by Beva John
On my feet, I am wearing intricate sandals with four-inch heels.
Ridiculous and slutty.
I guess I am a prostitute now.
I glance briefly at my reflection in one of the many mirrors in the room. My hair has been curled and twisted up into a tower somewhat like Marie Antoinette, complete with jeweled flowers.
My face is painted with glittery swirls, as is my neck and shoulders.
I don’t look like myself at all, which makes all of this seem like a bad dream.
I wish it were just an acid trip.
Four comes into the room, saying that I look fine, ready to work. She says that my first client is a Namvire, and that I must be patient, for it will take him a long time to come. As it continues to talk, I assume from the information it shares, that Four is female.
It seems like Katolls can erupt immediately, Brunes take a little longer, and Namvires can take hours, up to an entire day.
It sounds exhausting and horrible.
“I don’t know anything about Namvires,” I tell her, choosing to ignore my brief experience with Officer Raan, which actually had been only one-sided.
Four shrugs. “You’ll need lubricant. There is a dispenser on the side of the bed.”
“No, please,” I tell her. “Tell me what to expect.”
She sighs. “Namvires have inverted penises.” She points to her crotch. “They are flat down here with a slit. And until they are aroused, the penis stays inside.”
Ugh. “Like a dolphin,” I say, but I know she doesn’t know that I’m talking about. “What else do I need to know?”
“He will bite you on your neck when he comes.”
Good heavens. “Like vampires?” I touch the side of my throat.
“No. Lower, on the muscle where your neck meets your shoulder.”
I can’t remember what that muscle is called, but I can imagine Namvire fangs biting into me. I shudder. “Is any kind of medical scanning done to make sure he doesn’t have rabies?”
Four says, “We do not scan our clients. If they are diseased, you will be treated later.”
Great.
“Don’t worry,” Four says in an encouraging tone. “I think you will do very well. You seem to be intelligent and willing to do the work. You should be fine.”
Thank you, I guess.
I suppose I need to be like the Victorian brides who were told to close their eyes and think of England.
She checks the data on her wrist screen and adds, “One more thing. Your client will be bringing a Namvire female with him. He says it is his assistant who always travels with him, but you should be prepared to accommodate both of them.”
Dear God. A threesome?
She reminds me that I will be able to eat dinner after my client leaves and tells me that if I need anything, to speak to the panel on the wall.
RAAN
It takes much longer than I wish to arrange matters, and every minute I worry that I will not be able to save Sylvia, but eventually, we arrive at the brothel owned by Anno Dar.
According to their records, I am a rich, idle Namvire, living off the income of my family store, with a fortune to waste at brothels, even an out of the way brothel on Enset. I am using an alias, a second identity that Rint helped me create years before. Another of my brother’s truisms is that you never know when you might need to be someone else. I have brought the young Namvire Timka with me. He is dressed as a Namvire female with a wig of long false hair and a dozen earrings.
In a low tone, I tell him that he looks cute as a female, and he scowls at me.
Together we enter the main entrance of the brothel.
A native receptionist finalizes a credit transfer and walks with us, her long hairy arms skimming the floor, as we progress to the room where Sylvia should be waiting.
I notice the recording devices in the ceiling. The technology is several hundred years out of date, but it might pose a problem. I ask about the brothel’s privacy policy. “I do not want viewings of myself streaming through the galaxies,” I tell her.
She assures me that any recordings are purely for safety purposes. They are only to protect me in case something goes wrong.
I sincerely doubt that. I think it more likely that Anno Dar wants to protect his property. Human females are rare commodities in Enset. “Where are these viewings stored?”
She shows me a room where a tired native employee sits in front of a wall of data screens. I notice that the viewings are visual only and ask if any auditory recording is made.
“No, thank the Gods,” the native employee says and makes a joke. “You can scream as much as you like.”
The receptionist gives him a disapproving look, because she does not want to offend me.
But I smile at them both, baring my fangs. “Excellent.”
On the way to Sylvia’s room, the receptionist asks if I desire any food or other refreshment.
In my most imperious tones, I say, “I have already requested Hesagi wine. Is that not available?”
She hastens to reassure me. “Yes, sir. That is already in the room.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I will order more refreshment later.”
“Yes, sir.”
She unlocks a door and walks with me into an ill-lit room, decorated with red and purple tapestries and modern furniture designed to look antique. Sylvia stands stiffly, looking at me and Timka with apprehension.
The native receptionist introduces Sylvia as Rosebud.
Still playing a part, I look her up and down and with proud disdain in my voice, I say, “I suppose she is adequate.”
The receptionist leaves discretely, reminding us that we can communicate by the data panel on the wall if we need anything further.
As the door closes, I struggle to find the words to speak. As much as I hate the fact that Sylvia is a brothel, I am relieved to see her, and she is stunningly beautiful with her hair styled on top of her head and her skin painted.
She is a vision.
I can feel my cock stirring, ready to emerge, and I am mortified by my lack of control.
I take a step forward and Sylvia swings one of the decorative vases at me, striking me on the forehead.
I stagger back, more surprised than hurt, and my vision blurs as blood runs into my eyes. “Sylvia?”
CHAPTER TEN
SYLVIA
Did this horrid, overdressed Namvire just call me Sylvia?
I hadn’t planned to defend myself, but the impulse was strong. I just took the first thing I could find and used it as a weapon.
The female beside him pulls me away from him, takes the vase from my hands and says roughly, “What are you doing, stupid human?”
I look more closely and see that the Namvire before me is Officer Raan, possibly come to rescue me. “I am so sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t realize –”
But then, the door opens, and an armed Katoll and two of the Enset people burst into the room. “What is happening?” they demand.
Someone must have pushed a button, because a familiar electric shock goes through me and suddenly, I sink to the carpeted floor, crying out from the pain.
Fortunately, I did not kill Raan. He calmly wipes his eye and forehead with the cuff of his shirt. “Stop that. What are you doing?”
“The human female struck you.”
Raan rises to his full height, straightening his shoulders and glares at them. “It is nothing. An accident, nothing more. Do you not think that I can take care of myself?”
“Forgive us, sir. But the human female is new and –”
“Silence,” Raan says coldly. “You have said more than enough, and you are ruining my experience tonight. If you stay any longer, I will demand a refund. And I will tell all my acquaintances that Anno Dar owns the worst brothel in Enset.”
The Enset employees cower, but the guard is wary. He says, “You are bleeding. You have been wounded.”
“It is of no importance.” Raan holds out his hand. “Give me th
e punishment wand. If the human female needs to be taught better manners, I will do it. Not you.”
The guard hands him a small cylindrical device.
“Now go,” Raan says with a majestic wave of his hand. “And do not interrupt us again. Under any circumstances.”
“Yes, sir.”
The brothel employees and the guard leave, groveling, expressing their apologies.
Once the door closes, we are all silent for a moment. I take a deep breath. “I am so sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t recognize you.” He still doesn’t look like the alien I remembered. Instead of wearing his plain black uniform, he is decked out in flamboyant, brightly colored coat and pants, with multiple earrings and bracelets on his non-computer arm. His medium brown hair is styled upwards in a spikey version of an Elvis pompadour.
Raan reaches out his hand to me, to help me stand. “And I am sorry that brute hurt you. As soon as I can, I’m going to remove that brixing collar.”
That sounds promising.
The female Namvire says quietly, “What about the recordings?” She is overdressed as well, in an ornate brocade dress with a large, floor length skirt that flares out from the waist as if she is wearing a crinoline underneath.
Raan walks with me over to a couch, where we both sit. I am a little embarrassed by my slutty attire and try to adjust my long skirt so that my pussy is not on display, but I remind myself that he’s already seen me naked on a table. I have no pride left.
He keeps my hands in his. “I have been thinking about that, and I have some ideas. First, we must locate the recorder.”
The other Namvire says, “It is on the wall, next to the mirror.”
Raan looks around the room, visually locates the camera and says, “Excellent. We can place our own recorder next to it.”
“What is your plan?” I ask.
“We will record a viewing of us pretending to have sex, download that, and override their streaming. Their guards will watch a continual repetitive loop while we escape.”
I am impressed. “Can you do that?”
Raan snorts. “Their equipment is ancient. I was doing similar things in my nest.”
I see that the cut on his forehead has already stopped bleeding, so it must have been a surface wound. But I do notice the smear of blood on the sleeve of his fancy shirt. “I can’t believe I hurt you.”
He smiles. “It would take much more than that to hurt me, Green-eyes. I’m just thankful that I found you in time. They haven’t hurt you?”
“Other than dressing me in these awful clothes? No.”
Raan runs one finger along the metal spiral that encases my breast. “It’s not so bad. I think this is pretty.”
The other Namvire says, “If you want, I can set up a recorder now.”
“Do that,” Raan says and if mesmerized by my bare nipple, briefly touches it, making me gasp.
He pulls back. “Forgive me, I don’t want to be like the other travelers who would frequent a place like this. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“No, I don’t mind,” I tell him, meeting his gaze directly. “Besides, you’re rescuing me, aren’t you? If we make it out of here alive, I’m going to owe you something.”
He frowns. “No. I may have bought you, but I don’t own you. You are completely free. You can do what you wish, go where you wish and do not think that I have any claim to your body.”
What a sweetheart. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him on his scaly lips, which are surprisingly softly. “Thank you.”
He recoils. “What are you doing?”
“That was just a kiss,” I tell him. “Just a peck. Do the Namvire not kiss?”
He looks uncomfortable. “Not like that. Not on the lips.” He brings his clawed hand up to his lips and presses his fingers to his lips with a contemplative expression.
“Did you like it?”
His golden eyes gleam. “Yes.”
He leans forward and we kiss again, pressing our lips together. At first his touch is tentative, gentle, but then as we continue, the kisses become stronger, firmer, and when I go so far as to suck his lower lip into my mouth and give it a gentle nip, he shudders and clutches me closer, then just as quickly, he lets me go, almost pushing me away.
“That’s too much,” he says and stands.
Now I feel stupid. What was I doing? Trying to make out with him when our lives are in danger?
He straightens his clothing, adjusting the waistband of his pants.
There is a suspicious bulge there, but neither of us refer to it.
He says, “We should record now.”
“All right. Where do you want me?”
“On the bed.”
I nod and he suddenly picks me up and carries me like he’s carrying a bride over the threshold. Then he places me on the large bed and rumples the coverings. I am lying in my slutty dress, on my back, looking up at him and he says, “Stay there.”
He then proceeds to strip out of his clothes, throwing them on the floor until he is standing before me at the foot of the bed, naked except for the arm band with his data screen.
I have seen very few naked men in my lifetime, but Raan is a hunk with chiseled muscles from his shoulders down to his abs. Long and lean, built like Charlton Heston in the Ben Hur rowing scene but without the hair.
Unlike my human boyfriends, Raan is hairless, and that penis is no longer inverted.
It is a monster – thick and long, and totally fab.
But I don’t want to embarrass him by staring at his dick, so I hastily look back up at his face.
He presses his data screen and says, “Timka, I want you at the head of the bed. We should all be in the viewing.
The other Namvire comes and stands at the head of the bed. “Hold her shoulders down,” Raan orders.
She says, “yes, sir.”
Raan then climbs onto the bed. He separates my legs and bends my knees, trying to make it so my feet are flat on the mattress. But the sandals I am wearing makes this impossible.
Raan swears under his breath, which makes me give a little burst of laughter. He smiles at me as he unfastens my sandals and throws them back over his shoulders so they land with noisy thuds on the floor.
He still has all those teeth, but I think I am getting used to the fangs.
He says. “Hold still. I will pretend that I am an impatient lover who has taken no time to pleasure you. We will record for ten or fifteen minutes, and then I will modify the viewing for their stream.”
He is like a movie director now. I nod. “All right.”
I can tell that he is trying to be considerate of me, but the truth is, it is very awkward to have a naked guy climb on top of you, knowing that his friend, as well as all the employees in the brothel will see you.
However, this is better than the sex show we gave in the Medical Center on the Silver Scrapper.
And it is a million times better than having a real alien client. I have no reason to complain.
He lies on top of me – in missionary position, with his upper body held up by his arms. He adjusts himself so his huge cock stays between my legs but does not enter my cunt.
And then he starts to thrust and groan, simulating the sexual act.
Rather than looking at me, he stares straight ahead, over my head, facing the other Namvire.
I wish he would look at me, so we could treat this as a private joke, but the truth is, it’s not a joke. Our lives are at stake.
It is awkward and embarrassing. Even though I know that all of this is pretend, the sight of this sexy alien leaning over me and the friction of his flat abs slapping mine is arousing me.
I remember the doctor on the Silver Scrapper commenting that I was producing vaginal lubrication and my heart rate was accelerating.
Well, that all is happening now. I can feel my myself growing wet between my legs, and my heart is racing.
As if sensing my arousal, Raan shifts so that he is staring at me as he grinds aga
inst me. His eyes are a mesmerizing golden color.
Just when I think that I might have an orgasm, he says suddenly, “That is enough,” and rolls off me, lying next to me as he presses the screen on his arm and makes various calculations. After a few minutes, he climbs back on top of me and presses the screen again which apparently starts the film loop.
“We can all stop now,” he says.
Timka, still standing at the head of the bed, releases my shoulders. “Very good, sir,” she says, and removes her long hair, which I now see is a wig.
I’m surprised. Is the other Namvire a male?
He also steps out of his huge skirt and reveals several pouches or bags that he had been hiding under those skirts.
“We must act quickly,” Raan says a he begins to dress himself. “Sylvia, you must dress as a Namvire female so I can take you out of here.”
That’s brilliant, but it is also going to be challenging. “I don’t have a tail.”
Timka reaches into one of his bags and removes a fake tail that will tie around my waist with some ribbons.
“Wow.” I am completely impressed now. “Where did you get that?”
Raan explains, “Namvires can regenerate limbs. Occasionally a female loses her tail and doesn’t want the embarrassment as it grows back. Hence, prosthetic tails.”
It takes about an hour for me to shower all the glittery paint off my skin and undo the bird’s nest of hair. Then it takes longer for me to dress as a Namvire female – attaching the heavy tail to my waist and putting on the heavy dress.
Raan uses some metal pliers to remove the punishment collar around my neck.
That is a relief.
He also helps me apply yellow make-up so my skin looks more like his.
The wig is next and is heavy on my head. I hope that I don’t sweat off the make-up before we leave the building.
I also have to wear the high heeled sandals so I am closer to Timka’s height. Even so, the dress is several inches too long, and I will have to hold the hem up a little while I walk.