The Kindred Warrior's Captive Bride: A Kindred Tales PLUS Length Novel

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Breed her o’ course—no surgery needed,” Drung’s middle head declared in its low, grunting voice. “Got a set of stretchers, I do. Each one bigger than the last. Make her wear a bigger one every day until she can take my shaft in her tight little pussy.” He leered at the shivering girl. “Can’t wait to shove all the way in and spill my seed inside her. Give her a big belly—a belly full of my heir!”

  Need felt another surge of white-hot anger overtake him. Fucking Drung was three or four times the girl’s body mass—why she would barely come up to his waist! She looked like a child—a small child—shaking with fear at the Trollox’s crude threat to rape and impregnate her. The idea of that ugly son-of-a-whore shoving his monstrous shaft inside her was disgusting—obscene!

  Then sanity brought him back to himself. Why should he care what happened to the little female? Caring for females had brought him nothing but pain. It was better to ignore them altogether.

  But he couldn’t ignore the silent tears that rolled down the little female’s face as it began to look like Drung might win the bid.

  “Fifteen thousand once,” the slaver/auctioneer was calling. “Fifteen thousand twice. Will no one else bid on this delectable little female? She’d be equally welcome in your stewpot or your bed—either way you’re guaranteed a hot little dish.”

  He laughed heartily at his own joke, the artificial platinum teeth in the front of his mouth glinting among the blackened stumps of his natural teeth, which had rotted.

  “Buy her.”

  Need jerked in surprise and looked to his left and right and then behind him. Who was that? Who had spoken?

  Whoever it was, he couldn’t seem to find her—because the voice had definitely been female. But there were no females in this crowd—only jeering males looking to buy a girl to breed or eat.

  Need shrugged, his broad shoulders twitching nervously.

  Must have imagined it. Have to get out of here—this fucking scene is getting to me.

  He would go back to his ship, The Dark Star, he decided. He would check in with Captain Glo’ll, lay in the course for their next destination, and then take a nap—put all this foolishness out of his mind.

  “I will not tell you again—BUY HER, WARRIOR!”

  It was like a shout in his ear. This time Need flinched so hard he knocked into the Zitch’rell male standing beside him, humming softly to himself through his long, fluted, three-nostrilled nose.

  The Zitch’rell turned to him indignantly.

  “What’s your praaaahblem, friend?” he bleated, glaring at Need from his slotted eyes. “Why did you shuuuuv me?”

  “Didn’t you hear that?” Need demanded, frowning.

  “Hear whaaaaat?” the Zitch’rell demanded, shaking his shaggy head. “I heard nothing but that poor little female about to be sold to the Traaahllox.”

  He nodded at Drung, who had pushed his way to the front of the crowd and was standing at the foot of the stage, leering directly at the girl. Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks, though she had yet to sob aloud. Drung seemed to enjoy her fear—he was licking his tusks with a long, wet, gray tongue and grinning at her with all three heads.

  “That beast of a Traaahllox will rip her in two and never mind his ‘stretchers’ as he caaaahlls them,” the Zitch’rell remarked. “If I had the credits I’d buy her myself—she could teeehnd my flock of perbas and sheer their wool to eaaaarn her keep. But alaaaas…” He shook his shaggy head. “Fifteen thousand credits is too rich for my blood.”

  “Fifteen thousand once…fifteen thousand twice,” the slaver called. “Sold to the—”

  “Sixteen thousand credits!” someone shouted.

  It took Need a moment to realize that someone was him. Every eye in the place turned towards him—Drung’s included. His Trollox shipmate glared at him, the corners of his middle mouth turning down in an angry scowl.

  “Needrix you fucking arsehole,” he snarled, “You’d better not ruin this for me. I want this female, so I do! She’ll make a fine vessel to grow my heir in! Besides, I want to breed her.” His middle head leered at the shivering girl lustfully.

  But the auctioneer had caught Need’s words and sensed an opportunity.

  “Come up here if you would, Sir,” he called, beckoning to Need. “Have a look at the merchandise you’re bidding on.”

  “Ain’t no need for him to look,” Drung snarled. “Seventeen thousand!”

  “Seventeen thousand I’m bid for the luscious little female!” the slaver exclaimed. “Do I hear eighteen thousand?”

  “Eighteen thousand,” Need shouted recklessly as he pushed his way through the crowd. He didn’t know how he had started this but he was damned if he’d lose—damned if he let fucking disgusting Drung have the girl!

  “Nineteen thousand!” Drung snorted.

  “Twenty thousand,” Need replied without hesitation.

  He was standing at the base of the stage now, beside his massive shipmate. Drung was taller by at least two feet, despite the fact that Need was nearly seven feet in height himself. The other male was more massive too—even the smallest Trollox was built to the scale of a small building. But Need had never let the other male’s large size intimidate him before and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “Twenty thousand,” he repeated, trying not to notice the hopeful look on the girl’s face as she looked down at him. He didn’t give a damn what she thought—any more than he cared for Drung’s opinion. After all, he wasn’t buying her to fuck—he fully intended to set her free the minute he won the bidding.

  “Twenty thousand going once,” the slaver said. He looked at Drung. “Can you match it, fine Sir?”

  Drunk scowled with all three heads and grunted, “Twenty-one thousand.”

  “Twenty-five thousand,” Need countered recklessly. He didn’t know why it was so important to win the auction and buy the girl—he only knew it was.

  Sensing a bidding war, the slaver came close to the edge of the stage.

  “Gentlemen, I haven’t even told you the girl’s best feature yet,” he declared, pointing at the shivering female with a leer. “Little Lan’ara here has been infected with the Lust Bacterium!”

  “What?” Drung’s middle head frowned, his heavy brows knitting in apparent confusion.”

  “The Lust Bacterium,” the slaver repeated. “It’s a treatment the females at her finishing school are given when they’re nearing graduation and ready to go out and please the high-powered males who have bought them as mates. It guarantees you a virgin who acts like a whore!”

  Need didn’t know what the Lust Bacterium was or what it did and he didn’t care either. He just wanted the bidding to be over so he could set the little female free and forget about her—though the Gods knew even if he never saw her again he’d certainly remember the sizable hole she left in his credit account.

  “Don’t care about that—I just want to breed her.” Drung was practically slobbering with lustful greed. “Twenty-six thousand.”

  “Twenty-six—am I bid twenty-seven?” the slaver asked, looking hopefully at Need.

  Gods, this was getting ridiculous! The girl was going to clear out his entire account but Need couldn’t stop now.

  “Twenty-seven,” he growled, frowning. “And that’s twice what any female—no matter how fine her pedigree—would sell anywhere else.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” the slaver agreed, nodding briskly. He looked at Drung. “Do I hear twenty-eight?” he demanded.

  “Twenty-seven five,” the Trollox grunted, glaring balefully at Need. “Leave now if you know what’s good for you, Kindred,” he snarled. “I aim to have this little female, so I do. You’ll be sorry if you take her from me—I promise you that!”

  “Twenty-eight,” Need said to the slaver, ignoring his shipmate’s not-so-subtle threats.

  “Twenty-eight once,” the slaver exclaimed. “Come, Sir,” he added, looking at Drung. “Will you not counter? Or will you allow this prime specimen to be sold right ou
t from under you?”

  The small, piggy eyes of Drung’s middle head screwed up in anger.

  “For that much, I want a verification of her virginity—so I do!” he declared. “You could be lying about the female being untouched. I must have a clean vessel to grow my heir in, so I must.”

  “That’s easily done!” The slaver had been crouched at the front of the stage, talking to Drung and Need. Now he straightened up and snapped his long, dirty fingers. “Chund,” he shouted, nodding at a short, stubby Torg who was standing at the back of the stage, waiting to bring forward the next unfortunate slave to be bid on. “Bring the stick. We need verification of virtue over here.” He paused for a moment, frowning. “Better bring the lubricant too—she’ll be tight inside, since she’s unused.”

  “Yes, boss. Right away, boss!” The Torg nodded his head and began rummaging in a bag at his feet. Soon enough, he brought forth a long, thick, phallus shaped rod and a thick tube which he handed to the slaver, who took the items with a curt nod.

  “Now then gentlemen, if you’ll look here for a moment,” he said to Need and Drung. “I’ll show you how this device works. Have either of you ever been with a virgin before?”

  “Can’t say as I have,” Drung remarked. Need said nothing but only glared at the slaver. The girl the slaver had called Lan’ara was clearly fighting back more tears as she watched the demonstration.

  “Well, the stick here, as we call it, is a rod made of perisum—the bone at the center of a banthum’s cock,” the slaver said, gesturing with the phallus shaped instrument he held in his hand.

  It was around a foot long and three inches thick at least, Need saw, frowning. The shaft of it was yellowish-white—the color of old ivory—but it had a knobby bright red head that seemed to pulse with life.

  “The banthum is a creature from Churger Four which only mates once to impregnate an untried female,” the slaver went on when Drung frowned at him in obvious confusion. “The banthum can tell by the way its phallus reacts to a female if she’s ever been with another male—it will be attracted to a virgin and repulsed by a more, shall we say, experienced female.” He leered at Drung knowingly.

  “So…what then?” the Trollox asked, still frowning in confusion.

  “Well, though the stick has been separated from its host, it retains it’s affinity for virgin flesh,” the slaver explained patiently. “It will try to burrow its way into any untried pussy you put it near. Watch while I demonstrate.”

  The slaver motioned for his assistant again and then pointed to the quivering girl.

  “Get her down, Chung—knees spread wide to show her cunt,” he ordered. “We have to give the stick room to work,” he added, still speaking to Drung.

  “Is this really necessary?” Need asked sharply as the stubby Torg assistant forced the girl into a kneeling position on the stage right in front of him and Drung. He spread her knees wide and pulled her torn gown apart to show her bare breasts and the soft little mound of her pussy. “That damn stick thing you have is too big for her—you’ll hurt her!” he protested.

  Not to mention humiliating her, he couldn’t help thinking as silent tears roll down her flushed cheeks, while the damn assistant held her in place and kept her from covering her nakedness.

  “Not to worry about that—the stick will be adequately lubricated,” the slaver said briskly.

  As he spoke, he popped open the tube he was holding and poured a generous amount of slick blue gel onto the knobby red end of the stick. Feeling his stomach turn at the sight, Need saw the thing was already jumping in his hand so that he had to hold it firmly. It was straining towards the girl, aiming itself at her vulnerable, open pussy as though eager to invade her and claim its prize.

  “Seriously,” he told the slaver. “Forget about verification—I’ll buy her without it.”

  “Not me—I want to see, so I do!” Drung insisted stubbornly, glaring at him. “Besides, that stick thing he’s got is about the size of my smallest stretcher, so it is. It’ll give me a head start on being able to breed her once I buy her.”

  “I don’t think—” Need began but just then the stick got loose from the slaver’s hand and flew on its on volition to bury itself between the girl’s thighs.

  “Ahh!” The little female gave an anguished cry and stiffened as the knobby red head of the alien phallus began to press itself inside her. She writhed as it worked at her but the slaver’s assistant had a good grip on her upper arms. He held her in place, pulling her shoulders back so that her bare breasts thrust out and her thighs strained open. There was a bored look on his face—clearly he was used to such scenes.

  “There!” the slaver exclaimed triumphantly. “Did you see how the stick flew for her the moment it sensed an untried pussy was near? Look at it trying to get inside her! Why, if her virgin channel wasn’t so tight, it would already have buried itself to the root in her soft little cunt and started thrusting!” He grinned at Drung. “Which is exactly what you want to do, am I right, Sir?”

  “Indeed I fucking well do!” All three of the Trollox’s heads grinned lustfully as the small, piggy eyes watched the stick thrust deeper and deeper into the helpless girl’s pussy. “Fill her up with my shaft and seed, so I will! And I’ll do it again and again until her belly swells with my heir!”

  Need couldn’t stand any more of this. Though he had spent the last ten cycles ignoring and avoiding everything female, his heart twisted at the sight of the girl’s agony and shame as the obscene alien phallus twisted between her legs, trying to work its way inside her.

  She must have sensed his pity for her eyes found his—dark eyes with golden flecks, he saw—eyes filled with tears.

  “Please,” she whispered brokenly. “Oh, please make it stop! It hurts. Like…like it’s breaking something inside me!”

  Need saw red. Rage dropped over his vision and a protective fury burned through him.

  “That’s enough!” he roared. Leaning across the stage, he grabbed the bone-white end of the stick, which had nearly managed to get all of its thick, knobby head into the little female’s pussy, and pulled it free.

  The girl cried out and the assistant jerked her back roughly as she tried to escape. Meanwhile, the stick jerked and twitched in Need’s hand, also trying to free itself. He held it tightly, refusing to let it get back to its intended target. There was a smear of dark crimson blood on its throbbing crown.

  The slaver was on high alert at once.

  “Here now!” he exclaimed angrily, glaring at Need. “Give me that! Do you know how rare such instruments are? And how expensive?”

  “Forty thousand credits,” Need spat at him, still holding the struggling stick clenched tight in one fist. “I’ll pay it right here and now—the entire sum. But the girl is mine and you and your fucking instruments don’t touch her again.”

  The slaver’s eyes widened…then narrowed greedily.

  “Forty thousand, is it?” he asked and turned to Drung. “Do I hear forty-one?” he inquired.

  The Trollox glared balefully at Need.

  “No, Gods damn you,” the middle head grunted. “Forty thousand is too rich for my blood, so it is.”

  “Well then.” The slaver nodded. “Forty thousand it is then. Sold to the Kindred gentle-male with the tender heart.”

  Need was no gentle-male and he knew it, but he said not a word. The price he was paying for the little female was all his savings—every bit he’d earned and put by during his ten cycles as Navigator and First Mate of The Dark Star.

  But though the hole in his credit account was going to be substantial, all he could see were the tears standing in her dark, gold-flecked eyes and all he could hear were her soft words, begging him to make the damn stick stop hurting her.

  Speaking of the stick, he was still holding it, he saw with distaste. He lobbed the damn thing into the crowd, prompting the slaver to cry angrily and point for his assistant to fetch it.

  As he did, Drung gave Need one last baleful g
lare.

  “You’ll be sorry, Kindred—so you will,” he snarled. Then he turned and stumped heavily away into the crowd, pushing the spectators in his path aside as easily as a male pushing through bracken weeds.

  Two

  Lan’ara tried not to sob as she was finally released and allowed to cover herself. She tried to pull the torn gown closed around her body, but it had been tight to begin with and now she found it wouldn’t cover her full curves.

  She bowed her head and pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore the throbbing, burning pain she felt there. Her shoulders ached too, where that awful Torg had yanked them backwards. It almost felt like he’d been trying to pull her arms from their sockets! Every bit of her was in pain—not just her body but her skin and bones…her very soul felt bruised.

  Closing her eyes tightly, she wondered what would happen to her now. Would the male who had bought her be kind…or cruel? He seemed to have some compassion for her, for he’d torn the awful stick out of her and thrown it away where it couldn’t hurt her. But her recent experience with males had taught her that any one of them could turn cruel in a heartbeat—none of them were to be trusted.

  Lan’ara couldn’t help thinking that three days ago, she never would have believed such a thing as being kidnapped and sold on an auction block could happen to her.

  To be fair, though, she had always expected to be sold to the highest bidder. But not this way, never this way…

  The Twyleth Tigg Academy for Young Ladies of Beauty and Breeding had been Lan’ara’s home for the past four cycles. She’d been barely fifteen and picked for both her beauty and her genteel breeding, when she was chosen to go to the exclusive school where only the finest brides were trained.

  Lan’ara had hated leaving her family but it was the only way she could help. They had always been poor but when her father died in a fire at the silk mill where he had been supervisor, the money had dried up almost completely.