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He is a possession. Nothing more to me than that, although I admit that he is most prized. Beautiful, particularly when he is angry and that desultory, permanent scowl of his is transformed into a fierce glare while rage sparkles in his eyes. I hold him dearer to me than Zarbon, my chocolate-box pretty Zarbon, though I trust him less, for he is like a tiger that I have leashed for a time. Eventually he will turn against his owner, and then I will have to break him, destroy that fierce spirit whose ardour is so attractive to me.

I will mourn that day, but I will keep him still. He is like a bronze statue come to life, still hot from the fire that forged his frame and still with the wildness that the blaze engenders. But once the inferno has died, he will still be a beautiful statue, and perhaps all the better for the breaking; bringing him to heel will be an… enjoyable experience. A pity that it can happen only once.

I am glad that I saved this Saiyajin, glad that I did not decide to destroy this epitome of their race. Such a waste it would have been, to discard so rare a being. I do not think he appreciates my sparing him from the fate of his people; it is such an open secret between we two, that he knows it was I who destroyed his planet and his race, and that I know he knows. He hates me for it, loathing glimmering deep within those onyx eyes of his, but he will continue to serve me, until I drive him completely into madness.

He teeters even now, walking so close to the precipice that sometimes I wonder how it is that no other notices but me. His practiced arrogance conceals much, it is true, but surely nothing so clear and obvious as this. Perhaps I see it because it was I who caused it, who created the maelstrom that obstructs his control and slowly wears away at his sanity. Or perhaps it is because I see him in a more… vulnerable time than any other. Each time he lies beneath me, his body open to my lust and his soul shivering in fear under my onslaught, I take delight in watching him fight. His courage is incredible; such a brave little monkey.

He will never hear such praise from my lips anywhere else but in my bed, giving himself up to my pleasure. He is my favourite pet, my most delicious toy, and he is still obedient to me, though I doubt my tiger’s leash will hold for long. Beautiful, almost mad Vegeta, when you turn on me I will take such delight in bringing you to the edge of death, over and over again. I anticipate a long, difficult time before you are ready to be trained to your new duties, but I am not unhappy about that; Zarbon never gave me the pleasure of breaking him, but you my arrogant statue, will provide me with days of enjoyment. I look forward to it.

Then again, perhaps I do not. In many ways I like you as you are; unwilling and rebellious. I like the way you give in only because I give you no choice, the way you push the limits and subtly fight me. I already have one cringing fawn, and though he too is delectable, still I crave some variety. How, I wonder, do I break you to my will and yet leave you with enough fire in you to resist me?

Besides I enjoy the image and reputation I have gained by having you fight for me – as my pretty little concubine you are less useful in a political sense. I could not send you to any reluctant vassal under the pretext of sending you on holiday for a while. And your ability to be completely unpredictable is most amusing, particularly when you fight. Perhaps that is the key to it? Break you to my will, but allow you to defy all others. And perhaps continue fighting? It is, after all, very much a part of you.

Ah, watching my Saiyajin fight is such an engrossing experience. His rage changes into aggressive splendour as he vents all his repressed emotions on his petty victims and he becomes the epitome of animal savagery. Watching him is rather like watching a waterfall, hypnotic. And his elegance in battle is quite like that of falling water – somehow he manages to continue to look delicate for all that he is dealing fatal blows to hordes of usually larger opponents.

The disparity has often amused me, that one so slight and ethereal is capable of defeating such hulking brutes. Relative to everyone else his build is truly tiny, much like mine, and yet he is the strongest Saiyajin ever born. In time he might grow to rival me in power, but I will not give him that time. Already I have set a limit as to how far I will allow him to grow and at the same time leave him with the freedom that he currently has. Should he pass that point before he rebels against me, then I will cage him as though he has started the anticipated mutiny. He is too dangerous to leave on such a long tether for too many years.

That tether is very much physical and very short at the moment. Barely long enough to leave him room to sit up on the bed had I not tied his hands to the head-board also. I do so like to bind him, watching as he strains not to break the bonds, fights for enough control to avoid snapping the handcuffs. It is a mesmerising sight, and I am lost for a moment in contemplation of the limp, sated body before me. He flinches as I kiss his glistening skin just above the livid bite I have imprinted on his flesh. It makes me chuckle, lifting my head just in time to catch the flash of murderous fury on his face before he conceals it expertly. Oh yes, my lovely Vegeta, I expect your mutiny any day now….