cried out, tugged involuntarily. Hands on my thighs held me open, exposed, available.

I couldn’t do a thing but take whatever they wanted to do to me. To give to me.

“You’ll come first, then we’ll fuck you.”

I had no problem with that whatsoever. “Yes,” I replied on a breathy moan to the man who was licking my pussy.

The other was working my nipples with his mouth, alternating between them. I felt the rasp of a trimmed beard, the soft hairs tickling my tender skin and awakening every one of my nerve endings. “You can feel it, can’t you? Our need, your need, building and building. The collars join us, link and share our pleasure.”

I felt the weight of something about my neck, felt the eager intensity of the men’s desires, their domination, my submission, swirling around us like a vibrant, red aura. I was hotter, wetter, more eager than ever in my life.

I was going to come. There was no way I could stop it, for while I was bound by rope and cuffs, I was ensnared by their attentions. My pussy ached, swelled, pulsed. My clit throbbed. My nipples stung.

“Yes, I’m going to… I need, right there…just a little—no!”

The men knew I was going to come and not just from my mindless rambling or the way my body shook. It was the damn collars. They knew one more flick of a tongue against my engorged clit, one more decadent bite on my nipple and I would have succumbed to the most powerful orgasm.

Instead, I was sweaty and needy, tears slipping from my eyes, desperate for them. My body was almost electrified with need. Just a touch in the right place and I’d go off.