by Beva John
When I was younger, my uncles would say that there are still drops of our ancestors’ blood in each of us and we must guard our passions, making certain we never slip back into the old ways.
Better dead than a disgrace, they would say.
You must honor your family name and provide for your sister’s nest.
Everything else is secondary.
In order to cool my passions and regain my equilibrium, I go to the ship’s exercise facilities. For two hours, I run, press weights, and perform the stretching routines that I have done since I became an adult.
When I return to my rooms, I bathe and dress in a clean black uniform. I see that there is a digital message from my sister Irlaa with viewings of her children playing outside, running and laughing, their little tails flicking in the sunlight, and I feel a twinge of love and regret. Love for my niece and nephews and regret that my work has kept me away from my family and my home planet for so many years. I keep in touch with my family through digital messages, but it will be good to be home again, to wrestle with the nestlings, go climbing with my brothers, and eat my mother’s spicy oolar soup.
The only downside of returning to Bataa is that I will have to find new employment. My brother Azaar says he’ll find me a position in the family store, but I am not certain that I am ready to live in a box and work regular hours. As much as I have not enjoyed all my time on the Silver Scrapper, or on the two other ships before her, I have enjoyed the constant change of scenery. Perhaps my mother is right, and I am a vagabond at heart.
I stop by the dining hall to eat a dinner meal and see some of the crew – predominantly Katoll with a Namvire and two Brunes – huddled around a viewing panel imbedded in the wall. From their muffled laugher and embarrassment, I guess that they are watching some kind of porn. “What’s this?” I ask.
One of the Katolls steps aside and I see that it is a view streaming from the Medical Bay. Sylvia has been stripped naked and is restrained with her arms shackled above her head and her legs spread wide so her cunt is on full view.
My head pounds and my vision turns red. “Brixing hell!”
One of the Katoll says, “They’re making views to help advertise the humans.”
But I do not wait to talk with him. Instead, I run to the Medical Bay and push several of the crew out of my way and burst through the door. Lerro is standing beside the examination table.
Sylvia is on the table, struggling against her restraints. Her eyes are red and rimmed with tears. “Officer Raan! Thank God.”
“Release her immediately,” I order.
Hadr steps forward. “No. I am in charge of the humans now.”
I clench my hands together, wanting nothing more than to push him to the ground and crush his big head against the floor, but I know this is my fault. I should have never abdicated my responsibility for the humans, no matter what Delk said. I say, “What is the purpose of all this?”
Hadr smirks. “You know as well as I that humans are purchased primarily for sex. I am merely providing visual evidence of their responsiveness to increase their selling price.”
Even though he is a disgusting life form, he is correct. A few minutes of such views will create more interest. I turn to Lerro. “And you are a party to this?”
“It is scientific research,” Lerro argues.
“It is pornography,” I retort.
Hadr snorts. “I know you have no balls, but don’t tell me you’ve never watched any human viewings.”
“That is irrelevant. We are responsible for these females.”
“I’m not harming them,” Lerro returns. “I am merely arousing them to orgasm and Hadr is recording it.”
I know that they would never agree to have their own female relations treated this way, but humans and other sedentary races are rarely given the same respect. “It is against Cooperative standards unless the female consents.”
I speak to Sylvia who is listening to us. “Did you agree to this?”
“No.”
“Then that is all that matters – release her.”
Hadr refuses. “You have no authority here.”
My hand itches to pull my short-barreled Rhenium gun from my waist belt, but I know that it would be suicide to do so. There are two armed guards in the room, as well as Lerro and Hadr. I could kill some of them, but not all of them, before I am killed myself. And if I were dead, what would happen to Sylvia? As much as I want to protect her, I must be wise.
Lerro adds defensively, “And it is not harmful. The red-haired human did not mind at all. She climaxed five times within an hour.”
No wonder the crew was watching the views. “What about the other humans?”
Hadr says, “One is a virgin, so there was no need to record her.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I know that a virgin human female will be very marketable as is. And any viewing made of her climaxing could lessen her value. Hadr may be an ass, but he is not a complete idiot.
“And the brown female bit my hand, but eventually she came as well.”
I am disgusted by them both, appalled that they can’t see the depravity of what they are doing. I decide that asking questions will at least distract them and postpone their actions while I try to think of a way to protect Sylvia. I say, “What exactly are you doing? What is the equipment you are using?”
Lerro explains. “The cylinder inserted in her vagina is a motion sensor, recording muscle spasms and the production of vaginal liquid.”
Hadr says, “As you can see, it is all scientific. We are not hurting her.”
Smug bastard. How dare he say he is not hurting her when Sylvia is obviously distressed. The cylinder seems to be a tight fit.
“Is this uncomfortable?” I ask her.
She nods and I see that there are tears in the corners of her eyes.
I want to pull the cylinder out of her and use it to kill both of the Brunes, but I restrain myself. I ask, “Why are there attachments on her nipples?”
Lerro explains, “Initially it is for stimulation, but it also shows progress in the first stage of the human female sexual response. So many of the porn viewings skip the beginning parts of the process. We intend to record the entire response. These clamps are recording the patient’s level of sexual excitement. During the first stage, a human female’s nipples can harden and become slightly erect.”
Lerro glances at the screen with his data and says, “Thanks to your interruption, they are no longer erect, but if you will let us resume –”
“No,” I say quickly, stopping him. “I want to understand the process. I don’t know much about human females.”
Hadr folds his arms across his chest and says, “Go ahead and tell him. A few minutes delay won’t matter.”
Lerro lectures me as if I am one of his junior associates undergoing training. I hope that the reprieve will give Sylvia some respite. Lerro explains that there are four stages to a human female’s sexual response. “In the first stage, muscle tension increases. The heart rate quickens and breathing is accelerated. The skin may become flushed.” He points. “Earlier, there were slight blotches of redness on her chest. The nipples become erect. Blood flow to the genitals increases, resulting in swelling of the female’s clitoris and her inner lips.” At this, he touches Sylvia’s clit with his bare finger and she flinches.
I want to slap his ugly blue hand away.
“This human seems to have an abnormally sensitive clitoris,” he comments calmly. “We have tried various different stimuli with poor results.”
“What happens next?” I say.
He says, “Vaginal lubrication begins, which has been detected with this patient. The female’s breasts become fuller and the vaginal walls begin to swell, also detected.”
“And then?”
“The changes begun in the first phase are intensified. The vagina continues to swell from increased blood flow and the vaginal walls turn a dark purple.”
“How can you tell that if you have
a rod there?” I ask.
“It is not a universal symptom.”
“I think the viewing would be better without the rod.”
“You are not in charge,” Hadr reminds me.
CHAPTER FOUR
SYLVIA
I knew it would be bad.
I was the last one to be taken back to the Medical Center, escorted by armed guards.
Initially, we were all scanned at the Medical Center and were given some injections; nothing terrible, probably some sort of disinfectant or vaccine. Raan graciously excused himself and another officer was assigned as our escort. She was a blue woman with pointy ears, no tail, and the smallest waist I’ve ever seen – even smaller than Elizabeth Taylor’s waist on her first wedding day.
The blue woman took us to our room which had bed pods attached to the walls and lights that turned on by touching a panel. Over the next few hours, we all took showers, dressed in clean ship uniforms – serviceable gray jumpsuits – and were fed a meal of protein paste and something that tasted like cherry-flavored mashed potatoes. I don’t know if this was what they thought humans ate or if it was what they ate, but none of us were going to complain.
Iris liked the showers and the fact that the food was hot. Martha stopped crying and only prayed out loud to bless the meal. She said, “These aliens seem like they might be friends.”
Lindsey shook her head. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
I was wary as well. Officer Raan had seemed nice, with kind eyes, but he was gone now, and the blue woman didn’t want to answer any questions. Whenever any of us tried to learn what was going to happen to us, she said stonily, “Your questions will be answered later.”
She was a snot.
Then two of the lionish bodyguards came with another officer – a blue male – to take Martha by herself.
Lindsey spoke up. “We all stay together.”
The alien was very polite, but firm. “I’m sorry, that isn’t possible. We will be speaking to each of you privately.”
“Why?” I asked, but I was ignored. “Where is Officer Raan?”
“He is no longer assigned to you. I am,” the man said. “My name is Officer Hadr and I will be speaking with each of you privately.”
“I’ll go with you, Martha,” Lindsey volunteered, but Officer Hadr held up one hand and suddenly one of the guards was standing between Martha and Lindsey, blocking her way.
“I guess not,” Lindsey said. “Sorry Martha.”
Martha grew even more pale, but she went obediently. All I could think of was the eight nurses in Chicago who went quietly to the other room with their murderer. My poor mother and I had made ourselves sick reading about the case in the spring of 1967.
How anyone could be that evil, I did not know. But I also told myself that it was unlikely that the aliens would kill us after bathing and feeding us.
Martha came back an hour later all smiles. She said that all it had been was a more detailed medical examination. Officer Hadr had been pleased to discover that she was a virgin and he told her that no other examination would be necessary.
With eyebrows raised, I looked meaningfully at Lindsey who said, “Shit. What are they going to think of the rest of us?”
Iris said, “I’m no coward,” and volunteered to go next. She was taken to see Officer Hadr by two large armed guards.
She came back an hour or so later with a flushed face and a rueful smile. “Don’t worry, girls. It was certainly interesting. I’ve never danced Adam’s jig with a machine before, so that was a first. Kind of like trouncing with a little train.”
Lindsey who was preparing to go next, said, “Hell no, I’m not fucking a robot,” but one of the guards pressed something to her shoulder which made her slump unconscious to the floor.
We were all surprised and taken aback, but the guards acted as if it was not a big deal. One of them tossed Lindsey over his brawny shoulder and carried her off. Martha started crying quietly again, and I paced the room. I was torn between hoping that Lindsey would be all right and worrying about what would soon be happening to me.
Iris tried to comfort me, by patting my arm and saying, “Honestly, it is not bad. Much better than a fat, drunk, dirty miner and his friend at two in the morning.”
I smiled grimly. I suppose there was something to be said for perspective.
Lindsey seemed to be gone longer than Iris, which worried us all. When she finally returned, she was angry and sarcastic. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“It’s not the worst thing that could happen,” she said to me. “It didn’t hurt that bad, and I think it will go much better for you if you don’t fight it.”
I had been thinking somewhat along those lines myself, so I went with the guards quietly.
As I walked, my new boots making little noise on the metal grate flooring, I remembered walking to school when I was younger. My mother worked at a local drug store, so I would go with her in the morning, then walk to school by myself, going through a rough part of town. When I was ten, I was one of the first girls in our class to grow breasts.
My mother didn’t think I needed to wear a bra yet – I don’t know if she was clueless or if girls hadn’t worn bras when she was younger or if she just couldn’t afford the expenditure. At any rate, I had those beginning little buds before everyone else, and they were clearly obvious under my cotton shirtwaist dresses. Some of the bigger boys liked to tease me by walking up and pinching my nipples, saying rude things like, “What’s this, Sylvia?” or chanting, “Boobies. Boobies. Sylvia has boobies.”
It hurt and was humiliating but telling the bullies to stop and pushing them away just made them laugh.
Finally, my mom saw me crying one day after school, and I told her what had been happening.
My mother was horrified and the next day she took time off from work to march me down to the Principal’s office. She made me tell the Principal what had been happening.
The Principal tried to avoid the issue, saying that “boys will be boys” and that the boys probably liked me.
“I don’t care if they like her or not,” my mother snapped. “They have no business assaulting my daughter. If my husband were alive, he’d give those boys a hiding. What are you going to do about it?”
The Principal who had not served in the War was shamed, so he called the three ringleader boys into his office and made them apologize.
The boys lowered their eyes, shuffled their feet, and apologized. They promised never to do it again. But I saw the resentful look in their eyes and knew that I was in trouble. I begged my mother to let me stay home from school the next day or for us to move across town, but she told me not to be silly.
Somehow, I managed to avoid them for two days but on the third, they ambushed me outside the school. Two of them held me down while the biggest of the boys proceeded to punch my tender budding breasts over and over, bruising them, making them bleed.
I struggled and cried, and it did no good.
When he was finished, he spat on me and said, “Next time it will be worse, ratfink.”
I learned my lesson.
From then on, for the next year, I wore an ace bandage wrapped around my breasts and several layers of clothes. Even in warm weather I wore a cardigan sweater.
At some point, the boys forgot about me, finding other girls to torment.
And today, as I walked to the Medical Center on the Silver Scrapper, I felt like I was walking to elementary school once again.
And now here I am, buck naked, strapped to an examination table with two blue aliens by my side. I am completely embarrassed and horrified to be on display before them, but they act as if they’ve seen hundreds of human girls like me and that I am nothing special. I try to tell them there is no need for the wrist, ankle and waist restraints, but they disagree. They explain that they are recording a viewing of my orgasm and it is best for the buying audience.
That is not encouraging.
I’m the star of a porno film.
They say that if I will cooperate like the red-haired human, it won’t be difficult at all.
That’s what you think.
I don’t say anything, though, because what’s the point? I merely close my eyes and pray that it isn’t as bad as I think it is going to be. I wish I knew more about Transcendental Meditation.
I could use something to mellow me out as they fasten some clips to my nipples. Then they spread my labia and slide a metal tampon inside my vagina. Not so bad, although lubricant would have been nice.
Then the doctor says, “Too small.”
I can’t stop from clenching as he takes the first metal tube out and replaces it with another.
Fatter, wider, and bigger than either of my two sexual partners.
“That’s too big,” I protest.
The doctor tugs on the tube and rotates it, and it feels too full, as if my inner walls are stretched to the max. “No,” he says. It will be fine, once you are aroused.
I pity the blue skinned women if this is their species’ attitude.
But I don’t dare complain too much.
Lindsey said it would be better if I don’t fight, so I keep silent.
Next step, they attach what looks like a tiny jeweled box on my clit.
I notice that they avoid touching me directly, instead choosing to use mechanical tools. It is all very clinical and uncomfortable.
“Shall we proceed?” the blue officer asks
Please no.
The doctor says, “Yes.”
Suddenly I am attacked by simultaneous sensations on my nipples and clit. Tightening, vibrating sensations. I gasp and jolt, wincing in pain.
“Too hard,” the doctor says and lowers the frequency.
The sensations are now soft, like little pulling and stroking motions. It is awkward and not arousing. Again, an adjustment is made, and I feel a twinge of pleasure.
I hate the fact that my body is betraying me. This shouldn’t feel good in any way.