by Lee Savino
“Oh,” I say weakly.
“You are welcome. I am pleased the process went so well. It was my design.” Frllil floats away. It’s a good thing I’m strapped to this table, otherwise I would fall off. The e-reader. The stupid e-reader. If only I hadn’t read the stories so many times… if only they hadn’t turned me on so much… But that isn’t exactly knowing consent either.
Before I can start to get angry, Frllil is talking to me again.
“Dawn Cahill, you will give attention,” Frllil instructs. He’s down at the foot of my bed, beside a floating piece of what looks like glass. As I watch, an image appears on the glass—it’s a screen playing a movie. “It is time for you to learn your duties as a Tribute.” The image comes into focus, showing the nose of a huge silver spaceship.
“This is a Tsenturion ship. The Tsenturions are a warrior race, sworn to protect the galaxy. They live on a fleet of spacecrafts, as they have no home planet.”
“They used to though,” I say, reciting what I know from the books. “It was destroyed by an enemy race. Only a few warrior males survived, which is why they needed Earth brides.”
“Very good, Dawn Cahill. You remember.” Frllil makes a movement and the image on the screen changes. He reminds me of an adjunct professor I once had, a nerdy guy who barely looked at the class, preferring to simply recite his lessons from a slide deck.
The image on screen changes and I gasp.
2
Dawn
“These are Tsenturions,” Frllil says. Three huge figures fill the screen. They’re huge, Arnold Schwarzenegger size muscles under skin that shimmers like it’s made of metal. Their faces are covered by some sort of helmet. At least, I hope it’s a helmet.
“Are they wearing... armor?”
“Yes. The suits are Jabol-design. The suits are protective and enhance the Tsenturions physiology. In addition to being strong enough to withstand most weapons, the suits regulate their bodily functions for optimum lifespan.”
“Will I get one of them?”
This time Frllil’s trilling sounds amused. “No, Dawn Cahill. You are a Tribute. You have no need to withstand weapons. Your Tsenturion master requires you to be accessible.” He turns back to the screen and the image zooms in on the central figure. “Besides, Jabol technology has advanced. Your body has been modified without need of a suit. You will receive a training belt before the presentation ceremony. During the ceremony, it will imprint to the High Commander. He will use it to modify your responses and prime you for him.”
I barely take in all of this. I’m too busy studying the sharp, helmet clad face and massive body of the figure on screen. After a second, parts of the helmet retract, revealing a hard-boned face with a strong jaw and glittering eyes. His facial features are pretty humanoid; two eyes, one mouth, one nose. His nose is broad, and his jaw is squarer than most humans I’ve seen, but other than the golden sheen of his skin he could blend in with the human race. The shiny gold of his skin contrasts with the silver-grey of the armor, making him look incredibly exotic.
Unfortunately, the armor doesn’t pull back anymore so I have no idea what he looks like elsewhere. My eyes instinctively drop to his groin, and I can’t help but think about the Tsenturion books I was reading and wonder exactly how accurate they were...
Frllil makes a sound to catch my attention and I pretend I wasn’t checking out the Tsenturion’s crotch.
“This is High Commander Gavrill. He commands the entire Tsenturion fleet.”
I shift in my bonds, feeling both frightened and a little aroused, but I don’t look away. I memorize the rest of his body. Forewarned is forearmed after all. A row of short spines protrudes from his forearms, but maybe that’s the suit. The ‘manual’ definitely didn’t mention any death-spikes. As I watch the suit color darkens from silvery-gray to deep copper.
“The suit responds to changes in mood. You will want to pay attention and modify your behavior when the suit darkens. A lighter color means he is pleased. You should feel honored to be chosen as the first Tribute to the Tsenturions, as you have been paired with The High Commander Gavrill.”
“Hang on,” I begin when something pricks my neck. “Ow!” I writhe in my bonds. A machine stands beside my bed, a needle extended on one of its mechanical arms. “What the hell was that?”
“A stimulant,” Frllil says matter-of-factly. “It encourages the correct response to your Tsenturion master.”
“My what?” I’m still jerking as much as the restraints allow. A prick of pain is supposed to encourage my response? I’m not reassured by that or Frllil’s use of the word “master.” My brain is starting to send all sorts of warning signals to me. Frllil and the picture of the High Commander have distracted me so much that I’d forgotten exactly how um… demanding the Tsenturions were in the books. That had to be embellishment though… right?
“Your master. Tsenturions have strict protocol when it comes to their Tributes. Do not worry, the High Commander will train you. It is part of the bonding process.
Train me!? I’d scream but my mouth is too busy hanging open. Then again, I know exactly what Frllil is referring to. The books on the e-reader made it pretty clear—the Tsenturions treated their women like a BDSM-practicing dom would treat a hardcore submissive. Maybe even a sexual slave. In the books, it was super-hot. I loved the thought of an alien dom training his bride, rewarding her with orgasms and punishing her with spankings. Not to put too fine a point on it, the stories... uh... got me off. Big time. Apparently, I’d responded too well while an alien lifeform was watching.
How mortifying.
“In the future, your training belt will prime you. We must use primitive methods for now.” Frllil motions to the needle.
“What did you stick me with?”
“Pay attention,” Frllil instructs. The screen images change to a long angle view of the ship. Two rows of armored Tsenturions line a path right up to a gangplank. At the top stand four figures. The High Commander is in the front with two hulking giants on either side. A smaller figure stands behind him. As the image zooms in on Gavrill, I notice my body heating up. Not naturally like it had before when I’d been checking him out and wondering what was behind the groin armor… no, this is more intense. More frightening.
I’d press my legs together if they weren’t held down as my lower body comes to life, a tingle starting between my thighs. When Gavrill fills the screen again, arousal blooms like a mushroom cloud, filling my head with screaming pressure, stealing my breath. My nipples pucker and I can feel my pussy spasm emptily, the tingle turning to a full-on throbbing ache to be filled. It’s the horniest I’ve ever been in my life and it scares the heck out of me.
“What’s happening?”
“You are being primed,” Frllil says. “This is the proper response to your master.”
“No,” I grit out, clenching my fists. It’s no use. The ache between my legs intensifies. Wet trickles down my leg. I moan, shuddering and trying to reject the feelings stirring inside of me, the need that’s growing… looking at the High Commander again I whimper as my pussy quivers. I feel like I could orgasm just from looking at him long enough, which is crazy but… fuck me if I don’t want to.
The image zooms out, and the pressure lessens. I come down from the heights, panting.
“No.” Despite myself, I moan. I’m not used to being denied.
“Only your master can trigger climax. Until you meet him, you can only be primed.”
My pussy throbs, angry at being denied.
“This is messed up,” I mutter. My fingers twitch. If I wasn’t tied down I’d show him just how well I can trigger my own damn climax, thank you very much. I glared at Frllil, who completely ignores my reaction. He’s way too pleased to let something as insignificant as my ire affect him. I’m really starting to hate Frllil.
“That was most excellent, first Tribute. I knew I’d chosen well. The Commander will be pleased.”
Something pricks my neck again Fr
llil moves away and the lights start to dim, his voice sounding like it’s coming from a distance. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but it’s useless. “You will sleep now. In a few cycles, you will be fitted for your training belt. After that, the Tsenturions will arrive for the mating ceremony, and you will meet your new master.”
Gavrill
The Boral Nebulae is a thing of beauty, cloudy rings interspersed with patches of glittering dust, like gems in space. Our ship hovers on the edge of the outermost ring. Waiting. Watching.
Preliminary scan complete, the bridge screen flashes. We’re all silent as my warriors study the data collected from three days of analysis. Looking for the proof of our enemy. The reason we’re here. If we can find them and if we can get to them once we do.
“There.” I tap the screen and it zooms in on a dark patch behind a particularly thick cloud of dust. “The Vgotha ship.”
The ship’s shield hid any heat signature but couldn’t escape a density scan. Triumph surges.
Anticipation hums through the deck as our armor darkens, a display of our high emotion and readiness for battle. There is not one of us who would not die to see our mission through, though it has already been a long mission and the years stretch endlessly before us before it is complete. The Vgothas destroyed our entire planet, the whole population, in one day. No survivors… except for us. It was their only mistake.
They couldn’t have known that our ship was late returning home for the festival. Everyone knew that Tsenturions returned to Tsentur for the Mating Festival. It should have been a complete genocide. Instead, we came home to a planet of rubble, of melted slag… there were bodies to bury, the surface had been scoured clean. We still didn’t know what weapon they had used or how they had done it, but it didn’t matter.
We carried the only knowledge we needed with us—their identity.
“Carrion scum,” my second, Bogdan, mutters. “They cannot hide, not even behind a cloud of their own mercenary stench. Commander, we must engage.” His rage is greater than mine, for he’d not only had a very large family of siblings, all of which were now gone, but he’d been ready to attend the Festival and find a mate.
But our people were dead, and we were alone. The Jabols had promised to find us new mates, but none of us are all that hopeful.
We concentrate on our vengeance instead.
I keep studying the scan readings. I will not rush into battle, as my second wishes. I am the High Commander, and I will not be reckless, even if it is to wipe out our enemies. Not if it means the destruction of my ships, and with them, the last of my race. The Boral Nebulae is dangerous, and we cannot rush in. Somehow the Vgothas made it through the rings, evading the debris and moving belt of rocks and radiation, but I cannot immediately see the path they used, though we have now located them.
As they remain completely stationary, I can only assume they only know one route in and out of the minefield the nebula creates. They will wait for us to leave… unless we can outwait them or outwit them.
“Commander,” Arkdhem, commander of our scout ships, appears on a lesser screen. His armor glitters bright, a reflection of his mood. Surprisingly, his usual stoic expression is not in place, he looks almost excited. “I received a hail from Frllil. They have payment ready for us.”
“Tell them to leave it at the waystation, as usual.” Every twenty semicycles, the Jabols reimburse our people for protecting them. They provide weapons, foodstuffs, ship supplies and technology while we guard their planets from the thieving Vgothas and fulfill our need for justice at the same time. A symbiotic relationship that has lasted over a thousand years.
“It’s not the usual payment.” Arkdhem’s suit shimmers with excitement. Curiosity lightens my armor.
“Then what is it? Make your report,” Bogdan snaps, his suit flashing red streaks of annoyance through the black. He is completely focused on our mission, as always. His determination to wipe out the Vgothas nears obsession. I am nearly as eager, but I sometimes think Bogdan would be willing to throw our lives away if it meant taking out one Vgotha ship.
That is why he is second and I am the High Commander. Cool logic rules me, rather than emotion.
“We have found a Vgotha ship,” I inform my third, because Bogdan is correct—our priority is the enemy. Whatever the new shipment of supplies is, it can wait. “I am determining if we will engage.”
“Apologies, Commander. I would not have interrupted, but you ordered me to report as soon as I heard the Tribute was ready.”
My suit flashes from black to bronze to silver, reacting to my surprise. I am not prone to such displays of emotion, but this is a momentous occasion. Hope claws its way up my chest.
“The Jabols have found a suitable match?” I keep my voice even, but I cannot stop my suit from reacting, a shimmering silver that was echoed around the bridge by the listening crew. I am not the only one affected by Arkdhem’s announcement. Only Bogdan’s armor remains firmly black, and he glances at me, grimacing with annoyance at the interruption.
“Indeed, Commander. A far-off system, accessible only through a direth wormhole.” Arkdhem uses the Jabol word for ‘small and almost unstable.’ A journey through such a wormhole is very dangerous, causing immediate ire—not just in myself, but in many of those who look the most hopeful. That was not good news.
“They risked the Tribute?”
“It was the only way. Apparently, this life form is the only one suitable to our race. The Jabols report that the initial training is proceeding nicely, and she will be ready soon.”
Bogdan snorts derisively. “No matter how they train her, she still won’t be Tsenturion.”
Arkdhem says nothing. His glowing skinsuit relays his happiness. The good-natured warrior won’t not be baited, no matter how much Bogdan tries to pick a fight. The two of them often clash, their natural competition often creating the best ideas for me to use.
“Commander,” Bogdan says in a voice that drips both annoyance and disgust. “Surely you are not thinking of abandoning our post just to dally with... the Tribute.” From the tone of his voice he might as well have said ‘animal.’ A mate does not figure into his priorities at all. “The lead Vgotha ship is almost in our hands. We do not have time for distractions.”
A thousand tsencycles of need.
No obvious route to the Vgotha ship.
The promise of a future for my crew.
It is an easy choice.
“Preserving the continuance of our race is not a ‘distraction,’” I observe. Arkdhem’s suit beams, and there are more silver flashes around the bridge. Bogdan’s teeth are practically grinding together. “Besides, entering the nebula is too dangerous at this juncture. Rather than sitting and waiting to see whether we or the Vgothas have more supplies, we will see to our future. Third, inform the Jabols that we are on our way to collect the Tribute. She should be made ready for the imprinting ceremony.”
Bogdan grimaces but doesn’t argue. Once I have made a decision, he knows to fall in line. With a flourish, Arkdhem salutes and flashes off screen.
“Second, set a course for the Jabol’s ex-planetary lab. The third moon, I believe, of the eighth planet in the Jabolian System.”
“Aye, Commander,” Bogdan grunts, even as his suit darkens blacker than the deep space around us.
*** Dawn
Clad in the ceremonial mating robes, the Tribute awaits her master. Her quarters are lush, decorated in the pale colors of Earth’s sunrise. She lays down on the sleeping platform, letting the robe open to display her body for her master’s delight. As she waits she breathes deeply, letting her body start to prime.
The door opens. The High Commander enters, his armor shimmering gold, growing brighter when he sees her. The Tribute doesn’t move but watches him approach. When he steps onto the sleeping platform, the Bride Trainer fitted around her hips and between her legs hums to life...
“Dawn Cahill, you will wake up.” Cool air caresses my face. I open my eyes as the tra
vel pod opens, letting in the light. I recognize Frllil’s voice.
That fucker.
The Bride Trainer is a device like a chastity belt, wrapping around my pelvis, fitted tightly to my skin around my hips and between my legs. It’s made from the same material that makes up the Tsenturion suits—soft as cloth, tough as metal, pliable as rubber. From what I understand, there’s some nanotechnology involved that binds the belt to my skin. It’s self-cleaning. It’s also smart enough to thwart my attempts to pretend I’m going to the bathroom so that I can touch myself. When I need to go, it opens just enough for me to do so and not a millimeter more.
According to Frllil, only my new alien master can unlock it, although he might choose to keep it on indefinitely.
I’ve already been through some ‘training.’ Every cycle—he alien equivalent of a day—Frllil plays a new movie for me, usually clips of the Tsenturions. Whenever the High Commander walks onscreen, the Trainer buzzes to life. It vibrates in all the right places, stimulating me to the point of orgasm and holding me there. No amount of whining, wailing or begging will push me over the edge.
And, like a chastity belt, it keeps my fingers from my aching pussy.
“Your pleasure is no longer yours,” Frllil scolded me as I writhed and begged for release. “It belongs to the Commander.”
I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate Frllil. Life on Earth seems distant. I can’t even concentrate on missing it, no matter how much I hate what’s happening to me. It’s like my brain has been hijacked by the unfulfilled needs of my body. There is no future, there is no past, there is only the ever-aching awful need of the present. The early days, when I’d tried to use my yoga training to calm my body, seem like a distant memory.
Earth is even farther away. According to Frllil, it’s not like I have much to miss anyway. Sadly, he seems to be right. Other than my love for my grandmother’s house, there was nothing holding me there, nothing to cling to other than my anger at how I’ve been picked up and what I’m being trained for. Even that’s hard to hold onto though, when the demands of my body have become far more urgent than anything else.