by Ivy Barrett
She cried out suddenly, arching clear off the floor as her orgasm literally shook her.
Moxtel shoved his fingers deep and left them there as he ordered, “Again!” Then he leaned down and sucked on the same spot she’d been rubbing earlier. Belton would definitely have to ask Moxtel about the area before they fucked her pussy. Moxtel sucked hard and fast until she screamed and thrashed, coming even harder than before.
Belton watched her closely as she drifted back down, cum-covered breasts quivering with each panting breath. Her lips were parted, eyes unfocused, cheeks a lovely rose. Spirits of fire, how he wanted to fuck her, really fuck her right there on the cold hard floor. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. The impassioned thought startled him. Only life-bringers were perfect, and no alien female could bring forth Yashonty life. Lorna was an exotic pet, nothing more.
“I want her in restraints when I fuck her tonight,” Moxtel said in Yashonty as he finally pulled his fingers out of her core. “She is going to be so much fun to train.”
“I agree,” Belton responded, still confused by his odd reaction. He switched to Ventori and asked, “Were you a carnal companion for a Ventori pod? Is that why you were not afraid of being captured by us?”
He helped her sit, and she brushed her hair back from her face, still looking rather dazed. “I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t understand why I’m... like this.”
“None of your human lovers dominated you?” Moxtel sounded skeptical.
She looked him in the eyes, brow raised. “Are you disappointed that I’m not afraid? Would you rather fuck a terrified virgin?”
“No,” he said a bit too vehemently. “And watch your tone.”
Moxtel wasn’t into virgins, but winning over reluctant females, teaching them to crave darker pleasures was his specialty. She might not be experienced, but she already enjoyed their aggression. Moxtel was likely worried that he’d lose interest. Belton suspected that boredom would never be a problem with Lorna. Despite her submissive nature, a willful spirit emanated from their lovely captive. They’d only had a taste of her comfort, but Belton already wanted more.
* * *
Lorna lowered her gaze and pulled in a deep breath, struggling to control her attitude. The pain she sensed in Belton made her want to obey, to please him. Moxtel, on the other hand, challenged her, which brought out her rebellious streak. It was a dangerous combination, especially for her still tender behind.
“Shall we let her dress or parade her through the ship naked, bottom still pink and covered in cum?”
Moxtel asked the question in Ventori, so it was meant to provoke her. Was he hoping she’d lash out so he could discipline her some more? Her nipples tingled and her pussy clenched. What the hell was wrong with her? Belton called her a pain slut. Was he right? Was she one of those people who got off on pain? She found the possibility disturbing, not arousing. She did not want to spend the rest of her life begging her partners to hurt her.
What she needed was some time alone. Her thoughts and emotions were conflicted and nothing about these two helped her think more clearly. Celeste needed to know Lorna had arrived and was in the perfect situation to move forward with her goals.
A cold realization sliced through her sensual haze. If they took her dress away, she’d lose the signal booster, and there was a good chance her nano-bots’ signal wouldn’t penetrate the ship’s shields without it. She started to ask permission to dress, to promise she’d behave for the rest of the day. Belton saved her from the humiliation.
“Let her dress. I don’t want anyone else seeing our captive naked.”
Moxtel didn’t look pleased, but he motioned toward the nearly forgotten garment. “Dress quickly before I change my mind.”
Happy to obey, Lorna snatched the dress up off the floor and wiggled into it. The signal booster was about the size and thickness of a playing card, so she’d stitched it to the dress’s back panel. Once the bodice was in place, the device rested between her shoulder blades and was covered by her hair.
Without further conversation, they took her out of the small room. She still wasn’t sure if it was meant for interrogations, sex, or medical procedures. Probably all three, knowing the Yashonty.
The Yashonty ship didn’t look all that different from the two Ventori transports Lorna had been aboard. It was hard to judge size because all the corridors looked the same, and she couldn’t read any of the symbols or words that appeared on the walls as they approached each intersection. Twice they climbed a ladder from one level to the next, but there had been additional levels both above and below. The cabin to which they brought her was compact and austere, which seemed to be the norm for long-range spaceships.
Moxtel showed her how to access the tiny bathroom. Belton promised she’d be fed when they returned. He also gave her another water pouch like the one she’d had shortly after she regained consciousness. Then they left her alone in the cabin and deactivated the door trigger, ensuring she stayed put. They’d left her in a cage with water. She shook her head. Most dogs were treated better.
Tossing the pouch onto the small table at the far side of the living room, she went into the bedroom and pulled off the dress. She wanted to search the cabin before she sent her message to Celeste. Each transmission risked possible detection, so she wanted more information if possible. She needed to find a better hiding place for the booster. Clothing was too often ripped off by impatient males.
She sat on the edge of one of the beds and turned the dress inside out then sighed at her clumsy handiwork. A seamstress she was not. She’d used a scrap of material to form a crude pouch. A length of thread dangled from one corner of the pouch. Theoretically, if she pulled on the thread, the entire seam should come undone. Grasping the thread firmly, she pulled with steady pressure, but the seam just puckered, refusing to release its prize.
“Damn it,” she muttered and pulled harder. The entire pouch gathered tight around the booster, but the freaking thread refused to break. “Unbelievable.” Frustrated and worried that one of her captors would catch her in the act, she grasped one corner of the pouch and yanked. A tearing sound heralded Lorna’s doom, and she closed her eyes like a coward. It was bad. She knew it without looking. How the hell would she explain a ripped-up dress?
Exhaling her frustration, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was worse than she’d feared. The dress had ripped, leaving the pouch hanging like a barnacle from the jagged tear. No longer trying to be careful, she ripped away the thin material of the dress and retrieved the signal booster. She’d worry about something to wear once she found a hiding place.
She tossed the ruined dress into the bathroom and quickly searched the cabin. The compact space was uncluttered and frustratingly free of nooks and crannies. The inset compartments were really her only option. Opening and shutting each, she finally came to one high above the workstation. It was empty and dusty, indicating that it was seldom, perhaps never used. Laying the booster flat, it was nearly invisible, so she closed the door and moved on to her next challenge.
Should she rip the dress to shreds and claim she lost her temper? No, that seemed childish and such outbursts were uncharacteristic for her. A tightness on her chest drew her hand to the upper curve of her breast, and she cringed. She was still covered in cum. She could scrub away their mess with the dress then stuff it in the trash can or recycler. That was much more believable than a tantrum.
She snatched a white pull-on shirt out of one of their closets then went into the bathroom. What she really wanted was a long hot shower, but this would have to do. After scrubbing every inch of her skin with water and what she hoped was liquid soap, she donned the undershirt and finger-combed her hair back from her face. There was a chute in the bathroom wall that was clearly trash disposal or some sort of recycling unit. She shoved the dress down and waited until the whirring sound stopped then checked to make sure it was completely gone.
“Problem solved,” she whispered and left the
bathroom.
Anxious to send a message before her captors returned, she explored the cabin more thoroughly hoping to find usable information, and a weapon would be nice. Starting in the bedroom, she carefully searched the two beds then the adjacent cabinets. She didn’t find anything interesting in any of the compartments or drawers. There was a doorway next to the one leading to the bathroom, but nothing she tried activated the panel. All of the technology, and there was plenty, was unresponsive, so she couldn’t even guess what most of it did. She was fiddling with the smooth control pad beside the main door when the barrier suddenly rolled open. Thinking she’d triggered the release, she grinned and let out an excited cry. But once the door panel lifted above eye level, she realized her mistake.
A Yashonty female stood in the corridor, holding a serving tray. Her skin appeared more blue than black, and her eyes were vivid purple. The top of her head was smooth and covered with white markings, while the hair below her bony ridge flowed to the middle of her back. Her simple garment looked like a cross between a flannel bathrobe and a kimono, and her features were sculpted and refined. Despite her semi-hostile expression, Lorna found her quite beautiful.
“Move back.” Tense and insistent, the Yashonty’s tone revealed resentment and fear. Like the males, she spoke Ventori with a distinct accent.
Lorna moved back and then to the side, giving her visitor plenty of room. The undershirt was so big on her that she was covered from neck to knees. Still, the material was clingy, and her nipples were clearly outlined. She inwardly rolled her eyes. The female was bringing her food. Why should Lorna care if her garment came from one of her captors?
The young female entered slowly, gaze fixed on Lorna with obvious suspicion. “Your master is dealing with a disruption, so he asked me to bring you food.”
“Thank you.” Lorna stayed well back as the female set the tray on the small table protruding from the far wall. “Am I allowed to know your name?”
“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.” A reluctant smile curved her lips as she added, “Just call me Tarn.”
“All right, Tarn. My name’s Lorna. Can you stay for a while, or are you not supposed to talk to me?”
Her chin came up and her shoulders squared. “I may speak with whomever I choose. I am not a slave.”
The comment had been meant to put Lorna in her place, but Lorna wasn’t really a slave either. She was working undercover as a slave. There was a big difference. Rather than take offense, she sat down and motioned toward the tray. “Have you eaten?”
Tarn’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me?”
Okay, so this was going to take some work. Lorna’s immediate reaction was to encourage the hostile bitch to leave, but Lorna wasn’t here to make friends. She needed information, and at the moment, Tarn was the most likely person to provide it. “I’m bored. Surely, that can’t be surprising. I’m locked in a room with absolutely nothing to do.”
The Yashonty sighed and relaxed a little. “I apologize.” She moved to the table and sat across from Lorna. “Several of your species have attacked other comfort-givers.”
“Frightened animals often lash out.” She looked at the tray’s offerings as she casually asked, “Or was there a specific reason the humans attacked?”
Tarn’s gaze assessed Lorna for a moment before she admitted, “The comfort-givers might have been less than kind. The ones who are not yet claimed feel threatened by the body-slaves.”
Tarn seemed to respond best to casual-sounding questions, so Lorna kept her tone light and conversational. “What’s a comfort-giver?” Lorna didn’t recognize any of the food items, so she picked up a piece of what looked like fruit and tentatively took a bite. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so she’d gag down almost anything at this point. “Is that different than body-slave?”
Tarn seemed confused by the question. “What roles do females serve on your world?”
Now Lorna was confused. Why had her question led to Tarn’s? “Human females serve whatever role they choose. It wasn’t always that way, but we do most everything human males do.”
Rather than impressed or envious, as Lorna expected, Tarn looked horrified. “Why would any female want to protect and provide for other females? That makes no sense.”
The mystery fruit tasted mild and sweet, so Lorna picked up another. “It would help if you explained how things work on—or with the Yashonty.” She’d almost said on Yashontara, but Tarn’s home world, like so many others, had been decimated by the Skarilians. A portion of the population had been safely evacuated before the Skarilians arrived, so why wasn’t Tarn with the other females and their children? The answer was in the question, Lorna realized.
“Yashonty females are either life-bringers or comfort-givers. There are no other roles for females.”
That sounded straightforward enough, but Celeste had warned her not to take anything for granted when dealing with alien cultures. “What is the difference between the two positions? Or is it just the ability and willingness to have babies that determines—”
“Willingness?” Tarn looked at her askance. “Why would any female be unwilling to bring forth life? There is no higher calling, no greater honor.”
Damn it. Celeste would have been so much better at this. She’d interacted with all sorts of aliens. Lorna was used to grilling dirtbags and reading the body language of career criminals. Celeste insisted that understanding other cultures was only possible if one didn’t compare them to his or her own social standards. Lorna agreed with the concept but found it hard to remain that objective. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insulting. I’m honestly trying to understand.”
“Life on Earth must be so strange.” After a reflective pause, Tarn continued, “Life-bringers are worshiped and adored. They are our most precious resource. They have the right to choose the male or males they will allow to protect and provide for them. In return, they present the male or males with the greatest gift of all—life itself, and the continuation of their bloodline. It is as close as we can come to immortality while on this plane of existence, and our only way to access it in the next.”
Immortality. It was an interesting way to look at procreation, but it didn’t leave any room for personal freedom or non-domestic aspirations. What if a female didn’t want children, or wasn’t able to conceive? Lorna had learned from interacting with the Ventori that technology had made many, if not most, human occupations obsolete, but what about females who wanted more out of life than staying home and raising children? According to Tarn, there was only one other role. “And comfort-givers?”
Tarn picked up something that looked like an open-faced sandwich and took a bite. “We ensure that our males are content and comfortable in every aspect of their lives.” She made it sound extremely important, but pain shadowed her eyes. “We provide sexual release, but we also ensure that their living environment is clean and organized, prepare nourishing meals, and offer companionship. We are not body-slaves. Your kind is just for fucking.”
Reacting to the slur was counterproductive, so Lorna asked, “Are males allowed to have both life-bringers and comfort-givers?”
Tarn scoffed softly, then looked away. “Very few have the resources now to support more than one female, but it was common in the time before. If a life-bringer chose a wealthy male as her protector, he almost always had comfort-givers. Whether or not they remained was part of the negotiation. Because of the Skarilians, the equation has been reversed.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Life-bringers now have so many males to choose from that it often takes a coalition to attract their notice. Some life-bringers have four or five mates.”
Lorna felt her eyes widen and relaxed her expression. Human males had justified having more than one female in a variety of ways. Why not allow Yashonty females to have more than one male? Just the thought of being with more than one demanding Yashonty male sent heat curling through her belly. Her sudden fixation o
n rough, multiple-partner sex was irrational, but helpful in this bizarre situation. If her body was determined to play the willing whore, it just made sense to go with it. Once she returned to the real world, her libido should return to normal.
Trying to distract herself with information, she continued with her questions. “You said males protect and provide. Is that the primary responsibility of Yashonty males?”
“That is the primary responsibility of every male,” Tarn insisted. “Do human males not provide for their families? Are human females left vulnerable and hungry?”
“It’s different on Earth.”
“Obviously,” Tarn said with a subtle sneer. “If human males were good protectors, our ships would not be overrun with human body-slaves.”
Lorna tensed, taking a bite of fruit to hide her anger. Yashonty ships were ‘overrun’ with body-slaves? “How many of my kind are on this ship?” Despite her determination to sound casual, her voice shook. She’d already figured out that Brianne and her friends weren’t the only captives. Each detail she’d learned since only made her mission more daunting.
Tarn shrugged. “Ram spoils his crew. Every new body-slave cycles through our lottery before she is passed on to the other ships.”
Instantly Lorna’s appetite disintegrated. She pushed the tray aside and stood. This was so much worse than she’d first thought. “What’s the grand total on all the ships? Are you talking hundreds or thousands of human females?”
Tarn watched her closely, eyes slightly narrowed. “Yashonty males are not used to being without sexual comfort. It makes them irritable and aggressive. For obvious reasons, life-bringers were the highest priority during the evacuation, so most of the comfort-givers were lost to the Skarilians.”
The approach was cruel and cold, but it also gave the Yashonty the best chance of evading extinction. Lorna shook away the disturbing debate. Justifying their crimes was not the point of this conversation. “That’s the second time you evaded the question. Are you not allowed to tell me?”