Submission's Edge Read online

  Submission’s Edge

  Trent Evans

  Contents

  Title Page

  About This Book

  A Peek at What's Inside...

  Also By Trent Evans

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Other Books by Trent Evans

  From The Author

  About This Book

  Sometimes the only way to discover your real husband is to stop being his wife. And start being his plaything.

  For Diandra Acres, it started as a hunch, a feeling her husband was hiding the real him from her. He was shielding her from something — or keeping a secret from his wife. Never one to flee from a challenge, she intended to find just what that something was. For in her heart, she suspected — and hoped — that in Martin there lurked the dangerous Alpha male animal of her darkest dreams. The strict dominant man not afraid to put his wife firmly in her place — or take her over his knee. There was something mysterious about Martin all right. But did she have the courage to face what the truth might mean about her kind, beloved husband?

  Leaving his wife for weeks at a time was hard enough. But preventing himself from being who he really was with his beautiful wife was even harder. Being thousands of light years away from home — and his wife’s loving arms — was a mercy though. For it allowed him to hide from what he really wanted to make of her, allowed him to flee from the dark, twisted needs he’d always struggled with. His wife could never be those things. She could never want to be those things. So, self-imposed banishment in the form of a contract was his only choice. Still, in the endless night of interstellar space, he couldn’t help but wonder. What if he really could show her what it was he wanted? Night after night, the vision haunted him — his wife, on her knees, submitting utterly to his strict control, his cruel lusts, his deepest, darkest desires. It was a vision as alluring as it was impossible to hope for...

  Some things were better left unsaid. Certain boxes better left unopened. For once the truth is known, it cannot be unknown. What if confessing his desires reveals him to be something his wife no longer recognizes? Could a marriage — and the love of a man and wife — survive the discovery that both of them desire much more than they’ve had the courage to admit? Even to themselves?

  For Martin Acres, the choice of whether or not to reveal who he really is, to unveil the truth of his deep-seated, troubling sexual needs might be the least of his problems. For the truth could sometimes do more than just reveal. It could also transform — or destroy.

  Publisher’s Warning: The book is intended for mature audiences. 18 and over only!

  This novel contains the following themes or activities: MF and MFM D/s, M/s, intense and explicit sex, spanking, anal play, humiliation, objectification, forced exhibitionism, and other acts of (very) unequal power dynamics. If any of these might be offensive to you, please do not buy or read this book. You have been warned...

  Word Count: 56,977 words​

  A Peek at What's Inside...

  …“Down on your knees,” he ordered, slapping her on the ass. She jerked as he did it, the ghostly pink of his handprint beginning to darken upon her pale skin.

  He’s always wanted to spank his wife. One of his favorite fantasies being taking her over his knee, smacking that sweet, soft bottom over and over and over again until she was crying, until she was begging him to stop.

  Until she had surrendered to him.

  Did he have the courage to do it though? Would she let him do it? He was about to find out.

  He took hold of her arm, dragging her up. Not letting go, he slid in front of her upon the couch. He met her eyes. They were alive, bright with as yet unshed tears, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. But in those eyes, he didn’t see resistance. He saw, if anything, a keenness, an eagerness. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Relax, Martin.

  “Get over my lap.” Then he pulled her down with a firm grip on her arm. She grunted softly as she did, her smooth belly a pleasing contrast against his thighs, her soft vulnerable ass laid bare, inches from him. He could feel the heat of her sex against his thigh, smell her wetness. She was aroused. Oh, she was aroused.

  He kept hold of her arm then, squeezing harder as he talked. “We’re going to test how much you want to obey. I’m going to spank this ass until it’s the color I want it. You can cry if you want, but I’m not stopping until I want to. Do you understand me?”

  “Y – Ye – Yes, sir,” she said, her voice faltering. “I—”

  “Are you going to obey me?” His cock throbbed at the sound of the words, speaking them much sweeter, more darkly arousing than anything he’d ever dreamed of.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Keep your legs closed. Up on your toes.” He had no idea why he told her that. But she did it, and the sight was beautiful indeed. He patted her ass, loving the feel of her warm flesh beneath his palm. Grasping her proprietarily, he made her wait, loving the way her entire body tensed. The seconds ticked by, and he couldn’t believe how much he enjoyed holding her over the precipice, loving the way her anxiety heightened with every passing second.

  And then he started…

  Also By Trent Evans

  Published by Shadow Moon Press

  A Message of Love

  What She’s Looking For

  Captive, Mine

  (with Natasha Knight)

  Submission’s Edge

  The Chronicles of Muurland Series:

  The Fall of Lady Westwood

  The Dominion Trust Series:

  Becoming Theirs

  Her Troika

  Expecting Surrender

  Quinton’s Crucible

  Tamara’s Choice

  The Valley of Surrender Series:

  Maintenance Night

  Maintenance Week

  Lacey’s Surrender

  Falon’s Captivity

  The Terran Captives Series:

  Taking The Human

  The Yielding of Rose

  Published By Stormy Night Publications

  The Doctor and The Naughty Girl

  What The Doctor Ordered (Box set)

  Copyright © 2018 by Trent Evans

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Willsin Rowe

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and as such, any similarity to existing persons, places, or events must be considered purely coincidental.

  This book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.

  For mature readers only.

  Published in the United States by Shadow Moon Press, Washington

  First Electronic Edition: September 2018

  Prologue

  “Is this your first time for a decommissioning?” The tech handed her a warm cup of coffee, a thin stream of steam wisping from below the lid.

  “Yes, it is. Just observing this time though.”

  “I’m Blake,” the tech said, offering a hand. “Liddel, right?”

  She shook his hand. “Marcia, please.”<
br />
  Blake nodded toward the scene beyond the glass. “First times are always… interesting.”

  Minutes before the three subjects had been led in, she’d been ushered into the observation booth. She was surprised at the variety she saw in even those three individuals. One was taller, another more muscular, while the third had a brilliant, striking gaze, his eyes seemingly larger, more intent, more alive than those of his compatriots.

  They had lined up at the decommissioning bank, their arms lifted overhead, grasping the bars above. They were not bound; the technicians who would be taking apart the androids once they had been powered down for the final time were utterly confident the machines would cooperate as programmed.

  Even in the process of their termination.

  The androids — all males — wore no shirts, their featureless gray slacks as anonymous as they were.

  “Artificials” were their official term. Human-like robots.

  Everyone on Earth called them androids.

  Here, at the decommissioning bloc on the outdated, dilapidated base station orbiting the backwater planet of Borellia 3-C, they derisively referred to them as “fish.”

  This was a new generation. Androids so lifelike as to be undetectable, indistinguishable from their human masters. These Artificials were the reason the IP laws were repealed, the legions of indentured persons relieved of their toil, replaced by beings stronger, faster, more reliable. Beings that never got sick, never complained, never aged, never objected to how they were treated.

  But the ethics of such beings were still hotly debated. In the galactic core, money mattered. Economics mattered. Cold, hard calculation mattered.

  Though the ethicists argued against their development, noting the deep, troubling questions about the entire phenomenon of artificial humans, the fact that their existence had freed an untold number of actual humans from servitude — some called it slavery, though indenturement was at least ostensibly voluntary — made resistance to the proliferation of artificials… a difficult position to defend.

  As Marcia watched them through the glass, the way they lined up silently, without a word, without so much as a glance back, she wasn’t so sure. The only hint that they were more than automatons was the look that one of them had given her, the slight lift at the corner of his mouth, his brilliant gaze locked upon hers just before he turned away, grasping the bar above him, flanked on both sides by his other doomed companions.

  She marveled anew at the variety in the androids. She would never have been able to tell that this man, this being, was artificial at all.

  There were four technicians in the room beyond, one of them preparing the decommissioning coupling. It looked like nothing so much as a set of cables with a sharp, gleaming rod at the end of it.

  “I’ve always wondered where they hooked them up,” she said, taking a sip.

  “They had to make accommodations. The initial models had a port visible on the back. But the designers felt that this spoiled the illusion, that this made them too easy to tell them apart from actual humans. So, the latest model line — which these three are part of — have the receiving port under the skin.”

  The woman looked at him. “You mean…?”

  “Yeah,” Blake said. “They have to pierce the skin.”

  She shuddered. “Those poor men.”

  “They’re not men, but yeah. I wouldn’t want to be in their spot either.”

  She’d heard of decommissionings before, of course. They were a standard part of cycling out old models, refreshing the ranks with new and improved versions of the artificial human. As she looked at the three beyond the glass though, she wondered what was wrong with them. They all looked healthy, strong, vital… human.

  She set those musings aside though as the red laser began to scan slowly up and down the back of the middle artificial. The one who had looked at her before turning toward the wall.

  “What is that?”

  “Can’t have them stabbing the spike into the wrong place, can we? Gets messy. It’s an x-ray scanner. Let’s them see exactly where the port is. One thrust and it’s done. They don’t feel a thing, apparently.”

  “How would you know though?”

  Blake shrugged.

  The scanner zeroed in on the port, a bright yellow circle in a field of red quite visible at the mid-thoracic spine.

  “Found it,” Blake murmured. “I hope you’re not squeamish.”

  The tech inside holding the spike, poised it above the skin. Everyone tensed, silent, waiting for what was to come. Just as the spike was about to penetrate though, the artificial’s hand came down with unbelievable speed and precision. In an instant, he had taken hold of the wrist of the tech holding the spike, whirled around then held the spike to the tech’s neck. The technician, a red-headed young man of perhaps twenty-five years, paled instantly, his lips a thin carmine line across his now deathly pale, freckled face. His blue eyes, bright with terror, darted back and forth.

  The three other techs began to approach, but the artificial shook his head sharply.

  “One more step and this spike goes in his throat. Don’t move.”

  The two artificials instantly let go of the overhead bars and spun into action.

  “Holy shit!” Blake’s voice was high with panic. He smashed a button on the console in front of them, bending over and yelling into a microphone. “We’ve got a problem, Decomm Three. Send security. Now!”

  “W-what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. This has never happened before.” He gave her a quick glance. We’re… we’re safe in here though.”

  In less than two minutes, the other three technicians were bound, laying on the floor, wrists lashed to ankles with wire. Blake pressed another button, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “You just… calm down in there. We can talk this through. Let them go. They’re not going to hurt you. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Not going to hurt us, you say? You mean not hurt us other than terminate us and chop us up for spare parts?” The artificial gave him a slow shake of his head, a grim smile curving his lips. “We have nothing to talk about, you and I. But you can do something for me. You can send Marcia out here.” He tipped his head toward the technician he currently menaced with the decommissioning spike. “She’s the only thing that might save this man’s life.”

  Blake pressed the button again, cutting the mic to the inside of the room. He cursed under his breath.

  Marcia backed away, shaking her head. “How does... how does he know my name?”

  Chapter 1

 

  EXTRACT:

  …as political power increasingly arrogated to the galactic core, with its attendant intrigues, machinations, and upheavals, attention to and inclusivity of other more remote star systems inevitably faded. Short of outright disenfranchisement, these outer reaches were gradually left to their own affairs, such neglect being less an intentional act than a result of increasing internecine strife afflicting the political class of the galactic core. Decadence, venality, petty plots, and political maneuvering consumed the leadership, even infecting the military, allowing a sclerosis of both spirit and thought to take hold.

  Those systems situated along the galactic periphery — commonly referred to as the Rechtellian Zones — increasingly left to themselves, especially those regions far from any known transit gates, always harbored simmering antipathies to dictats from a galactic regime hundreds of thousands of light years away. In the vacuum formed by the effective absence of galactic core oversight, these systems eventually developed societal constructs, traditions, and institutions distinct from those in the rest of the galaxy.

  One of the few institutions shared with the galactic core was the concept of Indentured Personhood (see separate entry: IP statutes), a feature of galactic life that, though considered an embarrassing anachronism in the galactic core, had become an integral part of soc
iety in the Rechtellian Zones. So it was that the abrupt repeal of IP laws, which occurred on 01.01.2214, transformed long-simmering tensions into seething rage.

  The ingredients for separation — and indeed outright rebellion — were in place. All that was required was a tripwire, a personality and an event to set events in motion.

  Into this powder keg stepped one Antaeus Elazar, Model-E artificial person, leader of the First Android Revolt…

  The wrench slipped off the nut, slamming against the actuator housing, pinching his finger against it.

  “Motherfucker!” The hot pain exploded down Martin’s finger. It was already bleeding. He backed slowly out of the service hatch, using a rag to staunch the bleeding.

  “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath. The truth was he didn’t actually need to replace the actuator motor for the maneuvering thruster on the ore shuttle, at least not right away.

  But it kept him from thinking, from dwelling on the loneliness that engulfed him on each of these assignments. For the first couple of weeks once on station, it was always exciting. It was fun. Time flew.

  But after a while, the reality of the isolation began to set in and all he could think about was how much longer he had left.

  “Are you injured, sir?” the computer asked, the female voice soothing, neutral.

  “I’m all right.” It was cut, but he could move his finger. Not broken, but it was going to bruise like a son of a bitch.

  He closed the service hatch. He would have to change the actuator out another day. It was his third assignment in a row on the station — and he’d only had a week’s downtime between each contract. It wasn’t that he needed the money. He had enough saved that he didn’t need to work another day in his life.