Issel sighs. “Did you have anything to do with the attack on Consul Forta?”
“No. Nothing.”
He nods. “I believe you, but without a nanite scan, I can’t know for sure. We would have to hold a trial, and then you would have to convince more than just me. You would risk incarceration. Is that a risk you really want to take?”
No, of course I don’t—but I keep my mouth shut.
“One nanite scan and you’ll be cleared, just like that,” Issel presses.
I understand why he wants me to reconsider—it would make his job a lot easier, for sure. He’s probably not too thrilled to have an assassination attempt occur on his watch. Good. Screw him. I didn’t do anything, and I’m not going to be intimidated into letting them infect my brain.
“No, thanks.”
“Fine,” says Issel. “I will make arrangements for the trial.”
“No need,” says Forta as he enters the holding area. “Ms. Grant is free to go.”
Issel looks back and forth as if reading something, then nods. “All right.”
The door to my cell opens and the Dominars step out of the way.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The shooter confessed,” Forta states. “He acted alone.”
“You mean my father.”
He nods. “Yes.”
“You believe him?”
“For your sake, he accepted the nanites.”
Shit. I would have never asked him to do that. It’s a relief to know I’m in the clear, but I’m still livid with Dad for doing all this in the first place.
“What’s going to happen to him?” I ask, trying to keep calm. It’s odd to be asking Dad’s would-be victim for such information, but Forta’s demonstrating an otherworldly calm.
“He’ll be sent to the prison planet Cetaski.”
Forta says it without mirth or condescension, but his words feel like a slap. I expected Dad to go to jail, but on another planet?
“I thought only the worst of the worst were sent there,” I say, trying not to flip out. “Violent dictators and terrorists.”
“Yes, when the Dominars first arrived we delayed using extra-planetary incarceration for common crimes. From now on, in my jurisdiction, murderers will be exiled to Cetaski. Supreme Consul Tamrys will not object.”
My eyes sting as tears threaten to drip. “How am I supposed to visit my father if he’s on another planet?”
Forta regards me carefully. I thought he was made of stone just seeing him on TV—in person, it’s even worse: his expression reveals nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. I see no pity in his purple eyes, or tension in his dark brows. His deep, gruff voice never rises, and his thick, full lips remain free of any obvious smile or frown. He’s frustratingly inscrutable.
While most of the Dominars posses long, sharp features that make me think of royalty, Forta must come from a different stock: his look is more earthy, with a shadowy stubble covering his strong chin. Cords of muscle bulge from his thick, athletic neck, and extra short hair covers his scalp closer than a coat of paint. Though it’s an attractive look, I can’t see him without recalling how much Dad and I have disliked him throughout the past few years.
Or, at least, how much I’ve told myself I don’t like him.
“How long will his sentence be?” I ask, trying not to feel dizzy.
“Life.”
“So I’ll never see him again? No, that’s... Please don’t do this.”
Forta glares, just for a moment. Is he angry at me? Does he not comprehend what this will do to me and my father, or does he not care? Maybe I’m an idiot for thinking Forta could put himself in my place, especially considering my dad tried to kill him. Do these aliens even have parents? Supposedly they’re all thousands of years old, but they must come from a family of some kind. I doubt they’re grown in a lab, and they’re not gods.
“I’ll do anything,” I add.
“You could join your father on Cetaski, if you like,” Forta suggests.
Wow.
That never would have occurred to me. Having to leave Earth would be devastating... but could I? What’s the furthest I would go to keep my family together? Is it what Dad would want? Does that even matter? He put me in this situation without asking—I’m entitled to make my own decision.
Living on a prison planet won’t be easy, but how could I be happy on Earth knowing my father is lightyears away, stranded on another world for life? I know the answer.
I open my mouth but can’t bring myself to speak for a second. My body shakes, and I have to curl my hands into fists to get control. I clear my throat, then say, “If that’s the only way, I’ll do it.”
“I wasn’t serious,” Forta replies. “You would really do that?”
I nod. “What choice is there?”
His lips rise for a second in the briefest smile I’ve ever seen. He looks me up and down, his eyes widening, and takes a step forward. “Something else.”
The way he’s examining me, I shouldn’t feel a surge of warmth between my legs—I don’t care how attractive he is. I’m not an idiot—I can tell what he’s after. He may be an ageless extraterrestrial being, but I guess he’s still a man.
“What would you want?” I ask, my voice hoarse. My heart pumps loud in my chest, and I have to stop myself from looking down at the bulge in his pants.
“Everything,” he replies, setting his hands on my shoulders. “For a year.”
“A week,” I shoot back, resisting on pure instinct. Except, I’m not resisting completely, am I? I’m negotiating.
He grunts a mild laugh. “A month. Be my pet for one month, and your father stays on Earth.”
Does Forta realize how ridiculous this sounds? He hasn’t said out loud what he expects of me, but I can guess. Is he asking me to do this because he wants me so badly he’d keep me for a year, or is his offer made out of spite? My dad would be apoplectic if he heard about this.
“He can never know,” I mumble, looking down at Forta’s massive hand on my arm.
“Fine. But I’ll warn you once, Ms. Grant: you will be expected to obey me. Whatever I demand, you will not argue, no matter how unpleasant.”
I can imagine he knows a thing or two about being unpleasant. His tone scares me, though it only intensifies the hot spasms in my core.
“Can I change my mind?” I ask.
“Yes, but the deal will be off.”
This is a bad idea. This is really bad!
But I have to.
I take a deep breath and look into the alien’s eyes. “It’s a deal.”
Chapter Three
As soon as I voice my acceptance, Forta opens a satchel on his belt, releasing a series of what looks like metal sheets. They fly through the air and curl around my wrists, ankles, and neck, then solidify and lock shut.
“What the hell?” I cry, pulling at one of the devices. I can’t find any kind of seam to break, and it’s sealed tightly around my skin.
Dominar tech.
Why am I surprised?
After a few moments of struggle, the devices yank my hands behind my back and raise my neck into a straight posture.
“Don’t fight the telerings,” says Forta. “Now march.”
I hesitate, adrenaline pouring through my body, urging me to run away now, but it’s too late. The rings around my ankles force me to step forward—left foot, then right, once, twice, and once more before I comply and begin walking on my own.
“Good,” Forta mutters, falling in step behind me. I can feel his eyes on my back.
Better get used to that, I suppose.
Walking through the jail with my hands bound, getting the attention of all the waiting prisoners and working Dominars, I realize I’m in very serious trouble.
* * *
Forta leads me to his shuttle—a small but sleek craft with a reflective chrome surface.
“I need to text my friend,” I say, taking a seat. “To let her know I’m okay.”
“Please, can I text my friend?” I mumble, straining against the telerings.
“Try again. Call me ‘Master.’”
It’s not a big deal. It’s just words.
“Please, Master. Can I text my friend?”
He nods, and the rings release their hold. I get out my phone from my back pocket and send Clara a message.
Hey, are you okay? Sorry for what happened. My dad is going to jail. I’m going to be fine, but I won’t be around for the next month. If you could stop by the house and take care of things, I’d be grateful. I’ll call you as soon as I can!
I hope she doesn’t ask too many questions about where I’m going to be or what I’ll be doing. As soon as I hit send, Forta takes the phone and stows it in a compartment.
“You can have that back in a month. Give me the rest of your things.”
Emptying my pockets, I turn over my house key and wallet. He takes one look at my Rick and Morty keychain, then stashes everything away.
I stare out the window of the ship as we rocket away from Ontego. Soon I see the lights of New York City, followed by a glowing pillar rising out of the harbor, the Spire. As one the Dominars’ major headquarters in North America, I’m not surprised when we descend gently onto one of its landing pads.
He takes me up an elevator seemingly made of crystal, then into his residence. Expecting a cavernous, cold, and Spartan home for such a stern, brutish man, I’m stunned to find his living space warm and teeming with decorative plants. I’m no botanist, but they don’t look familiar—huge white flower blossoms and blue vines that swirl in tight spirals; bulbous black orbs that seem to pulse when we walk past. They have to be alien plants. Are they poisonous to humans? Probably not, if Forta’s bringing me in here with them. For a moment I worry that their pervasive aroma fills my lungs, but it’s a pleasantly sweet, subtle scent.
Forta sits down on a black ottoman and gestures for me to step up to him.
“Take off your pants, pet.”
God. This is it.
I don’t know what worries me more: the fact he’s not undressing, or that this isn’t a bedroom.
“What are you going to do?”
“No questions,” he snaps. “Do as I say.”
I feel the grip on my wrists release, allowing me to lower my hands to my jeans’ zipper. Working it free, I pull down on the legs, revealing my white panties. Forta’s smirk sends a rush of blood to my face, a flood of burning embarrassment.
“Turn around.”
Obeying, I pivot, feeling myself blush even more. Even though I had planned to chill with Clara, I wore a thong tonight—a decision I now regret.
“Face me,” he says.
I do, figuring on seeing an even wider grin, but he’s barely smiling at all.
“Why did you wear that?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply.
He reaches around with his hand and smacks my bare cheek. I yelp more out of surprise than pain, though the sting is considerable.
“Try again.”
“I don’t know, Master,” I seethe, reaching to rub the spot he slapped. Heat radiates off the skin like nothing I’ve ever felt.
“Don’t do that,” he says, brushing my hand away, then swatting the spot again, bringing fresh pain. “Did you wear that thong because you thought someone would see it?”
“No. No, Master.”
Forta stares for a second, but lets my near-slip go. “Did you wear it because you wanted someone to see it?”
Did I? That’s a good question, I guess.
“Maybe I did, Master.”
“Good,” he says. “You learn quick, and you’re honest.”
“Thank you, Master,” I reply with a nod.
Then he smacks my ass again, this time stroking each cheek once. Fresh pain flares up, and I can’t help backing away from him. It’s not just that the spanking hurts; it’s utterly humiliating. “What are you doing? What was that for?”
Forta sighs, and then the telerings drag me back toward him. They pull my arms until I fall over the alien’s trunk-like legs, landing in his lap. His thighs are so ripped with muscles I can lie across them with room to spare; imagining the power he must have elicits a surge of need in my core. I try to slide off him and get away, a move that strokes my clit just enough to make me gasp, especially when the devices lock me in place. For good measure, Forta grabs my long, straight hair and pulls, forcing me to crane my neck.
My heart pulses in my chest. I’m like a matchstick in his grasp; he could snap me in half with ease. I should be scared or furious, but I’m quivering.
“Because I wanted to,” he whispers in my ear. “Get used to it, pet.”
Getting my ass smacked? How the hell am I supposed to do that? Forta delivers two more pairs of swats; each one feels hard enough to leave me sore for hours, making me buck and thrash in place. Panic short-circuits my brain—all I can think about is escaping, even though there’s no way I can. My throat goes dry, and my hands grasp uselessly at the air. Being totally helpless is something I’ve never experienced, and I don’t know how to process it.
“Why do you dislike us Dominars?” Forta asks, pausing from the spanking to caress my tormented backside.
Is he serious? I’m restrained, mortified, and in pain. What does he expect? Am I supposed to like it?
“I need to think about that one,” I mumble.
Forta grunts his laugh, then smacks my ass again, first from the left and then from the right. “Keep up the attitude, Melody. I’m enjoying this. Aren’t you?”
Screw you, asshole. I want to curse him out and kick him in the nuts, but I’m in no position to do so. Maybe I wouldn’t be so miserable if he wasn’t clearly having such a good time.
“Melody. Answer.”
“No, Master, I’m not,” I reply. My voice comes out fractured; even speaking causes enough movement to stoke the embers of my pain.
“And why don’t you like us? Before today.” His hand hovers close; I can practically feel it.
“You cost my father his job, okay? You shut down the factory where he worked his whole life. Where I was going to work someday.”
Realizing I forgot to address him as Master, I brace myself for another hard slap and flinch instinctively when Forta touches me, but it’s just a soft pat this time. He brushes my rising welts, tracing their contours with his rough fingers.
Why are they rough? Do super-advanced aliens do manual labor, or is that just the way his skin feels?
“Why not work at the new plant?” he asks. “There were enough jobs for everyone.”
Yeah, I wish I had a dollar for every time someone asked Dad that same question.
“He didn’t like losing his life’s work and told to do something else, Master,” I explain. “He didn’t want charity from the aliens. He wanted to choose his own path. Choice is important to us.”
Forta gives my ass another smack. “Do you think I chose to serve as a consul on Earth?”
“I don’t know, Master,” I reply. I’d never given the matter any thought.
“I didn’t. It’s my duty as a Dominar, and so I’m here. Your father’s duty is to provide for his child.”
“He knew that,” I say, blinking a tear out of my eye.
“He didn’t act like it,” Forta counters, slapping my ass again, harder this time.
If he’s trying to help me endure the pain by making me too furious to feel it, he’s doing a good job. But if I’m being honest, the reason I’m mad is because he’s right.
“What about you, Melody? Were you going to work at the carburetor factory too?”
“Yes, Master,” I mumble, trying to catch my breath and not wanting to invite any more punishment. I’ve had more than enough. I’m actually glad to be draped over Forta’s lap like a towel—I can’t even imagine having to sit down. “There aren’t any other... good jobs in... Ontego.”
“True. But is it what you w
anted?”
“No, Master.”
“But it was your duty to work there?”
I sigh. “Yes, Master.”
His finger lightly glides over my cheeks; I wince and jerk with each point of pressure and every change in direction. “What did you want to do instead?”
Why is he asking me so many questions? Is this just his way of toying with the dumb, primitive humans? When we struck this deal, I thought he just wanted me for sex. Getting spanked came as a cruel surprise, but I’m even less prepared to spill my life story to this alien. Why does he even want to know? With all the cosmic wonders he’s no doubt seen, my life must seem so banal and insignificant. Is this a game to him? Belittle the human, is that it?
“I don’t know, Master.”
He peppers my backside with a series of quick smacks. “You had dreams, didn’t you?”
When the pain subsides, I try to think back. Surely I must have told a guidance counselor or someone what I wanted, but there was always something stopping me...
“I wanted to leave town, Master. I couldn’t, though.”
“Yes, duty,” says Forta, resting his hand on my smoldering skin. “If you left, how would you make a living? You’re an adult, Melody. You should know this, or at least have an idea.”
“A business!” I shout quickly, feeling his grasping fingers. “My own business!”
“Good. What kind?”
“Anything!” I feel his hand lift up. “Anything but carburetors!”
Forta hums, a low curl of sound from deep in his throat. “You don’t like them? Or because of your father?”
“No, Master,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s not like that. I just wanted to be different.”
He doesn’t respond for a moment, giving my words a chance to echo in my head. Then the telerings release their hold on my limbs.
“You may stand up, pet,” he says. “You may get dressed.”
Relieved, I push myself up, using his knees to steady myself, then quickly pull my pants back on.
His Human Pet Page 2