Alien Bride (Love, Drugs, and Biopunk)

by McGill, Brie

  “Our orders are to bathe you.” The woman’s hands rested on her shoulders, forcing her still. “You are to relax, to want for nothing, to be made as comfortable as possible—”

  “I want my privacy!” She gawked at the naked girls, tightening the arm over her chest. “This isn’t comfortable! This is weird! This is—”

  The dark-haired girl dunked a rough bar of soap smelling of honey and oatmeal in the water. She lathered the bar in her hands, and worked the soap into Ninkasi’s skin, her hands gliding over her neck, her collarbone, her upper chest. The woman’s strokes were gentle, silken.

  The blonde girl dipped an identical bar of soap in the water, and mimicked the other’s actions, caressing Ninkasi’s throat, her shoulder, working long, graceful strokes with two hands down the length of her arm.

  Ninkasi sat rigid, mortified.

  The busty girl slipped behind her, silken hands soaping her back. She slipped her plump legs around Ninkasi’s waist, hooking her ankles around her legs. She secured herself against Ninkasi’s body, and forced her legs apart with the strong embrace of her legs.

  Ninkasi felt the crush of her magnificent breasts, her hard nipples against her back, the girl’s body locking tightly against her own.

  She rested her forehead against Ninkasi, continuing to soap her, caressing and massaging her shoulders, her neck, around her shoulder blades.

  The blonde girl climbed on top of Ninkasi’s spread legs, and swished the soap in the water. She worked a bubbling lather together between her hands, and swept them over Ninkasi’s chest, down her arms.

  Ninkasi sat a deathly still, too shocked to move. She kept her eyes averted, staring at the water—she didn’t want to look at the girls. She didn’t want to know what they were thinking.

  Or why performing a task such as this would be business as usual to them.

  She felt her face grow hot.

  The buxom girl behind her was more fit, more robust than she was. Judging by the way her legs coiled around her body, ensnaring her, the dark-haired girl could overpower her in an instant.

  The blonde girl on her lap was light, like a pixie, with warm, velvety skin. She pressed her palms into Ninkasi’s chest. Finishing with her arms, she worked down Ninkasi’s torso, her tiny hands cupping, kneading, squeezing her breasts.

  Ninkasi blushed, flustered, and found herself staring intently at the girls, despite her best efforts to disengage from the situation.

  The blonde girl wore a calm expression, a halcyon smile. Body gyrating in long, fluid movements, she leaned forward to stroke and squeeze her breasts, tending to their care with her entire being.

  The pair of hands behind her moved lower, cresting in swoops around her sides, soaping her armpits. The hands worked around her back, sweeping over her ribs, reaching forward to stroke the sides of her breasts and crush them between her fingers. She caressed her breasts in tandem with the other girl.

  Ninkasi arched her back. She heard the squish of bubbles, felt the cascades of soap slipping down her chest, her stomach. She smelled the flowers and felt the hot water at her waist, the blonde girl bucking on top of her, the strong girl trapping her, forcing her legs apart with her own naked body. So many hands, so many touches.

  The terror, the tension in her body melted, along with her reservations, her inhibitions.

  Sweeping her hands between Ninkasi's breasts, the blonde massaged her stomach in fluid, circular motions. As her ministrations moved further down Ninkasi’s body, she dug her knees into the floor of the tub, planting one hand on Ninkasi’s inner thigh.

  The dark-haired girl caressed Ninkasi’s body in rhythmic, swaying movements with the blonde.

  The three of them rocked and arched their bodies together in an indistinguishable sudsy tangle of limbs.

  Moaning, Ninkasi’s breaths grew deep, ecstatic. The refreshment of bathing, the heat of the water relaxing her body, the joy of washing away the anguish of her predicament, combined with the overwhelming sensation of so many arms, legs, limbs, bodies, the warmth, the velvet fingers, the confusion, the delirium, the precision of another woman’s touch—

  The blonde girl’s fingers dug into Ninkasi’s thigh, brushing her hand against the dark-haired girl’s leg.

  The girls giggled.

  The busty girl’s hands reached Ninkasi’s tailbone. Unwinding her legs, she rested her head against Ninkasi’s back, hands sliding from the top of her ass down to her thighs, up the inside of her thighs, around her pelvic area, deep into the creases between her pelvic area and her thighs. While washing, she gently pulled Ninkasi’s legs further apart.

  The blonde girl crawled backward, planting a hand between Ninkasi’s breasts and pushing to make her lean against the girl behind her. Delicate hands swept over her pelvic area, her inner thighs.

  Both girls cooperated, a pair of hands beneath her bottom lifting her pelvis above the water to better wash her. The strong girl supported her back, her hips.

  Ninkasi lay helplessly against her.

  The blonde girl pushed Ninkasi’s legs open, and soaped her inner thighs, massaging first the outer folds of her sex, tracing fingers around and above it.

  Blushing, Ninkasi whimpered and trembled, falling against the bosom of the woman behind her.

  The blonde maintained a peaceful composure, glossing fingers over her sex, meticulously cleansing her most secret place with a professional detail.

  Ninkasi squinted, head jerking backward into the woman’s chest. No idiot she had ever fucked was so tender, so specific—

  Her hips lurched. Why was she having sexual thoughts? She was in the tub with a bunch of women.

  She felt too hot, too dizzy to contemplate anything concrete about how her capture was making her crazy.

  Orion. Orion wanted to do this to her. He wanted her here, like this—

  She felt she might faint.

  Slender fingers stroked the opening of her sex, coaxing, playing—and then one entered her, penetrated her.

  Ninkasi cried out and covered her face.

  It didn’t enter very deep—only the tip of one finger. It was painless, pleasurable even, sliding right inside. It was impossible to gauge while soapy in a bathtub, but she suspected she was soaking wet.

  It didn’t make sense. Why should she be wet?

  She was lonely and unattended, caring for too many other people, other things.

  The finger moved around, paying great attention to her body, cleansing and soaping her.

  It had everything to do with sadness, loneliness, being neglected, starved as a woman.

  As quickly as the finger entered, it left, moving further behind her body.

  She felt the strong girl’s arms shift, both hands moving to her bottom and spreading her ass.

  Ninkasi groaned, and bit her lip. Squinting her eyes, she felt her heart pound. She didn’t want this.

  As the hand momentarily scrubbed the front of her body, it moved to wash her backside.

  Ninkasi gritted her teeth, praying for it to end.

  The blonde retreated.

  The busty girl lowered Ninkasi into the tub.

  Both girls crawled to either side of her, soaping and squeezing her legs with leisurely strokes.

  Ninkasi heaved a sigh of relief.

  The old woman, seated behind her, planted two weatherbeaten hands on her shoulders. She tilted Ninkasi’s head back, and dumped a clay pot of water over her head.

  Hot water streaming down her face, she blew it from her mouth.

  Lathering a floral shampoo into her scalp, the older woman pressed her fingers into her head, scratching her scalp.

  Ninkasi hung her head forward, sinking into bliss: a scalp massage was her favorite kind of massage. She felt the other girls working at her ankles, her feet.

  The older woman put a hand under her chin, tilting her head back. She used the pot to rinse her hair, and settled back on her mat.

  The two nude girls glanced at each other, and climbed to their feet. Each grab
bed one of Ninkasi’s arms, helping her up, out of the tub.

  Ninkasi sighed, climbing out regretfully. She could have sat in that tub for an hour.

  Taking two billowing towels folded at the edge of the bath, the blonde passed one to the dark-haired girl. The attendants dried her, patting and blotting her body with the fleecy towels. They moved up and down her limbs, over her chest, her breasts, her stomach, her back. One dried her hair and the other patted between her legs.

  Finished, they left her and strode to their clothes, heaped on the floor.

  The curly-haired tailor returned, a multitude of frocks draped over her arm. “It’s magnificent.” The tailor approached her, stroking a shimmering, silvery orchid dress on her arm. “Your measurements are identical to the Countess Bernadette's.”

  She felt a nerve twitch in her stomach. “The Countess?”

  “Master Orion—Ah—” Her hand squeezed the fabrics, and she dropped her jaw. “I mean—I selected” —she cleared her throat— “something fitting from the Countess’ wardrobe. Something lush and becoming, something comfortable.”

  Ninkasi tapped her foot. “Sweatpants are comfortable.”

  The tailor carefully placed the dress on a golden stool beside the vanity, revealing a flowing ivory chemise slung over her arm.

  Ninkasi pointed at the dress. “Don’t you think The Countess will mind if I’m wearing her clothes?”

  The dark-haired girl approached her. “The Countess passed in her sleep forty years ago.”

  “Hand-me-downs.” Ninkasi lifted her eyebrows. “Nice touch.”

  Setting the chemise on top of the dress, the tailor approached her with a pair of purple lace stockings, and silver lingerie scalloped with purple lace.

  Pointing at the sexy underwear, Ninkasi opened her mouth in protest. “Don’t tell me those belonged to the Countess—”

  Lifting her arms, the young girls tugged a silver corset over her head. The corset was cosmetic, devoid of the medieval boning that tortured women for centuries. Adjusting a crisscross of ribbons up her back, the girls tightened the corset snugly to her form, exalting the curves of her body.

  Hands slipped a sheer lace garter belt over her hips, fixing it around her waist, attaching the belt to the corset.

  Another pair of hands snapped a silken pair of boy-cut underwear around her hips, over the straps dangling from the garter belt. Rippling purple frills adorned the underwear’s elastics.

  Pushing Ninkasi onto the stool, one girl lifted her leg, while the other shimmied elegantly netted purple stockings over her foot, up her calves, to mid-thigh. The garter belt attached to each stocking.

  Ninkasi stood up. Never in her life had she worn anything like this. She felt like a porcelain doll, a plaything.

  She stared at herself in the mirror: her damp black hair hung around her shoulders, past her breasts. The silver underwear shimmered, hugging her body, accenting her curves—she looked like a pinup girl.

  Did Orion want her like this?

  Master Orion?

  What was wrong with this place?

  “Ah!” Grabbing her shoulders, one girl turned her away from the mirror. “You aren’t ready yet!”

  Ninkasi couldn’t wait until they were done with her. She hoped she’d never have to endure this again.

  It wasn’t an assault. Not a physical assault.

  It was an assault on her privacy. Her autonomy. Her dignity.

  Despite an aura of refinement, the men who kidnapped her were savages, waiving her consent, subjecting her to their wills, their whims.

  Was this bath the beginning? Was it the end?

  She prayed it wasn’t an unholy baptism into something unimaginably weird.

  The girls slipped the cotton chemise over her head, tugging it down over her body, smoothing the flowing garment around her waist. Parts of the arm were cut away, pearl-studded, stitched with rhinestones and lilac lace, revealing narrow glimpses of skin beneath a haze of opulence. The low-cut collar of the chemise was sewn with identical purple lace, dripping with jewels and pearls, matching the hem at the foot.

  Ninkasi relaxed. At least she wasn’t naked, and none of her ridiculous underwear was visible. Not even a peek of stockings—the fringe of the dress swept over the floor. It was the perfect fit, the perfect length.

  The girls unzipped the enormous, glimmering purple gown.

  Ninkasi reluctantly stepped inside.

  They threaded her arms through the narrow sleeves, cut high to reveal the intricate sleevework of the chemise. Likewise, the neck of the dress scooped low, showcasing the brilliant display of lace, pearls, and twinkling rhinestones against her tender chest.

  Hair dry enough to style, the girls forced her back onto the stool. One grabbed a brush and stroked her hair.

  The other girl opened a bottle of oil perfume, rose and sandalwood. Her tiny fingers dabbed Ninkasi’s pulse points, at her throat, behind her ears. She dabbed between her breasts and ran her fingers through her hair.

  The girl styling her hair grabbed a comb and alligator clips, raking a zigzag pattern across her scalp and partitioning locks of hair. Nimble fingers went to work and she pulled, braided, twisted her hair. “You look beautiful.”

  The other girl claimed a handful of jeweled hairpieces, silver pins with faceted amethyst teardrops, and worked them one at a time into the intricate net of braids on her head. “Yes, beautiful.”

  “Sometimes, I notice Master Orion looking at me.” The first girl thoughtfully tilted her head, tugging at Ninkasi’s hair. “But he looks at me like he is looking for someone else.”

  “He looks at all of us that way.” The other girl speared another coiled braid with a clip.

  “But you look so magnificent.” The blonde tugged her hair. “I'm certain he will look at you differently.”

  “One time he gave me an evil look for menstruating.” The tailor sighed.

  “You’ll please him.” Her counterpart snapped in a clip. “Surely.”

  Ninkasi cleared her throat. “So, if all of you are working for. . . Master Orion.” She pursed her lips and stared at the floor.

  “Yes?”

  “Why aren’t you in masks?” Ninkasi turned her head to glance up at the girl nearest her.

  Hands corrected her head, turning it straight ahead, tilting it toward the floor.

  Ninkasi sighed. “Doesn’t he want everyone’s identities to be secret?”

  “We have no identity.” The girl stabbed a glittering clip into her hair.

  “Our families have served Aleister’s family for centuries.” The other girl stroked her head. “Formerly, in The Brotherhood; before that, as servants in the castles. Aleister provides us with all we could ever need.”

  “We are bound.” One girl lifted her chin.

  “Why would we leave?” Another opened a compact of concealer, and dabbed furiously at the freckle beside her eye.

  Ninkasi clicked her nails together. “Don’t you ever wonder what’s beyond these four walls?”

  The old woman approached them. “Aleister provides the sacrament.”

  “Aleister provides everything.”

  Nimble fingers traced an eyeliner pencil around her eyes.

  “Aleister is our teacher.”

  A creamy stick of lipstick pressed against her lips.

  The old woman wagged a finger. “We are gifted with the sight of other worlds. No temporary pleasure of this realm can outweigh it.”

  Again, fingers caked an additional layer of makeup over her freckle. Ninkasi was baffled: it wasn't even a big freckle.

  Maybe some questions were better left unasked. Aleister was crazy, that much was sure.

  His flock of followers weren’t far behind. She didn’t want to end up like them.

  Mind Reader :: Nightmare 9

  V.

  The pain was like a knife in his stomach, stabbing him, killing him—it was the pain of anger, the pain of self-blame and hatred.

  He ran faster, feet pounding agai
nst the honeycomb tiled floor, pushing himself until everything became a blur.

  His life. His memories. His loss.

  The metallic doors at the end of the hall came into view.

  Had anyone noticed his absence?

  He sensed no one. Her death was a monumental event. Everyone would watch.

  In giving her life, she helped him to escape.

  His heart knocked. Skidding to a halt, he slipped his hand inside the biometric scanner.

  A circular door retracted into the wall, disappearing. A gust of warm summer air hit his face; the sky glowed navy blue, the last light after sunset.

  It would be dark before he reached the edge of the property. The roads weren’t safe: he would travel the forest—not that the forest was safe, either, full of coyotes and wolves.

  He didn’t know where he would go; it didn’t matter. He was lost, lost without her. The only place he ever wanted to be was with her.

  And now she was dead.

  Sprinting through the exit, the boy flew down a concrete stair and bolted over a paved road. He tilted his head, keeping the hood over his features.

  Feeling the wind in his face, hearing the song of cicadas in the trees, being outside brought him immense relief. There was nature here. There was beauty, coherence, sanctity. Unscripted life.

  He ran faster, squinting his eyes, pushing away the thoughts of what might happen if he were caught.

  He stumbled into a barren lot with towering rows of vaults for storage. A truck rumbled in the distance; veering away from an open space, he darted behind the corner of a storage unit.

  Had someone caught him running on camera?

  Crouching down, he tucked himself into a miniscule ball, arms locked around his knees. Leaning against the side of the storage unit, he absconded into shadow.

  The truck rumbled past him, down the road, out of sight.

  Breathing an immense sigh of relief, he collapsed against the building, unsure of in which direction to flee.

  A troupe of men approached, jogging, the hard chug of their boots against asphalt echoing into the night.