by Alana Khan
“I’m still sick, Voxx. And weak. You can’t molest me.”
“As the Interstellar Compact affirms, I can do anything I wish with you, Victoria. But I won’t.”
He sets me in the middle of his large bed. This room, like the living room below, is furnished in striking blues and yellows. There’s a sunny yellow human-sized chair sitting in the corner like it’s waiting for my ass to perch on it. Pretty, cheerful pictures of flowers hang on the walls. I’d be happy if this was my bedroom. It would be perfect… if it wasn’t on planet fucking Zinn and I didn’t have to share it with Mr. Bossy Asshole.
I hadn’t realized, but I’m crying. Dashing the tears off my cheeks with a knuckle, I glance out the window and notice it’s a long way to the ground. He’s right. I’m a stranger in a strange land and no one is going to help me even if I did manage to fly out the window.
I’m impotent. I’ve never done ‘powerless waif’ well. I was a straight-A student. I had a summer job since I was old enough to work. I haven’t been beholden to anyone for anything in a long time. Right now, though, I’m at this purple alien’s mercy.
“Please don’t make me tear your gown off, Victoria. I don’t want to terrorize you.”
“Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? You kidnapped me, flew me across the galaxy, violated me, and almost killed me. I’d say the terror train has already left the station.”
He closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he breathes deeply. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was counting to ten.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Victoria, I’m trying very hard to make this as easy on you as possible. But you read the contract, you have to follow my orders.” His lips form a thin line.
He motions me into an adjoining room that’s pretty and sunny and is furnished in cobalt blues and whites. It’s a sitting room designed for rest and conversation. It’s similar to some decorating ideas I saved on Pinterest.
“Did you hack my Pinterest account?”
“Yes.”
I’ve got to give him credit, he certainly wanted to impress me.
“There’s no bed here. Let’s get to know each other. Or we could watch Avatar.”
“You know everything about me?”
“We watched it together a few days ago. But you don’t remember that. As I recall, you laid naked in my lap, with your head on my chest. I think it was right before, or perhaps right after it that you begged to suck my cock. But I could be wrong about the timing.”
“You’re an interesting juxtaposition of incongruity, Zinn. A combination of truth and lies.”
“Voxx, Victoria. And I don’t lie.”
“You only had me for eight days, Zinn. I wouldn’t have buckled completely in that period of time.”
“Voxx. I have a better idea than Avatar, but I’ll need you to hand me your gown. You have sixty seconds to do it voluntarily. After that time, not only will I remove the clothing forcefully, but I will punish you as well.”
I hate pain. I don’t want to be punished. I hate to do it, but I cave. I have a feeling there will be a better time to disobey.
“Good girl,” he says when my hands reach behind my neck to touch the auto-clasp on the hospital gown. Even though it’s higher tech than gowns on Earth, the shapeless sack reminds me of the one I wore when I broke my arm after falling on sheet ice two years ago. I hand him the gown, then sit on the farthest piece of furniture from my nemesis.
He grabs a throw pillow off the couch, places it on the floor to the right of the large, stuffed chair where he’s sitting, and says, “Kneel here.”
Death by a thousand paper cuts. He’s going to chip away at my resolve one demoralizing order after another. This isn’t the place to make my last stand, though. The time for that will come in the bedroom.
I kneel at his side and he has the audacity to correct the placement of my limbs. Fucker. Then he gives me a ‘good girl’ when I get it right. I notice with horror that some sick, desperate part of me likes being on the receiving end of his praise. What’s up with that?
He’s busy making entries on a computer that looks a lot like my tablet at home. “Give me a moment, please.”
Fifteen minutes later, after I’ve had sufficient time to worry about what he’s doing to the point that I’ve fantasized a hundred ways he could punish me, he says, “Okay, let’s watch. I believe this is what you’d call a ‘highlights reel’ back on Earth.”
I’m naked, kneeling uncomfortably at the big guy’s side, and the large screen on the wall flicks on. It’s me. And him. On a spaceship. I don’t believe this is simulated—the little birthmark on my right hip is on full display. Well, all of me is on full display.
“You’ll be watching the vid, Victoria. I’ll be watching you. I forbid you to close your eyes or look away. I want you to see every second. I’ll have to punish you if you don’t comply with my request.”
“If you punish me for non-compliance, it’s an order, not a request.”
He pauses the vid. “Add ‘no backtalk’ to your list of rules. And you forgot the most basic rule, you might say it’s the very foundation of our relationship. You must call me Sir.”
Dear God, I put that one out of my mind. Could things get worse? But I’m saving my open defiance for when I need it most.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
The video resumes and I watch, both spellbound and repulsed for the better part of an hour. My personal favorites? Begging to suck his cock, feeling privileged to swallow his alien come, initiating licking his balls, and the epiphany of that other Victoria, the one on the screen, that she’s a submissive.
I’m baffled by Scarlett O’Hara’s dress and the whole spray-painted-blue-flying-Neytiri thing. During those moments, Voxx and the other Tori seemed to… enjoy each other.
My attorney’s mind, the part of me that’s spent the last two years learning it’s not true if it can’t be seen and quantified, can’t refute the evidence. My other self? My other self is paralyzed. I can’t believe any of the shit I’m seeing, while at the same time I notice my core is dripping wet.
My eyes are, too. By the end of the ‘highlights reel’, my eyes are leaking. I watched snippets of the last eight days and saw my transformation from a normal Midwestern college student to complete submissive.
Maybe he drugged me.
“Comments or questions, Victoria?”
“No, Sir.” For the last hour, I’ve watched myself call him ‘Sir’ after every sentence. It seems like second nature now.
“Good girl, Victoria. I’m happy to see you’re complying with the rules. It pleases me.” He pets my head which makes me both grit my teeth in anger and ramps up my arousal. It’s backwards day.
“You don’t know me, but I know you. Quite well, as you see. You might say I know every inch of you. Inside and out.” Another moment of pure hatred and a jolt of lust. This would be so interesting if it was happening to someone other than me.
“I’d like your response to what you just saw on the screen.”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Now,” he orders.
“Stockholm Syndrome, Sir.”
I wonder if he can shoot fireballs out of his eyes—he’s an alien after all. Because if he can, I’ll be incinerated in about five seconds.
“You just watched your transformation, Victoria. You saw yourself receiving boundless pleasure at my hands. You observed your lusty embrace of our bed-play together. You’re labeling that Stockholm Syndrome?”
“Look it up.” I pause as long as I can without earning a punishment. “Sir.”
“I’m familiar with the concept.”
He’s quiet for a long time. If I didn’t know better, the purple asshole is as uncomfortable with this situation as I am.
Minutes later, he’s still thinking and I’m sweating. What endearing colloquialism did my girlfriend call it? Flop sweat. If I was still wearing my stylish hospital gown
, the underarms would be damp, dark half-moons.
He’s thinking of how he can hurt me, I know it. I give my former self a little more credit. No wonder she capitulated so easily, this guy could intimidate the Hulk.
I’m an inch away from begging for his forgiveness. His hands are clenching the black cloth covering his thighs. I take this moment to look him up and down.
Now that I’m used to his purpleness, I can see past it and note with surprise that he’s handsome. Really handsome. There’s something about his purple skin, white hair, and perfect facial features that would definitely be a look some women would fall for. Me? I hate him.
“How is your body feeling?”
I freeze. Paralyzed. If I’m defective will he kill me? No one would know. He could tell my government I died from an allergic reaction. What are they going to do? Come after him to Zinn?
“Fine. Great.”
“I can tell when you’re lying, Victoria. How is your body feeling?”
“I’m afraid to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me, Sir.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“Not feeling well means I’m defective and you’re going to kill me. Feeling good means you’re going to… do other things to me. I don’t want what’s behind either door number one or door number two.”
He rises gracefully and reaches for my hand to help me up. I’m surprised my legs aren’t cramping from sitting like that for over an hour. I guess the other Victoria’s body got used to it over the last eight days.
“I’ll inspect you myself. Here’s a new position, Inspect. Stand tall, hands behind your neck, chest out for my enjoyment, eyes on me.”
If my eyes could shoot fireballs, Mr. Alien, you’d be incinerated. He gives me no more than five seconds of rebellious inactivity before he threatens, “Your failure to comply is becoming tedious. Inspect!”
I comply.
“Legs wider.”
I move them another inch apart.
He steps one black-booted foot between mine and nudges them much farther.
“How did you get into law school, Victoria? You only have five rules thus far.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
The room is silent as he steps closer and cups both palms around my skull, his fingers probing for pain. He moves my head to the right and left, then his thumbs outline my eyebrows, temples, and down my cheeks. One thumb brushes across my lips once, twice, three times.
Two thumbs trail down the column of my throat, then his hands trace to my shoulders and down my arms where his hands inspect my palms and each finger.
My bottom lip is captured by my teeth. My heart is beating erratically. His soft, unhurried touch is lighting every nerve, synapse, and cell of my body on fire. Is this what happened with the other Victoria? The Victoria of days one through eight?
I’m trembling. Expectant. Waiting for, no, willing his hands to continue their languorous journey downward.
“Have I hurt you so far?”
“No, Sir,” my voice is a whisper. The fucker has to know the effect he has on my body. Later, though, I’ll remind him of what my mind thinks of him.
“Good, Victoria. I want you to be healthy and pain-free. Since you’re not forthcoming, my inspection needs to be thorough. Very thorough.”
He hefts each breast in a palm, then flicks each hardened nub with a thumb. Twinges of need yank my awareness toward my core.
Those large, warm purple hands skim along my skin from my waist, around my hips, and down to my feet. His fingers surround my ankles, then the backs of his hands graze up the inside of my legs. Their journey is slow, inexorable. My eyes shutter closed and I’m silently urging him upward.
My nerve endings are on fire. I’ve known him less than five hours and I’m yearning for his touch. I’ve definitely been drugged.
He stands to his full height, maybe two heads taller than me, and steps even closer. Dipping his mouth to my ear, he says, “You seem to be feeling no pain. That pleases me greatly, Victoria. I need to complete my inspection.”
His hand dips between my thighs and he cups my sex. His touch is subtle, just enough to announce its presence. The heel of his hand presses whisper-soft against my clit, his fingers trail along my slit.
“Any pain here?” He puts another ounce of pressure against me, pulling a gasp of surprise, or is it pleasure, from me.
“No, Sir.”
“I have no intention of raping you, Victoria. I won’t penetrate you in any way until you ask.”
“That will never happen. Sir.”
“I’m certain you believe that.”
I’m going to start thinking of him as a smug purple asshole.
One finger circles my entrance. Round and round. Teasing then tapping, then circling again. It dips in the merest millimeter, then retreats. I hear the soft, wet sounds. I try to control my body, but my nostrils flare and my knees dip, already craving more of him.
“Biology doesn’t lie, Victoria.” He removes his hand and holds it inches from my face, three fingers glisten with my cream. “Lick it.”
“Good girls are rewarded, bad girls are punished. Ah, but I remember little Victoria likes a little punishment.”
“No, I don’t, Sir.”
“There were certain things I omitted from the highlights reel. I can show them to you in bed. Or I can re-enact them for you.”
His voice is velvet-covered steel. Smooth on the outside with a harsh edge of lust underneath.
“Today is going to be fun. I’ve learned a thousand ways your body likes to be touched. You taught me. But when I perform them today, you’ll be surprised. Lick my fingers, Victoria, with alacrity, or I’ll use your weaknesses against you. You won’t like the result.”
I do as I’m told.
“Good girl.”
When his fingers are very clean and my wicked core is panting for attention, he pulls his hand away. “We don’t have a lot of time, Victoria. We’ve covered this ground once already. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
He lifts me in the bride-over-the-threshold position, carries me into the bedroom, and sets me in the middle of the bed.
“What business is that? Sir.”
“I’m not letting you out of bed until you ask for penetration.”
“With all due respect, Sir, that’s not gonna happen.”
All the screens in the room flash 0:00:00 then start counting up.
“Shall we take bets? I don’t believe you’ll make it more than one hour.”
I’m not sure, but I think that’s the most disrespectful thing anyone’s ever said to me. Does he think I’m a total slut?
“Get in the Present position. Hands straight above your head, legs pointed at the corners of the bed.” When I don’t comply immediately he barks, “Now.”
I do as I’m told, then remember my terse, “Yes, Sir.”
He settles in between my open legs and uses his knees to press me open even wider for his gaze.
“Say ‘red’ if you’re in pain. Other than that you aren’t allowed to make noise or speak any words other than ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘Please’. When you say please, I will take it to be a request for me to enter you in any way I see fit. Do you understand the rules?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I didn’t notice earlier, but he grabbed something out of one of his drawers. He reaches between my legs like he owns me and is attaching something to my clit. I lean up to get a better angle, but he barks, “Present position, Victoria. Do. Not. Move.”
That damned device is sucking my clit. In other circumstances, this would feel divine. One hundred percent of my attention would be focused on what it’s doing right now which is alternating sucking and creating a licking sensation.
Except this isn’t other circumstances. The big guy is kneeling at my side, laving one nipple and plucking the other. I slide into a haze of lust so quickly I realize I am a total slut. I try to put up resistance, but he’s touching all the right
buttons.
My core is clenching and my hips are rocking forward, reaching for pressure that isn’t there. I glance at the screen on the wall over his head. It reads 6:33:12. I’m fighting the urge to say ‘please’ in less than seven minutes. I disgust myself.
He scrapes the tip of my breast with the flat of his teeth, hard enough to pull a gasp from me.
“No noise.”
He ratchets up the machine’s suction, and the pull on my bundle of nerves increases the need in my core. He was fucking right. I’m never going to make it over an hour.