Forced To Kill The Prince

by Hollie Hutchins

  Francois started to grind against me with each stroke and I could feel the throbbing start inside of me. Francois looked at me with a question in his eyes, and I nodded. I wanted to feel him burst inside of me. As the warmth filled me up inside I could feel another round of pleasure exploding through my body. We were staring into each other’s eyes and climaxing together.

  Francois rolled over, bringing me up onto his chest. I laid my head there to hear his heart beating. We were both out of breath and exhausted. I ran my fingers along his chest as I watched it go up and down with his breathing. It felt so good to have his hairy arms around me.

  “When do you leave?” Francois asked as we watched the shadows moving around the room. There had to be clouds passing over the sun, but it made it seem like time was passing. It made me feel like this short period of time was a small eternity that Francois and I got to share.

  “I don’t know,” I groaned. “I don’t know why I even do this. I never wanted to sing pop songs. I wanted to sing songs that made a difference. You know, songs about issues that matter.”

  “You should,” Francois said as he kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him and smiled. “This could be the perfect time to start releasing important songs. Right now the whole world wants to know what you have to say.”

  “And you?”

  “I always want to hear what you have to say,” Francois said as he kissed me again.

  I laid my head back down on his chest and looked out at the ocean. It was a world full of possibilities. A brand new world for both of us. I was eager to explore the new opportunities, but at that moment the only world I cared about was the little world we had created in that bedroom.

  Sold To Be Eaten

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  An Alien Abduction Romance

  Stella is drop dead gorgeous, but she doesn’t want anybody to know. Because these days, since the Aliens arrived, if they see you are beautiful, you get taken. Nobody knows where, but the rumor is it’s for sex, and when you’re no good for that anymore, you get sold for food.

  So drop dead gorgeous is about right.

  For the last year Erickson, a bad-ass son of a bitch who spent fifteen years with the British SAS, has been building up a resistance teem with the aim of sending the Aliens back where they came from. But with a fleet of ships, each one three miles across, and thousands of troops at their disposal, the task is not easy.

  And it gets a damn sight more complicated after Stella gets taken and the God-like Thorval sends down the Cube to lure Erickson to his doom…

  A doom that will be shared by the entire planet!

  * * *

  One

  It wasn’t cold, but she put on a woolen hat pulled down over her ears, and a big, amorphous coat. She checked the mirror. Her combat pants made her legs look shapeless and the steel-capped boots, two sizes too big, made her walk like Godzilla. She looked awful, but still she put on a pair of big glasses and fitted some false buck-teeth for the sake of completeness. She was only going to the bookstore, but you couldn’t be too safe.

  She stepped out of the house and hobbled down the steps from the stoop to the sidewalk. It was eleven AM and there were not many people about. She waved to Angela across the road in the flower store. Angela was wearing a trench coat over a couple of dirty fisherman’s jumpers, her dad’s jeans and a pair of Wellington boots. She also had glasses and buck-teeth.

  “Hi Angie!”

  “Morning Thtella!”

  That was the trouble with the teeth, till you got used to them they made you lisp. Stella walked on and glanced up at the sky. There were no patrols. She wondered if the Olympians ever wondered how come overnight all Earth women had suddenly grown fat and ugly, with buck teeth and short-sight. She had an uncomfortable feeling pretty soon they would grow wise, like they’d grown wise to the balaclavas. These days it was enough to be seen with a balaclava to get taken.

  Stella turned from Windsor Place into Prospect Park West and headed for the bookstore. She stopped for a moment to stare at a kitten in the pet shop window. It looked back at her in alarm. Catching sight of her own reflection, she wasn’t surprised.

  Peggy in Stepped Books looked up as the bell chimed and Stella walked in. Peggy had on a prosthetic nose which was pretty convincing, and some stick-on warts on her top lip.

  “Hey Peggy. Did my book come in, How to Conquer Your Inner Fish?”

  Peggy reached down and pulled it out from under the register.

  “It just arrived. I was gonna call you. Did’ya hear? They took Susanne.”

  “Susanne?”

  “You know! She woiked at the Lesbian History Archives on 14th. Cute goil. You’d never guess she was a dyke. I almost fancied her myself, only I ain’t that way inclined. But if I were, she’d be my type. Petite, feminine…”

  “Oh, Susanne!”

  “S’what I said. You don’t listen. That’s your problem. Always with your books. You don’t listen.”

  “That’s going to be tough for her…”

  “You mean they’ll have her screwing guys? Sure they will. But we been doin’ that all our lives and we don’t complain, do we?”

  She laughed and Stella smiled nervously.

  “How was she dressed?”

  “That’s the thing! That’s what’s got everybody noivous! She was dressed like you…” Peggy gestured at Stella with an open hand. “She looked a mess! Like you! Like we all look!” She leaned over the counter, ominously, “But they saw through the disguise, to the real beauty within, know what I’m saying? I figure they developed some kind of scanner…” She made a scanning movement with her hands and narrowed her eyes.

  Stella stepped out into the street with her book and hurried back towards Windsor Place, seeking the cover of the chestnut trees, glancing through the foliage at the sky. As she turned into her street her heart thudded hard and fear twisted in her belly. There was a patrol shuttle and four guards positioned in the middle of the road, just outside her apartment block. She hesitated a fraction of a second only, but it was enough for one of the guards to notice. As she approached he stepped across her path.

  Like all the Olympians he was boringly perfect. He had olive skin and big brown eyes, a flat belly and a muscular chest. His arms and legs looked like they’d been turned out of mahogany. He wore the Olympian Guards’ uniform of a short skirt and a breastplate. Stella thought he looked ridiculous, but the automatic weapon he was holding didn’t.

  He said, “Let me see your face.”

  She stared at him. He held up something that looked like a cell phone and seemed to scan her features. There was a bleep.

  “Take out your teeth.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” she spluttered.

  “He sighed. “Your teeth are false, woman. Take them out. Also, your glasses. You are not myopic. Take off your glasses.”

  She had a terrible, sinking feeling. She knew she was gorgeous. What the hell would happen when they saw what she was really like?

  She took off the glasses and pulled out the false teeth. He smiled and reached over to pull off her hat. Her auburn hair tumbled out. His smile deepened and he gestured her to remove her coat. She did.

  She said, “Please don’t do this. Please let me go. I have a life…”

  He raised an eyebrow at her that said, “Really?” He gestured at the shuttle.

  “You are going for closer inspection, legs and skin. If you have no blemishes, I know exactly who is going to like you. I can feel a promotion coming on! Yessir!”

  He tagged her and shoved her toward the shuttle.

  Two

  There were about thirty other women, all dressed roughly like her. But you could see that under their unattractive clothes they were all pretty good-looking. She was pushed into a seat and strapped in. The guards climbed off and within a few seconds the doors sealed closed and the craft took off.

  As they rose above Brooklyn the great mother ship came into view. It was an awesome
and terrible sight, sitting just above the stratosphere. It was an almost featureless domed disk, about three miles across and almost one thousand five-hundred feet high at the center of the dome.

  They hurtled toward it at speed and as they approached, one of many hundreds of docking ports opened in the side. They slid into a long, featureless tunnel with dark gray walls and the door closed behind them. There was a loud hiss and the sides of the shuttle folded up like wings, and their harnesses were released.

  A sexless voice spoke over a concealed PA system and said, “Stand in a line beside the shuttle. Await further instructions.”

  They shuffled out, glancing at each other but not wanting to speak in case it drew attention to them. Stella was aware that her clothes now instead of making her feel safe and invisible, made her feel vulnerable and demeaned. She desperately wanted to go home.

  After about ten minutes three panels opened in the wall at the end of the tunnel. Four guards came in. There were dressed in what to Stella looked like paramilitary dress, nothing like the guards you saw down on the planet. They wore black combat pants with big lace-up boots, black shirts and black caps. They had automatic rifles over their shoulders. The metal floor clanked and rattled under their tread. They looked the women over. Their gazes were impersonal, like they were choosing tools off a shelf. The one at the front pointed at ten women in turn, saying, “You, you, you…”

  They stepped out of the line and followed a guard through one of the hatches.

  Then he pointed at ten more, “You, you, you…”

  Same thing, they followed another guard out through a hatch that closed after them.

  That left ten girls including Stella, and two guards. The same one said, “Come!” and marched toward the remaining hatch. They followed and the second guard fell in behind them.

  They found themselves in a white-tiled room with a rubberized floor and gullies leading to what looked like a drain. There was a large, plastic sac at one end that lay open. The women were lined up and opposite them stood one of the guards holding a hose. The one who had spoken before now said, “Strip!” They hesitated, glancing at each other. The guard roared “Strip!”

  They hurriedly began to remove their great woolen jumpers, their tweed jackets and thick trousers, their big woolen socks and clumpy boots. Everything went in the sack. Bit by bit attractive, slim, even gorgeous bodies began to emerge. The guards glanced at each other and began to grin.

  The vocal guard suddenly barked, “Hey!” and tossed Stella a plastic bottle. She caught it and saw it was an expensive brand shower gel. He threw over two more and grinning said, “Share, yuh?”

  Then they turned on the water. It was gently warm and the jet wasn’t too strong. The sensation was actually agreeable, but to her horror she saw that the guard was now stripping off and climbing out of his pants. He ran over with flapping pink feet to the blond girl three down from her and picked up her shower gel. The girl looked alarmed but he was laughing and making yelping cowboy noises as the stream of water hit him. He filled his hands with the liquid soap and started lathering the girl in front of him, running his hands over her breast and her hips, whooping loudly.

  The girl looked like she might freak. He didn’t seem to notice. The other girls stood and stared. The guy shouted something to his companion who was laughing. Stella couldn’t understand the language, but the guy with the hose fixed it on some kind of holder, pressed a button and music started blaring over the PA. Then he started taking his clothes off too.

  Soon he’d joined the party. To her dismay Stella saw that the two guys were sporting huge erections. The vocal one was gently turning the blonde girl around while the other soaped her, massaging her breasts and her ass. The other girls were forming a chorus, half scared half curious. One of them giggled and the guards whooped and drew her in, started lathering her too. She giggled again, louder and stuck her arms in the air, swinging her hips. The vocal guard shouted, “Party time! Woohoo!”

  The blonde tried to back away but bumped into the second guard. She jumped when she felt his cock on her naked thigh, slipped and fell on the floor. The two guards and the girl started laughing out loud, and soon the whole chorus was laughing. The blonde was wiping water from her eyes from the hose and Stella was amazed to see her start to laugh too.

  The vocal guard reached down and pulled her up. Next thing he had his arms around her and he was pushing into her. Now she looked scared but also a bit excited. His companion was pointing at the other girls and saying, “Make soap! Make soap!” and the girls, uncertainly at first, started soaping each other, giggling, a bit nervous, but thinking that this maybe wasn’t as bad as they had expected.

  Now the two guards had closed in on the blonde. The vocal one from the front and the other from the back. They were dancing, gyrating their hips, pushing their loins into her. She was shuffling her feet, with no great sense of rhythm, but trying to go with the fun. The eight chorus girls were slowing down their soaping, exchanging tentative glances, watching the floorshow. The one Stella thought of as Non-Vocal embraced the blonde from the back and cupped her breasts. Her breath was trembling and Stella could hear her whimper. He spread his legs to get low, and, his own breathing now heavy, he began to grunt as he pushed, and raked her back with his teeth.

  She gave a cry and sank to her knees, leaning forward on all-fours. Stella could see he was inside her. Her cheeks were flushed pink and she was giving little gasps that might have been pain or might have been pleasure. Or both.

  The other guy, Vocal, got quickly on the floor and slid underneath her. She heard him whisper, “Come on down on me! Come down on me, baby…”

  Carefully she began to lower herself onto him. She gave a deep-throated cry as he entered her and soon the three of them were moving to a steady rhythm. The girl’s eyes were wide and her mouth was open. Her fingernails were clawing deep into Vocal’s chests and Stella could see she was holding her breath. There was no longer any question. Her mind was getting blown and she was enjoying it.

  Beyond them Stella saw the small group of eight, soapy girls huddling close. A couple were absently stroking each other’s nipples. Suddenly the blonde was letting out a long, inarticulate screech through her teeth. It sounded like a long, “Thththththth….!” that eventually exploded into a full-throated, open-mouthed scream. Her face and her neck were flushed red and every muscle and tendon in her body was standing out. Next the two guys were roaring too and the three of them were thrashing around on the wet floor like speared tuna fish.

  A door hissed open behind her and a young man in what looked like a toga addressed her.

  “You. Come.”

  She looked down at her wet, naked body. “Like this.”

  He gave a small from as though he was wondering why the hell she was talking to him, turned and walked away. She hurried after him, covering her breasts with her right arm and her bush with her left hand.

  From this point the corridors were different. They were carpeted in red and the walls were a shiny white, with the appearance of hard, molded plastic. They came to a transparent elevator shaft and her guide said, “Elevator, Divinity Level One.”

  An elevator appeared at a startling speed, stopped and the doors opened. They stepped in, the doors closed and they shot up. Stella looked at the man next to her. She wanted to speak to him, to ask him to have some humanity, to allow her to put on some clothes. But she could see from the contempt on his face that he had no humanity. As far as he was concerned, it was an insult that he was even in her company.

  They stopped, the doors opened and they stepped out. Here the carpets were purple and trimmed with gold. The walls were cream instead of white and there were lamps positioned at intervals along the walls. They were at a kind of T junction. There was an occasional table with a vase of flowers. Her guide pointed down the main stem of the T and said, “Go to the door at the end, on the right and wait. Do not knock!”

  The elevator took him away. She walked down the pass
age, feeling she would burst into tears at any moment, but determined not to give the bastards that satisfaction. She stood in front of the door and remembered the little creep’s words, “Do not knock!”

  She felt her jaw set and her nostrils dilate, reached forward and knocked firmly on the door. She immediately regretted it, but simultaneously was glad that she’d done it. She expected to be kept waiting, but the door opened almost immediately. There was a man looking down at her. He was about six-three and built like a god.

  Three

  A god, of course, was what he thought he was. He was bare to the waist and wore a pair of light, cotton pants. He had thick, platinum hair to his shoulders, a hard, strong jaw and deep set dark blue eyes above high cheekbones. His stare was unwavering, like that of a hunting cat.

  “You were told not to knock.”

  Suddenly she felt she had nothing to lose, that in the last half hour or so she had lost any shreds that remained of her life and all she had left was her dignity – or the smoldering embers of it. She looked right into his penetrating, blue eyes and said, “Fuck you. I’m a New Yorker, nobody keeps me fucking waiting. You want something with me, open the fucking door and let me in. You don’t want to let me in? Then fuck you and let me go back to my fucking home.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he smiled, a bit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

  “Yeah, fuck you.” Now she’d started she couldn’t stop. Maybe it was because she was terrified. Either way it helped. He said, “Is this a word you use to give yourselves strength?”

  “Maybe. How the fuck do I know? What am I a social fucking psychologist? Who gives a fuck? What the fuck do you fucking want with me?”

  He gave a small, odd giggle that was totally incongruent with his massive, masculine form, and stood aside to let her in.