Also from beneath the bed, but from between my legs this time, rose another of those silvery flexible tubes. This one, though, was topped by a rounded cylinder instead of the flowery capsules of the other two. Above my hoarse breathing, I could hear a faint humming noise coming from the device.
Good to know vibrators are universal, I thought as it moved up the inside of my thigh and then delicately touched my lips. I gasped, and it shifted its position, beginning to rub against the sensitive nub there, still slick from my orgasm. At the same time, the other two tubes worked on my nipples again, only more gently, as if they somehow sensed the main event this time was going on between my legs.
That was an understatement. The little vibrating cylinder drifted up and down my clitoris as if it had all the time in the world. Its buzzing was gentle at first, giving me some time to recover from the last orgasm. But then my clit began that intense throbbing all over again, aching as blood engorged it once more. I shifted my hips as best I could to maneuver the device into the place I liked, at the very top of the pink bud between my legs.
Oh, yes. There.
I closed my eyes, pushing against the silvery cylinder, letting the vibrations tease and thrum their way up and down the knob of my clit. With my hands bound, I couldn’t touch myself, couldn’t know for sure what I felt like, but I knew I had to be hard and slick at the same time. And somehow, being bound that way made the experience even better. Oh, I’d experimented with bondage a little, but none of my boyfriends had been that into it, and I hadn’t pushed the issue, not wanting to make a big deal of my preferences. In that strange place, though, I didn’t have any choice, and somehow, that made the sensations I was experiencing that much more delicious.
Usually, the first orgasm of the night was the strongest. Not that time. The first one had been just a teaser, a little apéritif. The pulsing from that little outer-space vibrator sent shock waves of ecstasy through me. I spasmed, feeling myself clench, wetness soaking the silky fabric below me. And as the heat swirled and coursed through my body, the little cylinder moved inward, then out, and in, and out.
I pulled against the unseen restraints that held me in place, moving my hips, rocking my body in time with the movements of the vibrating cylinder. It was a different kind of pleasure, less immediately titillating. And yet, there was something about feeling it pulsating deep inside me, something that made me give a low, guttural cry, as if what I’d been waiting for all along was something to fill me.
I came again, hard, muscles along my inner thighs and on my stomach clenching with the force of it. A few seconds later, another ripple of pleasure had me shaking with a smaller orgasm, almost like the aftershock from a big earthquake. And then the little cylinder slowly withdrew. Its humming ceased, and it disappeared beneath the bed. At the same time, the two nipple stimulators also withdrew, and I was left lying there, my hoarse breathing and the wet spot beneath me the only remaining signs of the ecstasy I had just experienced.
Coherent thought seemed to have fled. I could only lie there, my brain repeating, Oh, my God, oh, my God, over and over again until the words didn’t have any meaning left.
A man’s voice then, soft and yet strong, echoed in my mind. Very good, Blake. I hoped you would be this responsive.
My eyes flared open, and I looked wildly around the room, trying to see who was speaking. But it remained empty. As far as I could tell, I was the only occupant.
“Who are you?” I demanded. My voice sounded harsh, rough. “Where am I?”
Your questions will be answered, but not tonight. Rest now.
And although the last thing on my mind should have been sleep, I closed my eyes. Darkness descended, and the room with its glowing ceiling and alien sex toys faded away.
“You all right, Blake?”
I untied the bandanna knotted around my neck and lifted it to blot some of the sweat on my forehead. A few feet away, Roger Clancy, my supervisor at the arboretum, leaned on a spade and shot me a look of some concern.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Not enough sleep, I guess — a friend of mine had sort of an emergency last night, and I had to run out to help her.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I told him, because to say anything else would have only prompted more questions. “It was just a late night, and it’s a hot morning.”
Which was mostly the truth. It might have been only a little past ten, but temperatures had already hit almost ninety degrees, on their way to 105, maybe higher. Most of the time, the heat didn’t bother me too much, since I was used to working in it, but after getting only a few hours of sleep, I wasn’t exactly at my best.
To my relief, Roger didn’t push it. He was around thirty years older than I, in his mid-fifties, and he could handle the heat better than anyone I’d ever met. And since he was also extremely no nonsense, I knew he wouldn’t ask any more questions. My personal life was just that, and as long as it didn’t interfere with my work, he didn’t care what I did with it. Roger was a no-drama llama, and he expected the people who worked with him to be the same.
What I definitely wouldn’t tell him was that I honestly didn’t know what had happened to me the night before. Some sort of weird fainting spell, although in general, I was healthy as a horse and had never experienced even momentary dizziness, let alone the sort of episode that would leave me on the side of the road with my head against the steering wheel and absolutely no recollection of how I’d gotten there. I vaguely remembered having some kind of trouble with my truck, but I’d gotten out and walked around the vehicle, checking on the tires, and had found nothing wrong with it.
When I’d climbed back inside and turned on the engine, the clock on the dashboard told me it was nearly five in the morning. Had I really been parked on the side of Highway 60 for almost three hours? Wouldn’t someone have come along and seen the truck, stopped to make sure I was okay?
Apparently not, which was probably just as well. I’d tried to send Jessica a text, but I didn’t have any cell reception in the spot where I’d pulled over. Continuing to Tempe after so many hours had passed didn’t seem like a very good idea, so I’d turned around and gone home. Once I was safely inside my house, a barrage of texts hit my phone, all of them from Jessica, all of them increasingly frantic. At the end, though — a little after four — she’d sent a final text. Hope UR OK. Texting Skylar.
Not too surprising that Jess would reach out to Skylar when I went MIA. She was always rescuing stray animals and making batches of chicken soup for sick friends, and she was the only one in our group of friends besides me who hadn’t completely lost patience with Jessica.
At any rate, I knew I didn’t have to beat myself up too badly, since Jess was in safe hands. I texted her back, saying, Sorry. Car trouble & no reception. Glad you’re w/Skylar.
And after that, I’d gone to bed and slept for an entire hour before my alarm woke me up. No wonder I felt like utter hell.
Somehow, though, I survived the rest of the day. I’d gotten several more messages from Jessica — apparently, Skylar was letting her crash at her place for a few days — and I told her I’d come to Tempe on my day off so we could have lunch. That would probably be enough to keep her off my back for a while, although I knew eventually Skylar and I would have to do an intervention if she started making noises about moving back in with Tyler.
Underneath everything, though, there lingered this strange sense of unreality, as if none of what I was doing seemed all that important. I couldn’t say why I had that odd feeling of disconnect, although I wanted to blame it on sleep deprivation. Still, I couldn’t shake the notion I’d overlooked something very important, like a dream that had been intensely real while I was experiencing it, only to evaporate the moment I opened my eyes.
Well, with any luck, maybe I’d revisit that dream, although I knew dreams didn’t actually work that way.
I lay down in bed, only a sheet covering me. The A/C in my rented house was barely adequate to combat Ar
izona’s scorching desert heat, and so most nights I slept in a tank top and panties, blanket and quilt pushed to the foot of the bed so they wouldn’t get in my way. Despite the heat, I fell asleep quickly enough, falling into blackness…
…only to have that darkness replaced by a warm light that seemed oddly familiar. I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, from which emanated a soft golden glow.
Definitely not my ceiling, which had that horrible popcorn stuff left over from the 1970s when the house was built. And not my lumpy hand-me-down queen mattress, but one that was narrower and infinitely more comfortable.
A memory tickled at my mind, one of lying on this bed, having strange devices probe me and give me the sort of earth-shattering orgasms that I shouldn’t have been able to forget. Warmth rushed to my cheeks at the recollection, although I knew I shouldn’t have been embarrassed by the memory. It wasn’t as though I’d had much control over the situation, what with the way I’d been held against the mattress by some sort of invisible force.
I reached up to rub my forehead, then paused, thumb resting on one eyebrow. Was it possible? I raised the other hand. Yes. Whatever had held me invisibly in place the night before didn’t seem to have been activated on this go-’round.
Sitting up seemed to be the next order of business, so I did that, but slowly, just in case the invisible ropes or force or whatever the heck they were decided to make a repeat appearance. Nothing held me back, though, and I slipped my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up to look around me.
The room seemed to be slightly wedge-shaped, although the smaller end didn’t come to a point, but rather a flat wall about half as wide as the outer one. I laid one hand flat against the wall closest to me. It was cool to the touch, but it didn’t feel exactly like metal. Then again, neither did it feel like wood or plastic or plasterboard or any other surface I’d ever touched. Maybe it was some kind of composite.
Although I couldn’t see where it was coming from, except maybe the ceiling itself, the golden light didn’t reveal any doors or windows. And even when I paced alongside one wall, slowly dragging my palm over that strange not-metal surface, I couldn’t detect any joins or even slight differences in surface height that might have given away the presence of an opening.
Well, I had to have gotten in there somehow, unless they’d just beamed me in. At that point, I was almost ready to admit that — if this wasn’t some kind of drug-induced trip — maybe I really had been taken by aliens, because my surroundings sure didn’t seem to match any technology I’d ever heard of. Besides, wasn’t that what aliens did…abducted humans and subjected them to all sorts of sexual torture?
Not that any of what I’d experienced the night before could be referred to as torture. About the exact opposite, actually. Had they brought me back for a second round?
Maybe it’ll be the anal probes tonight, I thought, grinning a little despite myself. An ex had cajoled me into anal once, and it definitely wasn’t my thing. I had to hope the aliens — if that really was who’d abducted me — weren’t into it, either.
Pale golden light washed over my shoulder, and I turned at once to see where it was coming from. Although I could have sworn there were no doors in the wall opposite me, a rectangular opening had suddenly appeared there. The light inside was much brighter than in the room where I stood. I moved cautiously toward it, wondering if the aliens were at last going to make their appearance — and then I realized I was naked, just as I had been when I awoke the night before. Not that it probably mattered, since whoever was holding me captive had already seen pretty much everything there was to see.
But I pulled my hair over my breasts anyway, thanking God that I’d let it grow almost to my waist so it made a decent covering, and I held one hand over my pubic mound as I moved closer to the opening in the wall. When I was a foot away, I could see clearly inside. The fixtures were odd, but it was obviously a bathroom of some kind, with a sink and toilet. There was also, I noticed with a good deal of relief, some sort of garment hanging from a hook. An opening into an alcove seemed to be a shower enclosure.
I reached up and plucked the piece of clothing from the hook. It appeared to be a loose-fitting sleeveless caftan, slipping easily over my head and then falling with a gentle drift of blood-colored fabric over my body. Maybe it was silk, but the material seemed almost lighter than that, and yet warm at the same time. The deep “V” of the necklace showed the amount of cleavage I’d only display if I was going clubbing or something, and the gown was slit up to almost mid-thigh on either side.
Since I spent almost all my days in khaki shorts and tank tops — switching to jeans and sweaters in cooler weather — a thigh-baring silk caftan wasn’t exactly my speed. But it was better than wandering around naked…and I had to admit there was something enticing about the touch of the delicate fabric against my breasts, and the swish of it on my bare thighs.
I placed my hands under the tap, thinking it might be a smart idea to splash some cool water on my face, if only to possibly shock myself back to reality if it turned out this was some sort of strange, sleepwalking dream. What came out of the sleek, silvery spout wasn’t water, however, but a glowing substance that moved from my fingers up to my throat. I didn’t have time to gasp, though, because when it touched my skin, it spread a gentle heat as it went, seeming to massage its way over my neck and up along my jaw, moving over my entire face. Then I made a brief sound of alarm, and reached up to wipe it away.
Just as quickly as it had come, it seemed to evaporate. Hand shaking a little, I gingerly touched one cheek, not sure of what I would find. But my skin felt smooth and softer than it ever had, even after that one time Jessica had talked me into getting a facial at a spa in Scottsdale.
His voice echoed directly in my mind. We mean you no harm.
Even though — just like the night before — I’d seen no one, and even though the words apparently had taken form only in my thoughts, I turned around, looking to see if someone had entered the room without my noticing. Of course, I was alone.
“‘No harm’?” I repeated, speaking aloud. “Serial kidnapping and rape with foreign objects is your idea of ‘no harm’?”
Silence for a second or two, and then the voice replied, We did not force you.
“Oh, really?”
Aliens apparently weren’t very good at sarcasm, because he — or it, although the mental voice sounded male — said immediately, If you had responded negatively, we would have stopped at once. All of your physical responses showed that you derived a great deal of pleasure from our contact.
I wanted to deny it, but my three or four screaming orgasms were probably signal enough that I had, in fact, enjoyed the experience. Still, I didn’t see any reason to make this easy for my captors. “So, if someone isn’t into it, you what…just let them go?”
Precisely. If that had been the case with you, we would have sent you back immediately. As it was, you remained here for several hours before we returned you.
Well, that explained the missing time I’d experienced. While it was happening, it hadn’t seemed as if I’d been in this place for hours, but without my phone or any other way of telling the time, I supposed that was possible.
Arms crossed, I glared up somewhere in the direction of the ceiling. Of course, I had no idea where my captor was actually located, but I felt as if I had to direct my attention somewhere. “So, what now?”
That depends on you.
Right. As if I’d had any say in being taken the evening before, or this very night. How had that even worked? Had I passed close enough to the aliens’ ship the first time that they’d realized I would make an excellent candidate for abduction, but afterward, they knew enough about my life and where I lived to take me from my bed?
I supposed that explanation made as much sense as anything else.
Surprising myself with my own boldness, I asked, “Are you going to show yourself, or are you just going to leave me in here talking to air indefinite
ly?”
Aren’t you afraid of what you will see? Most people from your world would be.
“I don’t know.” The voice didn’t sound as if it could be emanating from a stubby, four-foot-tall, big-eyed alien, but I had to admit that my experience with aliens — at least of the outer-space kind — was pretty limited. “Should I be?”
You can judge that for yourself.
A rectangle in the wall opened, in a place where I could have sworn there was no door previously. Light from the corridor back-lit the figure standing there, so I couldn’t see any details at first. However, he was definitely not four feet tall. At least two feet more than that, and then some.
He moved into the room and paused a few paces away from me. Definitely a he. And not a bug-eyed, big-headed alien, either. In fact, the only thing alien about him was his coloring.
Because he was blue. Definitely blue. Not a cobalt color like the guys from Blue Man Group or something, but a pale baby blue shade, his hair much darker, almost a deep sapphire. And he was, as Jessica might have said, smokin’ hot, blue skin or no. He wore a simple dark tunic that left his arms bare, and even though the light in the chamber where I was being held prisoner wasn’t the best, I could still see the definition in his muscles, the breadth of those shoulders.
I pulled in a little breath. Maybe this would have been easier if he had been a little bug-eyed green man. Exactly how was I supposed to react to an alien who looked like something off the cover of a romance novel, despite the unearthly hue of his skin?
The alien seemed to notice my discomposure. He didn’t exactly smile, but his eyebrows lifted just the slightest bit. “We aliens come in all shapes and sizes.”
His speaking voice was identical to his mental voice, deep and full, with a slight accent that didn’t sound like anything I’d ever heard before. Which made sense, I guessed — after all, an alien being probably wasn’t going to talk like someone from the Bronx…or Ireland…or Jamaica.
“I guess so,” I admitted. “Although you don’t look much like the aliens I’ve seen on Area 51 bumper stickers.”
Stolen and Seduced Page 2