by Trent Evans
Kosha’s belly tightened at the words, anticipation, eagerness, and no small amount of cautionary dread warring within him at the revelation. He’d always suspected, of course — there were rumors from the first day of officer’s training.
But he’d never actually known how much of it was fantasy, and how much was lurid — and illicit — reality.
Torval looked away, shaking his head. “I could be put into a detention bloc just for knowing the existence of this network.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, old friend.” Kosha winked. “You’ve got connections with the military, remember?”
“Don’t remind me,” the doctor muttered, standing up. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I can give you the access node for it. I think you should put her information up there. It may help you if you have questions. Though it’s, well, highly illegal to even access it… there could be some useful allies there.”
“What kind of information?” Kosha said, letting her arms go. She looked back at him with a flash of defiance, perhaps anger, in her eyes, but she didn’t react beyond that.
Smart girl.
“I won’t say anything beyond that,” Torval said, but he handed Kosha a disc, the iridescence of the metal, the image dancing above it like a hologram, telling Kosha exactly what it was.
It was a null disc, spoofed against even YSS ambient tracking. And such discs were most definitely illegal.
“If you want to share her, if you want to see where this goes, you’re going to have to share her information.”
Kosha stared at the disc, not knowing if he was terrified at the idea of sharing her information, or terrified at the idea of what he might not learn about himself if he didn’t.
Either way, his cock was trying to batter its way out of his pants. It didn’t seem to be afraid at all.
Could he share the girl with someone else, even remotely?
Then he looked at his friend, the man putting his instruments away, stowing his machinery, and knew the answer.
Oh, yes. I think I can share her after all.
Those thoughts and more crowded Kosha’s mind as he strode from the doctor’s office, his charge once more safely secured inside the case, another smaller box — provided by his friend — under his other arm.
When he got home, he would be at leisure to decide what her future held. But first, it was long past time to play with his toy once more.
Chapter 9
As she laid on her cushion, watching the twinkling stars, the shimmering lights of the city outside the bedroom’s windows, listening to the slow, rhythmic breathing of Kosha, she replayed the events in the doctor’s office. At least she thought that’s what he was. Some sort of medical professional — called ‘Tor’ something or other.
She instantly thought of him as Thor when she first heard it in Kosha’s alien tongue.
But what the strange new male did to her was something she’d never experienced in any doctor’s office before.
She shuddered, even as the traitorous curling began deep within her belly at the very memory.
The worst part had been her body’s reaction. She didn’t understand what had happened. Could it have been simply a defense mechanism, a way for her to cope, to get through it?
No. It was much worse than that.
She buried her face against her arm, confused, trying to understand what it meant, hoping neither one of them discovered what it might say about her, a window into her true nature. Even worse was the helplessness she felt, that sense of being controlled, all of it. That’s what was part of her fantasies, part of those deep, dark thoughts she’d always pushed down, tried to forget, tried to tell herself weren’t an integral part of who she was.
Now, she had no choice but to confront it. He was making her confront it.
And the doctor, if anything, seemed to agree with what Kosha wanted. Nothing else could explain the surreal, humiliating — and shamefully arousing — examination he’d put her through.
You’re telling yourself this because you’re suffering Stockholm syndrome.
She’d read about it in high school of all places. It was often spoken of in some of the romances that were … well, not exactly consensual. She thought that it was something relegated to psychology textbooks, an academic consideration, something to be studied — not something someone might actually live.
Was that what was happening here? Was she trying to convince herself that she could deal with this, that she could endure this? Or was the possibility that she actually was adapting to this, that part of her was responsive to their exploration of her body, the most unsettling revelation of all?
No. How her body reacted in the office while those two huge males manhandled her was far more difficult for her to come to terms with, while they touched her in ways she’d never experienced before.
But the fact that they were ways she’d dreamt about before was what troubled her most.
It was something she never told even Howard, though she confessed almost everything else to him. She felt she could tell him anything.
Except the dark truth of the thoughts, the urges, the desires she harbored deep inside her.
She’d never told him what she really dreamed of, what she really wanted. How could she? He’d never understand, no matter how much he loved her — and she loved him back.
Not even her friends knew the truth — because they were fantasies that she feared meant she was broken. She wondered if the source of those twisted fantasies was rooted in the reality of her less than ideal upbringing, engendered by a broken home and a father she never knew, a mother who let her essentially be adopted by the state.
Was that why she had these fantasies? Is that why, deep down in her mind she’d always told herself she would find the one man who she could confess these needs to, these urges, these desires? The one man who would understand them — and who would help her explore them.
But what if that man wasn’t a man? What if that man… was the one lying on the bed right now?
It can’t be. You know it can’t be. He abducted you. He kidnapped you.
And yet, in her mind’s eye, she kept coming back to that doctor’s office, to that examination, to the humiliating reaction of her body. No. That wasn’t just a defense mechanism. That was unmistakable arousal, an obvious physical response to their callous, arrogant handling of her naked body.
Something tapping into a long-held forbidden fantasy.
Of course, they couldn’t have known it. They couldn’t have known what she’d always thought about since she was a little girl. But her body knew, and her body reacted.
It betrayed her.
Even worse was what she saw in that strange doctor’s eyes. It was the same avarice, the same possessiveness, the same — yes — lust, that she saw in Kosha’s. What did that mean?
She wasn’t sure if she hoped she’d never see him again… or if she feared she’d never see him again. It was so confusing.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks for the hundredth time, she tried to keep quiet as she wept, not sure why she was weeping, not knowing what would happen if he heard her soft sniffling. To her, it was one last surrender, a final weakness, a vulnerability that she didn’t want him to exploit — even as part of her seemed to crave the possibility that he would.
What’s wrong with you?
It was that she found herself alone on an alien planet, abducted by beings that shouldn’t even exist. What was wrong was she was God-knew-how-far from the only place she’d ever known, which was Earth. The only people she’d ever known.
But really, as she thought back to her last days on Earth, she wondered if she was already alone, as if when she saw Kosha’s tall form materialize out of the rain that night, maybe he knew she was already gone.
And he’d simply found her.
She turned her head toward the window again, watching the stars, noting how different they looked from the night sky on Earth. There were so many more in the sky there — wherever here was
— and their patterns were unfamiliar. That fact was at once fascinating and awe-inspiring — and terrifying.
As she laid there in the quiet, deep night, confusion her only companion, fear her only friend, she wondered anew, thinking of what tomorrow would hold.
And what more she might learn about herself.
Chapter 10
The day after the examination was a day of firsts.
He woke her up before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, taking her to the room that she’d come to think of as The Veranda. It never ceased to fascinate her when he swiped a hand across one of the walls and it appeared to simply vanish before her eyes. The wall became completely transparent, affording them a dramatic view of the city below.
He barred her from any speech. Any time she spoke or even attempted to speak, he would punish her. The first day, her ass was already terribly sore, and it was barely dawn. He kept her on the floor too, which was, if anything, even harder than being prohibited from speaking. Any attempts she made to rise to her feet led to her being swiftly drawn over his knees once more, his huge hand crashing down upon her ass until she was crying out with each blow.
After each punishment, he would make her kneel on the floor, and stare down at her. Each time, she expected to see anger after she was punished — and part of her blamed herself for her own failure to comply, no matter how hard she might have tried.
But she never saw anger in those eyes of his.
What she saw relieved her, in a way, for his anger would have made it harder to learn what it was he was trying to impart to her.
No, what she saw in his gaze was a great patience. And yes, judging by the bulge between his legs, something else as well. If anything, that made it easier, that knowledge that he was aroused while he put her through her paces — even while he punished her.
That first day he put her through basic positioning, forcing her into the same pose over and over again, barking at her in his strange tongue. Each time she failed to obey his commands, he corrected her. Sometimes it would be verbal; a quick harsh word and perhaps a scowl. Other times it would be a slap to her breast, a tweak to a nipple, or worst of all, drawn over his lap, held down like a struggling child and spanked until all she could think about was the pain, the burning, throbbing heat in her buttocks.
That punishment always ending once more with that same almost serene stare from him.
The knowledge that she’d failed him increasingly bothered her, that feeling of failure, even at something so simple, frustrating her. Soon enough, she was able to memorize at least some of his commands.
Kneel, spread, and present — though she still wasn’t sure that was the exact meaning of the last one. There were still others she didn’t understand, including one that he continued to punish her for that seemed to be a command to push her shoulders back. That one definitely involved pushing her breasts toward him. She blushed fiercely each time, the color spreading even down her neck to her upper chest. Between orders, he would sometimes trace the patterns of her freckles across her shoulders, his touch whispering against the upper curves of her breasts where the spray of freckles faded into her pale skin. She hated her “marks of shame” as she always thought of them; she’d been the target of more than her fair share of childhood playground torment over them.
But he seemed fascinated with them, which did — despite her embarrassment — make her feel slightly less anxious about his perusal of her nakedness. At least it might be one less thing he might find repulsive.
He’s an alien. Who cares what he finds repulsive? What the hell would he know about what was considered beautiful among humans?
Something about her though was making his penis swell into terrifying proportions behind the fly of his pants.
It wasn’t until then that she realized it, as she’d flushed under his frank, gentle touch, that this alien… might not care what humans found beautiful. And even stranger than that, was the realization that it did matter to her whether he found her pleasing, even pretty. She understood at some level that such thoughts were insane, that it was almost certainly a fear-driven need to please her captor, in the hopes of receiving more lenient treatment.
She also understood that if she were brutally honest with herself, she’d admit there was much more to it than that.
What in the hell is wrong with you?
His training was relentless though, leaving her little time to contemplate the troubling implications of her confusing thoughts.
More orders, more positions were ordered, each more complex than the last. Her repeated failure to remember some of his orders frustrated her endlessly, eventually causing her to burst into tears at one point, even before he’d decided how she was to be punished.
There was one commonality in her training: all the positions she was required to learn were varying degrees of humiliating and degrading. Displaying her body to the most advantage, no matter how much she might blush with shame, seemed to be his singular goal. She knew that was part of the appeal for him, of course, though that knowledge made it no easier for her to assume them.
As she learned though, there was something else she got to experience — which was his radiant smile, that bright grin that she couldn’t help but smile back at. The simple pleasure of finding he was pleased with her, was the best part.
And that was an entire other struggle for her, for when she pleased him, he would stroke her and coo at her, touching her hair, caressing her breasts, his fingertips gently stroking her nipples. More often than not, she would be left panting by the time he ordered her into a new position.
One of his favorite positions was on her knees with her arms folded behind her to present her breasts for him. He ordered her into this position often, likely because it was supremely humiliating for her. He walked around her slowly each time, stopping now and then to watch her, crouching once in a while to heft and squeeze her breasts, making her hiss as he tweaked her nipples until they stood up hard, and red, and throbbing.
She didn’t like them, of course, always thinking them to be too ungainly for her frame. Back in her old life on Earth, she would often dress to de-emphasize her breasts, especially at clubs, knowing tight clothing would attract the freaks and the pervs.
But there was something else too. She wanted to almost… save them, keep them to herself until it was time to share them with that one man, the one she was saving herself for. She knew it was insane, and it was something she’d never been able to admit to another soul. Such thoughts made no sense, she knew that — but they were there just the same.
But Kosha would never allow her to hide them, to hide any part of herself. That he loved them was clear, and he was making sure she shared them with him — whether she wanted to or not.
Other positions were even harder to take, on her hands and knees, her breasts swaying below her, her face burning with her blush as he smiled down at her. He ordered her into what she thought of as a “present” position, her breasts pressed to the floor, her cheek laid upon her folded hands, her ass high in the air, a wanton, slutty invitation.
That thought always floated through her mind when she assumed that position. That it was an undeniable, primitive signal to be taken, to be mated — to be made his.
He walked around her each time she took that position, and the wait always seemed an eternity, the cool air playing against her hot, exposed cleft, the humidity between her inner thighs, the mortifying wetness of her sex. Her nipples were always hard against the cold, hard floor, and that knowledge only confused her more, for her body seemed to respond to that too. To being debased, to being displayed, to be made vulnerable in front of him for him to enjoy.
But there was a problem even worse than that. Part of her — yes, part of her enjoyed that he enjoyed it. Part of her responded to it. Whether it was the buzz at her clit, the wetness at her sex, her hard nipples or her increased breathing, there was always something, some response she would give him.
Some he could readil
y see, some only she could feel, but they were both equally mortifying, equally humiliating — because she couldn’t control them. She didn’t know if those responses were reflecting simply her helpless position… or revealing who she really was deep inside.
That first day, she was returned to her pad at the foot of his bed, exhausted, her muscles quivering, twitching. He’d fed her twice, watching her both times. She was quickly becoming used to the process, humiliating though the ritual might be. He was gentle each time he cleaned her face, gazing into her eyes as he did so. And at the end, both times, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose, the fondness, even tenderness of the gesture shattering in a way nothing else had been.
For such kindnesses only further weakened her will against him.
Each time she’d closed her eyes, willing herself not to feel it, not to succumb to the power of it, the meaning of it that eroded her resolve, softened her own heart.
There was nothing at all kind about kidnapping a woman and holding her captive, displaying and degrading her in equal measure simply for her captor’s pleasure. And yet, she appreciated his kindnesses, even the small ones. That fleeting, fond gesture she wasn’t even sure he realized he was giving her, was the most devastating of all.
It all mattered, because here, even the smallest shred of kindness was all she had to hold into.
As she curled up on her pad, watching him walk to and fro, she thought of it again.
Of what came next.
She suspected this was but the beginning of her training, of some sort of preparation, though she didn’t really know what the end result would be, what she would become.
Inside, she despaired at this training because it was making her think of things she shouldn’t, things that didn’t really matter. She knew psychologically that it was the first step in breaking her down, in molding her to become whatever it was he wanted to make of her. If it continued down this path, it was going to make it impossible for her to escape, despite the fact that deep inside, she knew there was no hope of escape. No matter what he did to her.