2 comments/ 35932 views/ 4 favorites Riddick's Concubine By: RiddicksConcubine * The movie, Pitch Black, and the character, Riddick, belong to the Interim company, or some movie companies, and/or movie writers. I take no credit for them. Only my original material is COPYRIGHTED, October, 2002. Thanks. Note: In this story, Riddick can't see in the dark, and his eyes are normal (Not metallic, or "shined," like in the movie, "Pitch Black"), and are clear-light-brown. And this is set in the 21st century, not later. * * * * * Some workmen asked, "Where does she want it?" and a man, his hair mostly white, but lightly flecked with gray, motioned to the thickly cracked, gray, cement floor. A chill wind blew through the room, rustling a few browned, drying leaves, into the building, which was about 15 feet wide. A heavy, dark-metal fork lift lowered the metal box with a grinding, screeching sound, like a bulldozer makes. The object completely lowered, five men unhooked it from the tough straps holding it in place. The woman who had been watching from the side saw that it resembled a large, oblong box, much more tall than wide, appearing, one might say, as a futuristic coffin. It's sides were encased by opaque, light glass, hiding the cargo entombed within it. She glanced downward nervously with her eyes, and remained a few steps away from the men. Two of them wore black uniforms, with white strips edging their jacket-collars. She thought, too light of coats for them to wear, on such a cold day. The temperature hung barely above freezing, and an inch of the year's first snowfall covered most of the ground, though, with many patches of bare dirt appearing. Yellow and orange leaves fluttered, yet, on some of the maple trees, and brown, leathery ones, clung to oaks. A covering of tan-orange pine needles layered over most of the landscape, where one could see them on the bare patches of ground, as well. She felt of her soft, smooth, light-brown hair, with it's pale blonde, and lightly reddish, hi-lights, and raised a section of it to her nose, breathing-in deeply. The delicate scent of coconut slightly filled her nasal passages, more lightly than angels' wings settling into place on their backs. She allowed the portion of her thick, fine hair to glide back to rest on her shoulder, and caused her blue eyes to stare with renewed focus at the large box, an object of deepest concern to her. A tall man with dark-brown, short hair, asked her, "Are you sure you can handle this, now? It was no easy task bringing it here." She felt uncertain, but replied, "Yes, just close the garage door again, please." He said to her, a pleasant expression on his face, but his tone of voice held a warning for her, in it, "You could find others. Why they have such shitty plans to ship things to just anyone -- I don't know." With some defiance, and self-pride welling up in her, though, meaning to convince them she would be fine, she stated, "I'm sure I can handle it. I'm no giddy, young thing, you know." He scratched his head and commented, "Well, you look like it. Anyway, the government has set up the force field around the perimeter of your property, and should you wish to go anywhere with the cargo, you know they plant tracking devices... so, can't get more than 200 feet from you, then... right?" She answered, bluntly, "Yeah." The man laughed to him self, lightly, like air escaping, with no real sound to it, other than that. He mildly quipped, "Well, good fucking luck," and then, laughing, "Not that it will do you any good." He climbed back into a rusted, red, pick-up truck, with his buddy already seated and waiting on the passenger side, and muttered, before he was out of ear-shot of the woman, "Stupid fucking bitch," and he slammed the door shut. She glanced in his direction quickly, rather shocked at his audacity and ill manners. The other men had come in a separate, blue, rusty, pick-up truck, and both vehicles drove away, out of the circular, tear-drop-shaped driveway, and continuing down that road, which led a quarter of a mile through the woods, and then, out onto a reddish, gravel road, which eventually turned into more roads, and then, into a country highway. She pulled the silver zipper up further, on her fluffy, black, winter coat, and hesitantly, uneasily, walked toward, and into, the garage, which was really a rather old shed, used mainly for storing spare automotive parts. It was one of three garages on the property, the other two being much larger, which were between the shed, toward the north, and the orange-brown house, with medium-blue trim, toward the south, which had been a mobile home, though, some 40 years ago, with it's 20-year-old, large edition, attached to it's south side. She thought of the date -- Friday, October 18, 2012 -- and then, she guessed that was about 1:30 PM. The sky had remained quite cloudy, medium-gray and white, after the night's snowfall. It momentarily flashed through her mind that her dad had been gone two years, dying of one of plagues the alien ships had brought, which had arrived a year before he'd died. She had been left alone to care for the property, and all her needs, at age 31, and it was rather too much hard work -- chopping wood and all that. Solar panels had been attached to the addition on the south side of the house, but that solar generator could only be run, most of the time, for basic lighting and water, and occasionally, for the stove, and the clothes-drier. She had been glad, indeed, that her father, a former repair man, who had been 69 when he died, had added a black-metal, wood-burning furnace -- big, hulking, dangerous, rectangular piece that it was -- almost a year before he had died, when the aliens had first come, and had bombed some of the large cities and simultaneously killed the power for hundreds of miles around those cities. She lived 10 miles from the nearest, small city, and 200 miles from the closest, large city. She stood outside, in the cold, extremely lonely and alone, as she had been all her life; and at 33-years-old, however, she felt much more brave, strong, and confident, than ever before. And she loved to feel strong, and productive. She felt quite daring, also, despite her usually extremely cautious leanings, especially around humans. Though, her stubbornness had, sometimes, served her rather well. Plus, living through all the misery she had endured in her life, made her much stronger than most. She entered the shed and stood there, barely within it's walls with the cracks in between old, thin boards, and closed the rickety, side door, behind her quietly -- almost as silently as a mouse tip-toeing across the top crust of the often-deep, Wisconsin snow. She gazed at the glass and stainless-steel container the men had delivered, wondering for a few seconds if anything was alive within it. Not a sound emanated from within that chamber. A high-pitched, female voice, squeaked from behind her, "Is that what I think it is? Are you going to open it, Kate? Oh, don't! I wouldn't!" Momentarily startled, Kate spun around to look at the girl-child, with her long, pale-blonde, straight hair, that waved around her face in the light wind, and was the child's most prominent feature. Kate answered, a little shocked, and then, protectively, "Samantha, jeez -- don't do that! And yes, it is. Now, go back inside the house, and stay there. You understand?" Samantha begged, in an almost heart-breaking voice, "Don't let it out." Kate joked, incredulously, in her characteristic humor, "Well, we can't leave it in the box!" The girl, who ordinarily possessed a great sense of justice, and who would be 12-years-old the next, March 5th, hesitated; and Kate commanded, firmly, "Go!" And Kate added, when Samantha had almost closed the door behind her, "And stay calm. Remember? Like I told you. Everything's all right. Just stay there 'til I come back in." Samantha nodded her lively head that she had stuck around the corner to listen, and then, finally, closed the door, leaving Kate alone with the box. Kate mused to her self, her cunning intellect filling her mind, somewhat darkly, making her brave, and nearly seductive, "Well, let's see what we got." She was not afraid, she told her self, inwardly. And that was true, though, she had a secret reason, as well, for not feeling fear at that time -- something about how she healed quickly. And anyway, she did not feel fear, then, only nervousness. She stepped up to the box, and though she was five-feet, six inches tall, she postulated that the container stood at least two feet taller than her head, and about two feet wider than her body (which was a somewhat heavy body for a woman to have, though, she was well-muscled -- but not overly done -- and not overweight). She read some small words on the box, and pressed about a dozen buttons, scattered all over the front of it. The mechanized, glass sides, slid down, and to the back, and the steel "cage" that remained, opened outwards, as if the skeleton of a museum tyrannosaurus-rex-dinosaur somehow came to life and spread it's ribcage apart. She gasped, and took a step backwards. An old smell -- sweat, and something more -- released into the cool air. Inside the container, what she saw was a creature -- that was the first word she'd call it -- with a steel bit in it's mouth, strung by two, thick, metal cables, around it's head, and attached to the cage, or holding chamber. She knew what the creature was, of course, instantly, and she had known all along, really, though, she was quite unfamiliar with it's smells. And yes, it smelled badly. It raised it's head, slowly, like a psycho-killer acknowledging some wannabe-hot-shot psychiatrist who's come to question him, and angled it towards her direction. The large bulge in the front-middle of it's black, well-fitting pants, like sweat-suit pants, with a dark-gray strip down their sides, told her that it was a male. He wore large running shoes that were black and white, somewhat striped, with bright yellow underneath the tongue, and a rather impressive, mens', black, tank-top shirt. She felt, immediately, that he must be cold. His arms were stretched out to his sides, as if someone had tried to crucify him, and were held with heavy, steel chains, and with incredibly-tough, black-leather bands, as was his torso, and his legs -- all, in several places. The most creepy thing, she felt, next to the bit, like a horse-bit, in his mouth, had to be the blindfold of black cloth, tied well around his completely-shaven head. His arms and chest, and his whole body, were extremely well-muscled, like a body-builder, but not overdone, with not too many veins raised above the normal skin surface, except for the upper parts of his biceps; he was well-toned all over, though, as someone who had done a great deal of hard work. Kate reached forward and quickly ripped some stapled, paper forms off of the side of the container; and read that he was 35-years-old, six-feet-two-inches tall, born July 18, 1977, and had lived for seven years in a maximum-security prison, called Slam City, on another planet -- a prison planet. He had escaped from the cargo ship, Hunter-Gratzner, after it had crashed on a mostly dead planet that had three suns (two yellow suns and one blue sun, with a large, ringed planet near to it, that had been visible in the sky), and after the extreme ordeal that he and several others had survived on that alien-predator-infested planet, and had escaped it through a disposable type of space-ship, called a skiff (the creatures he, and only two others, had escaped, were called raptors), he had been caught on a trading planet by some no-good bounty-hunters who had turned him in for the reward money. So, he was a murderer, and an escaped convict. But instead of sending him back to Slam, they had sold him to slave-traders. Slavery was something that hadn't been seen in most places on Kate's planet, Earth, in at least 170 years, but the aliens (though, they were actually human, simply more advanced in technology, but were called aliens by the earthlings because they were from other planets). Kate had sent for, and bought (in advance, at an extremely hefty price), a healthy slave -- maybe a more docile one than the one she had received, however -- but she needed help on the 49 acres of land she owned. She didn't plan on treating anyone like a slave -- she mainly needed a gardener, she chose to believe. And she wasn't entirely new to it -- buying slaves. Samantha was actually a slave that Kate had bought a few months after Kate's father had died; but Kate had bought her to be like a daughter, and a help-mate, not a slave. Though, Samantha was nothing like the man in front of her. Thoughts raced through her mind -- not the least of which being that she should send him back. However, she couldn't stop staring at his chest and arm muscles, displayed gloriously and complemented by the black tank-top he wore. She skimmed reading his name on the papers: "Riddick." Then, she zoned out, gazing at him, slipping into something, perhaps deeper than lust. It almost surprised her that her loins suddenly ached, and little zings of pleasure rushed through that area. She shook her head somewhat and stopped that line of thought, after a few seconds of daydreaming. What was she thinking of, she thought? Yet, no, she knew exactly what she was thinking of -- that she was a 33-year-old virgin, who'd still never even been kissed, on the lips, and had nothing for male company except a large, jelly-type vibrator she'd mated with for 11 years -- she was fucking frustrated, that's what she was! Well, she had always been very shy, and the aliens had come into the way of any potential dating, not that she'd had any other date since her one and only pathetic date at age 20. She was eccentric, she reasoned -- just too weird -- always had been. She sighed lightly. Riddick could smell the woman. He could smell her well before she had entered that building, which he guessed was a shed by the musty, mildewed, earthy smells, and the scents of old grease and metal, and wood; and those cock-suckers had left him there. Seeming years of solitary confinement in pitch-darkness had allowed his senses of smell and hearing to develop well beyond normal. That's when the Primal kicks in, in a man. He inhaled deeply, catching her scent thickly through his well-developed, slightly above average-size, nose. They were fresh scents -- clean scents, coconut shampoo, melon-like scent of hand-soap, and he could also smell that she had about finished her period -- light scent of waning blood, and musk-like odors of a woman's other fluids. He thought -- wonderful scent -- that; and he would like to draw her closer. Fuck, he hadn't had a woman in over seven years. He would wait and see. He had tons of patience. If she was in charge over him, well, he'd just wait his chance... though, to escape, if nothing else. But he was angry. He had escaped that fucking predator planet, and Carolyn had died for him -- stepping in the way to help him along, risking her life, when one of the raptors swooped in, and stabbed her with it's talons, instead of him, while she was still in his arms. She had been trying to help him back to the ship, after he'd received a bloody gash in his leg from one of the vicious creatures that resembled huge bats. It had ripped her away into the darkness, winging her off into the night. The night would have lasted for months because of the unique planetary eclipse that had happened, and they'd had to try and escape the planet, lest they'd starve to death, or more likely, be eaten by the creatures that were only harmed by light, or his shiv [a shiv is any curving piece of metal, used as a knife]. Yeah, he'd killed some of the fuckers before he'd left the planet -- but only he, the girl, Jack, and the holy-man, Imam, had survived, and escaped to tell about it -- not that Riddick had gone telling anyone; he was still an escaped convict, afterall. Carolyn had sacrificed her self for him, in one way or another, and he remembered it in his mind -- his gasping the words, in agony: "Not for me! Not... for... me!" He couldn't have the sacrifice of her life be for him -- but it had been. It had taken death to change him -- but he had left the planet changed. He had said the old Riddick was gone. But now, these fuckers imprisoning him, again... Well, he knew how to survive. He had been thrown in a trash bin behind a liquor store right after he'd been born, with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck -- his own mother had thrown him out with the garbage, and had tried to strangle him, first. And his life had not grown much better, since. He remembered telling Imam, the holy-man on his way to New Mecca, back on the raptor planet, after the fool had tried to pray with him when the others had thought they'd all die, about how he, Riddick, absolutely believed in God -- and how he absolutely hated the Fucker. Riddick had said, you couldn't go through all of his life, and not believe in God -- and not hate God. But that wasn't really true. Riddick was an atheist, actually, but, if there was a God -- be sure, he hated Him. Anyway, now here was this obviously-civilian woman, thinking she could handle him. Yes, he had heard that -- her comments. But he sensed she wasn't sure. He had heard her pause; heard her breathing quicken, slightly; and somehow had felt her stare. It both pissed him off, and made him laugh inside. Though, he had also been informed, roughly, by the slave-traders, of the energy shield around the property to which he'd be going (though, he was told nothing about the occupants of that property; he had assumed it was a work-farm, but maybe he had been wrong), and of the implant (which had been aligned to the bio-structure of his new owner) he had received -- after they had knocked him unconscious with metal pipes in order to surgically place it in his neck -- and so, he knew it'd still be tricky to escape, even with a woman in charge of him. But he always had escaped -- and from much, much more threatening situations than that. Hell, his current situation was, so far, somewhat laughable. She approached him, slowly leaning-in closer. Normally, he'd wait, and then, jump forward, the little movement the chains and belts allowed him, to scare the shit out of whoever might dare come close. However, he decided to wait and see what she did. He only listened intently. He could always use more information. Kate felt a little trepidation -- her shyness around men -- but not fear, really. She felt intimidated by him, overwhelmed. She began to feel sorry for her self, remembering a couple of the times she'd been afraid of people, or rather, men. Then, she commanded her self, No!, not this fucking time! She'd be brave. At least, she'd use her impulsiveness to proceed, or else, try to feel nothing -- just stay calm, like she'd tried to teach Samantha. She drew close and touched his clean-shaven cheek, her hand feeling cold on his bare skin. Riddick sat perfectly motionless. She smelled him, slightly below his chin, inhaling deeply. He had the old scent -- well, he stunk, basically -- because his clothes, and him, too, she calculated, hadn't been washed or changed in a very LONG time (but when had he shaved, she wondered?). She wondered how he'd went to the bathroom, but not smelling shit or urine, she figured they'd allowed him the little "luxury" of eliminating his wastes into something. Imagine, thinking of that as a luxury, she thought. He could smell her quite well, then. He knew what she wore, already, and that she wore no underwear -- the female scent lightly moistening the cloth at her crotch, was what he smelled most strongly -- and how that aroma smells when it has impregnated cotton cloth, especially directly pressed against the tender, fragrant skin of a woman's nether-area. He felt momentarily desperate (which was not a feeling he to which he was accustomed, in any realm), and realizing that, he thought, Oh, he'd been away from women too long -- much too long. However, he had to remain focused; and he was certainly never vulnerable. Nothing made him afraid -- it was his nature, by long before that time -- a complete part of him, and of his mind, as much as his own breathing was a part of his body. Riddick's Concubine "Well," Kate said, hesitantly, "I'm Kate. You know, I just needed some help around here. So, anyway..." She reached toward his head, and pulled the blindfold off the top. So, he had light brown eyes that stared at her. She removed the bit cautiously, and tossed it aside. She continued, "Tell you what -- I'll let you go, from your bindings, and you don't harm me, or restrain me, all right? I don't see any reason for us to be uncivil, OK?" Riddick cocked his lightly-oval-shaped head, smiled slightly, and said, in a basically friendly and matter-of-fact manner, with his exceptionally deep, slightly rough, voice, "OK." Kate pressed a couple buttons which released all the straps, cords, and chains from around him, mechanically, and he jumped to his feet in one, swift movement, somewhat startling her. She took two, awkward steps backward. His large, muscled form seemed somewhat towering over her at the time. Slightly bold, she spoke to him, "So, if you want to come in the house..." Riddick replied, in the same manner as he had, "After you." Kate turned around and strode across the muddy, snowy yard, trying to avoid the mud, while Riddick plowed right through it, and into the attached, small porch, and then, into the house, with Riddick behind her. She worried that he wouldn't wipe his shoes on the doormat before entering, but she didn't turn around to see if he did, and she wasn't quite brave enough to ask him to do that. The house was about 65 feet long, and 12 feet wide, with the length of it running east and west. They walked into the kitchen, which had the living room attached to it, at the west end of the house, with no wall between. Off of that was an open doorway (that had no door) which led immediately into the large, south-side, one-room edition. Samantha stood by the stove. She simply stared at the large, tanned, though, Caucasian, man, who had entered. Kate ordered her, "Make him some food." And she gestured towards Samantha, for Riddick, and said, "That's Samantha; she's 12... I'm 33." Riddick said nothing, and Kate felt uncomfortable and rather tense. Then, he questioned, "You two here alone?" Kate smoothed back her hair behind her ears, and nervously answered, not looking directly at Riddick, "Well, I don't have a husband, if that's what you mean." She turned her body somewhat away from facing him. Kate nervously stated, "Well, you probably want a shower. It's down the hallway. I put some clothes in there -- they're new -- still in plastic, um, if you want to put yours in the basket, in there, and I can wash them right away. Shoes, too, if you want. I guess." She executed a little, breathy laugh, completely from tenseness, and made sure to smile enough, if mostly forced, to keep Riddick pleasant, she thought. Samantha commented, bluntly, "Your name sounds like a frog -- Rid-dick, Rid-dick -- you know." Kate began to laugh, and then, forced her self to stop, thinking it might be offensive to Riddick. His mainly unreadable facial expression of calmness and slight amusement, didn't change, however, and he felt nothing about what the kid had said. Kate suggested to Riddick, "Well, perhaps you'd like to shower, then. I put out a new bar of soap for you." Riddick replied, nonchalantly, "Why not?" and he strode calmly down the long, narrow hallway, with it's dark-wood paneling walls (Kate despised the paneling, but it covered nearly all the walls in the house). Kate commented sarcastically to Samantha, "Great, kid. Make fun of his name. Real smart." Samantha shrugged and turned back to the goldenrod-yellow stove to finish frying the bacon and eggs. The toast popped up in the toaster, and Kate grabbed the two pieces unto a white paper-plate, and took a light-blue, plastic spatula, distributing the bacon and two eggs evenly onto the toast. She set the plate on the oval, dark-wood table, which stood toward the north wall, opposite the stove and light-cream-tan-colored refrigerator, and placed the plate at a place in front of a dark, oaken chair toward the table's west side. She also poured a tall glass of orange juice, mixed with purple-grape juice, for him. In 15 minutes, Riddick reappeared wearing black pants that hung really too loosely on him, and a fresh, dark-blue, mens', tank-top shirt. His muscles showed well-defined, and the light to medium amount of dark hair on his chest was still clinging to his skin, streaked downward from running a towel over all of it quickly -- which Kate could see because of the large, round, open sweep of his shirt-neck. Kate spoke, mostly as if he was simply a normal person, "We keep meaning to get a whirlpool out here -- I love those things -- but you know, we have to get the money, first... and that. You didn't have to rush or anything." No reply from Riddick. Kate continued, gesturing subtly toward the food, "Well, there's some food for you. We don't have much, you see. That's why I'd really need to plant more of a garden, or something, like next year." He sat down, and began to eat heartily. Kate said, frankly, "Look, I read your papers. If you have somewhere you really wanna get, I mean, we couldn't stop you anyway -- but I'm not gonna stand in your way. So, if we could just talk civilly." Riddick answered, bluntly and succinctly as ever, "I don't have anywhere I need to be." Kate questioned, "So, you think you'd wanna stay on awhile?" Riddick stretched out his legs under the table, as if he owned the place, and responded, "Sure. Why not?" Part of a song she had heard years earlier ran through Kate's mind at that moment: "Just like the curse, just like the stray -- you feed it once -- and now it stays." Kate felt uneasy. She spoke, "Well, we have 49, mostly-wooded acres here. Um, you know, I'm sure it's better than Slam. Anyway, how long about, you think you'd stay?" Riddick thought, pausing a couple seconds, and replied, "Through the winter, maybe." Kate stated, seriously, "You know, if they catch you escaped, they might kill you -- or just beat you, and bring you back. Or just send you to a work-farm. Besides that, there's this energy shield around the property, you know, around the whole thing, and you can't get out. I can't even turn it off. So don't blame me. And, the only way you can leave is if you stay within 200 feet of me, since you're now registered to me. You know, I don't want any slaves, just help. I don't even like the word; so, we don't have to use it." Riddick continued to exercise his hard-won, tight control on his speaking, and reactions, and his ability to lie in wait, and stay patient. Actually, he would have yawned, at that point. He cocked his head and responded, "Fair enough." Kate continued talking, which was her usual response when nervous, "So, you know, we couldn't stop you. I'm sure you know that. I mean, it's pretty obvious. And I'm an intelligent person -- I'm a writer, actually -- and certainly YOU ARE -- of course, intelligent -- very much... So -- you KNOW?" Riddick smiled, still looking at her in that relaxed manner, and made a noise as an agreement, "Hmmm." Kate replied, "Great, so -- there's a bed down at the end of the hall; it used to be my dad's room -- by the way -- he's dead. Anyway -- " Samantha cut in, "Hey, that's my room!" Kate sighed quickly, and said, "So, what." Samantha protested, "You can't give him my room!" Kate rolled her head side-to-side a little, in an exaggerated way, slightly frustrated, and tried to avoid eye-contact with the girl. Riddick questioned Kate, with his deep voice, "Now, where do you sleep?" Basically confused, Kate retorted, "Me? Right there," and she pointed east toward the room next to the kitchen. She continued, suspicious, "Why?" Riddick replied, pleasantly, "Just wondered who has the better bed." Kate asked, and stated, shortly, and extremely defensively, "What? No. This will go fine. You can go in her room, and she can sleep on the friggin' couch." She pointed the index finger of her right hand at Samantha, and commanded, firmly, "And no complaints, and no "buts"." Samantha shrugged, and shut up, but looked like she'd started pouting silently. Kate explained more to Riddick, "Samantha's actually a slave I got," and she added, to try and make it sound better, her voice slightly more upbeat, "but just to help me." Riddick commented, "None of my business." Kate spoke, "Oh," and reached out her, rather large hand (for a woman) to shake his, "I'm Kate. Kate West." Riddick shook her hand fully, as appearing towards a friendly affirmation, replying, "Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict. Murderer." Kate said, in a whisper, through somewhat clenched teeth, "How nice." By that time, the large, blue-green, digital numbers of a clock on a microwave-type appliance read: "3:33 P.M." Kate thought, God, is that all the fucking time that has passed? Riddick informed, "I left my clothes in the basket." Absently, Kate gestured to Samantha, as she said, "Oh, yeah. Samantha, would you go see to their washing, then? And, um, get these dishes done." Samantha rolled her eyes, and went down the hallway. Kate stated, as a side-note to Riddick, somewhat defensively, "WHAT? I've done enough fucking work in my life... especially the last few years." Of course, though, Riddick didn't care what she said to the kid. Kate continued, in further explanation of her somewhat dark moods, "I had a sad childhood." Riddick didn't much care about that, either. But then, he thought, darkly, intrigued, mulling it over slightly in his mind, and thinking the words slowly, "How interesting," because he knew someone with a bad childhood won't usually be too moral. And years of learning how to stay alive, and take advantages, in the worst places and situations in the universe, had given him quite a deep knowledge of human behavior -- something one greatly needs, to survive. Plus, he thought, why not allow her free-will, if it helped him, and made things far easier, and even bend her free-will to his will, clandestinely, which was a further testament to his supreme intellect. Beyond that, he wondered if her father had even given a fuck about her, and how she might just like a male to give her some structure. Of course, he wouldn't become too indepth with her -- he had little interest in anyone, most of the time -- and that, with much indifference. But, he'd seen it before -- a woman just starved for ANY sort of male attention. And, he'd seen her admiring him (slight glances, in the house) -- and FELT IT when she'd looked him over -- more than he'd felt the soft and large press of her left breast brush against his shoulder when she'd removed the blindfold (no bra, he remembered); she had studied him rather hungrily, he thought, when he was tied down to the damn transporting device. He thought, too, life was just one big mind-fuck, anyway, right? Kate walked into her bedroom, and around the bed, which, the head-board of it was against the south wall (and the north wall Kate had painted white, but the rest was paneling); white curtains (actually, sheets) hung from steel bars on the ceiling around her full-size bed, on three sides of it, with a TV toward the east side of the room. She sat on her bed, on the eastern side of it without curtains, facing the TV. She began watching the 13-year-old, "South Park" movie, again. Riddick sauntered in the room, and sat down on that side of the bed, as if to stay there for years. Kate protested, "Well, where do you think I'm gonna sleep tonight?!" He sat up, and replied, smiling in his usual way, "There's room for two." Suddenly, and from the lack of sex, Kate felt extremely horny. She thought about his light-caramel skin, great muscles, and his big, full, luscious lips, that made her think of nothing except licking them. Her mind wandered to his strong torso and hips, and well, to his loins, gasping slightly with the physical sensations her mental vision caused her, though, perhaps, she thought, no one sitting next to her had noticed. Fifty years of feminism, and most any woman would trade it all to have merely one encounter of animalistic sex with Riddick -- God, to be dominated by that man. Mmmm. If any heterosexual (or bisexual) woman should ever find themselves on top of, or under, Riddick, they should be damn grateful. He was Kate's god. Not the disappointing, invisible God, or gods, that never answer anything (nor, perhaps, can answer, Kate thought), but real, in-the-yummy-flesh, physical being, who could hug her, and whom she could serve. Kate thought, let me be your slave. Whip me and stick me in a little concrete cell somewhere, just let me touch those muscles each day; or let me sleep next to your bed on the floor -- I'm really not worthy to share your bed. I'd be happy to just be that close. It'd be the fulfillment of all my earthly desires... mmmm... almost. Suddenly, Kate crawled on top of him while he, yet, sat there, wrapped her legs around his thick torso, and kissed him on the lips. Riddick was somewhat surprised, but that quickly melted into feeling pleased. She kissed him softly, but fully, her hands rising to stroke his shaved head (a sign of virility on him -- you better believe it! [though, it'd be ugly on a woman]; but that's a secret that shouldn't be told to men: women like a man with a shaved head, especially if he's giving oral sex, because they imagine it as a huge penis, rubbing against their cunt lips -- you know, just head-butt my labia... awwwww, goddddd). She licked his full lips, feeling her lips nearly vibrate with pleasure as she did. She also caressed his muscled neck. He embraced her kiss with his mouth, plunging his tongue deeply inside of her mouth, and moving it to lick her tongue. He pulled her closer, and she slightly tried to pull back, simply testing his grip on her body, and she found she couldn't move. She thought, sarcastically, aw, jee, that's just too bad; I can't get away from him; poor me. And she smiled to her self. Riddick suddenly spun her around, and both their bodies, actually, and held her in his strong, large hands, somewhat at an incline towards the mattress (their heads, then, had come to point south, towards the two, soft, light-blue bed-pillows). Kate moaned, feeling his hands on her back. Riddick said, in that deep, sensual voice, as she slowly obeyed him, "Just lay down towards the bed. That's a girl. That's right." She appreciatively complied. He told her, "Take it off," and she quickly moved to remove her shirt, leaving her half-naked and pleasantly vulnerable. The sheets felt smooth against her skin, and she wanted him to cover her completely with his body. He stripped off his shirt, pants, shoes, and -- that was all he ever wore. She had removed her socks and slippers when she had entered the bedroom. (She quickly grabbed the remote-control and clicked the TV off, and placed the remote back on the green, metal TV-tray by the bed.) However, then, Riddick forcefully pulled her two skirts (she wore two because of the cold weather) off her body, raising her hips and legs to remove them. He lay down next to her, his left arm and part of his manly chest over her breasts. He used his full mouth to firmly kiss her for a few minutes, forcing her head to tilt upward slightly with the pressure of his mouth. She had begun moaning and whimpering, aching to have his phallus inside her. He sucked on her neck, causing her more pleasure, and he moved to suck on her breasts and pink nipples, his wet mouth slippery and enticing on her skin. He trailed kisses down her firm, young stomach, and by the time he reach her pubic area, her entire body arched against him in reflex. She moaned loader. He didn't move immediately to lick inside her nether-lips, but sucked and lightly bit on her labia, one side at a time. She could have nearly convulsed. Then, he moved his tongue and lips to caress around her inside "triangle," as it were, licking and circling her clitoris, and finally, he plunged his tongue as deep as it would go inside her vagina, moving it around hard, inside her. She started nearly screaming, then. But he moved his mouth away, lightly tasting her juices on his lips, and licking them. Her private-parts were extremely wet and slippery, and dripping already. That had been true since the first couple minutes he'd kissed her. He moved up to suck on her mouth, enclosing hers with his. She didn't have any choice but to accept that. She told him, "I want to see it," and he kneeled for a few seconds, allowing her to briefly see his large, hard, erect, male organ, and fantasize a little more. He braced him self on the bed, with his hands, then, and he moved one large leg in between her thighs, pushing them apart. Then, he moved both of them between her quivering thighs, and lay with some of his weight on her, his chest completely against her large, white, succulent breasts; she resembled a Victorian goddess. She raised her legs to wrap around his hard body, more-than-willing to spread her thighs apart further, to receive him. He occasionally moaned with his deep vocal sounds, causing her greater-yet, heights of sexual passion. He moved the head of his cock inside her, and great waves of pleasure spread through her entire body, as she arched it, and moaned extremely loudly, over and over. He, then, moved his phallus inside her fully, as far as it would go, producing the same sensations in her. He throbbed and ached for her, and began thrusting inside her quickly. She moaned, "Fuck me, please!" again, and again, and strained to exclaim the name, "Riddick!" a couple times. He felt her inner muscles tighten toward orgasm, and he could hardly contain his sexual fluids in his body any longer. She screamed and screamed, louder than she had ever screamed (to which she wasn't accustomed), as she orgasmed, the tight, burning, aching feelings coming to a crescendo, and she hardly noticed his orgasm, as he plunged into her deeply, obtaining a good grip on her body, pulling her onto his manhood completely, and filled her with his orgasm-fluid, a long and loud groan escaping his throat. He pulled out of her hot crevice, and fell over, to her right side, and then, they were both completely belly-up, collapsed on the bed. It took several minutes before she could speak, and still shaking, she breathed, "I can't move. I can't even move my arms." Riddick smiled to him self -- he had heard that before -- but he didn't move, either. Kate said, completely sincerely, "That was wonderful!," and then, she asked him, feeling vulnerable, "Did you enjoy it?" He responded one deep word, "Yes." She had wanted him to describe that more, but she didn't question that further. She tentatively told him, "You know, that's my first time. I mean, I don't have a hymen 'cause I broke it my self. I have a vibrator." Riddick cocked his head at that statement. He had definitely known she was inexperienced, but a virgin? Well, he felt rather special, and slightly appreciative. Kate continued, able to move enough, then, to lay against his arm and chest, and kissed him on the mouth a couple times, "So, you see, I'm clean for you." Riddick contemplated that, and kissed her on her forehead, as she bowed it to him, then, he returned kisses on her lips. Seriously, Kate asked, "You think you'd like to stay here a while? What have you got to move on, for? This has to be better than some god-awful prison. Why don't you stay awhile? You might like the peace and quiet. Sure, it's lonely and boring for me; but I would think you'd want it...?" Riddick told her, calmly, "Yes, I'll stay a while." Kate felt a little afraid to question further -- she was rather afraid of men, in general, except that Riddick was a man she could actually respect, and therefore, she probed further, "For long, you think?" Riddick's Concubine Riddick replied, absently, "Through the winter... at least." Kate smiled a little, but only commented, "Oh." That was the same answer he'd given her before. Riddick thought of something, then, and asked Kate, "You have anything to avoid pregnancy?" He didn't really care, though, as he wouldn't generally plan to hang around and raise a kid. He thought, come on, what good would he be for a kid, anyway? Kate commented, defensively, and slightly sarcastic, though, also somewhat amused, "Um, no." Riddick told her, straightforwardly, "You do realize I'm not the guy to raise a kid." Kate said, hopefully, "Maybe it would grow on you." Riddick replied, seriously, though, without much feeling, "Look, don't go expecting anything. Whether or not you have a kid, or don't -- it's none of my business, really." Kate held hope, though, that he would change his mind -- at least about staying longer. He wasn't truly a bad guy -- she knew that. He needed love, and understanding, she thought. People had never been nice to him, or not much of which she knew, anyway. He clearly wasn't a total bad-ass, and she felt he had some compassion, and wanted to redeem him self. Kate spoke to him, "I've had a hard life too -- really lonely. And I know you've had worse, but we're a lot alike, you see. And I think you have the same quality as me -- incorruptibility." Riddick raised his eyebrows. Kate continued, "I mean, you've been through even more shit than me, but you still don't go around killing ABSOLUTELY everyone, and hurting people who generally don't hurt you, and stuff. You're like me -- I've had it rough, but I still have compassion." Truth was, Riddick had become a little more amiable since Carolyn had sacrificed her life for him. However, he was a long way from totally rejoined to the majority of the human race, and a long way from being a "daddy." Riddick simply smiled at her. In some form, he appreciated her sentiment towards him, and her faith -- it was almost heart-warming. But he still planned on leaving. He thought, let her think what she wants. He'd slip away, some day next spring, if she was pregnant or not -- though, he wondered if she couldn't buy condoms -- but he wasn't going to stay. And he wasn't going to say some long "goodbye," either. He somewhat liked her, and maybe, she belonged here -- it was far safer than being with him. He could, also, use the rest, and the peace and quiet -- damn straight. But whether or not she was a restless soul -- she wasn't totally like him, and he knew she wasn't brave enough to go out in space with him. But, he hadn't really considered that, anyhow. He wouldn't ever take her along, he thought. So, it was best -- he'd just slip on out. He had months to stay there, though, to find a way to overcome the energy shield. And if he could spend those months with sex all the time, and women to cook for him, well, he'd been really lucky. And it also gave him the opportunity to "lay low for a while" from anyone who'd ever had a grudge with him, and had wanted to come after him on account of it. They'd never find him there, or even on that planet -- it's native people hadn't even been capable of space-travel, except to their moon. No, he'd lay low. The more he thought about it -- the more he couldn't believe his luck. He felt contented (a feeling rare to him), for the time being. And if he could have this woman to keep him warm on the long, winter nights -- hell, what good fortune! The End (of Part One -- I'm not sure if I'll add any more parts.)