by Alana Khan
Yeah, I’ve thought of ending my life. Things have been rough. Real rough. But there’s something deep in my spirit that keeps pushing me to hang in there, promising me things will get better.
I’m still waiting.
Back home, I sang forty minutes an hour, then had a twenty-minute break. Human vocal cords need time to recover. Here in space? Breaks are unheard of. I just keep pushing through my shift, trying to lose myself in the music so I don’t focus on the shitstorm that is my life.
At least the red asshole quit heckling me and went elsewhere.
Two hours later, I’m on the homestretch. I have about an hour left, and, miracle of miracles, my owner found a prostitute and has given me a room of my own for the night. It’s been a while since I’ve had that luxury.
The red jerk is back. I’m certain he’s a gladiator, you can spot one at fifty paces. I imagine it's because they live in barracks like a bunch of unruly frat boys their entire lives. He’s weaving and squinting and is having trouble finding his rowdy friends even though they’re loudly enjoying themselves in the front row.
He plops into his seat, roaring drunkenly to his friends about how much he won at the klempto tables. I have to admit, if he won even a tenth of what he’s bragging about, he’s a hell of a player.
“You should get a new line of work,” he yells.
I clutch my slave collar and retort, “I do what I’m told.” It wasn’t a good response. He obviously doesn’t care that I’m not doing this for fun.
“Your owner should put you in a job where you don’t have to open your mouth except to suck cock.”
Motherfucker! That was the worst thing anyone’s ever heckled me with, and in the dive bars I sing at, that’s saying a lot.
“Boys,” I say to the group he’s with, “why don’t you take the red devil to his room? He can’t sleep off his ugly, but he can sleep off his booze.”
They try in vain to get him to shut up, but he keeps peppering me with derisive comments. After a while, his friends get tired of fighting him and leave, but he stays put, glaring at me. I have no idea why he’s got it in for me, but he won’t stop.
Finally, my owner approaches him—that’s a first—he’s never been proactive about protecting me before. I assume it will be a quick exchange that will result in the ugly red asshole leaving. Instead, their discussion gets serious as pink, round, play-dohey Drenken sits down at the table with him. Their conversation gets so quiet, my shit detector is screaming warnings.
Something’s going on between them and it involves me. My sense of self-preservation tells me the outcome is going to wind up making this day even worse.
It’s time for my last song, and I belt it out, but I could be singing the lyrics to “Old MacDonald” for all the emotion I put into it. I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on between Drenken and the devil.
Before the last word is out of my mouth, Drenken calls me over. “Eel,” he says; the fat pink piece of shit is too lazy to say the two syllables of my name. “Eel, come over here. Meet your new owner.”
No! This can’t be happening. I’ve had four owners, all of which were grabby bastards who treated me heinously. But this? Red Devil hates me. He’s going to abuse me worse than all four of them combined.
“Eel. Your new owner,” Drenken says in a careless attempt at introductions.
“Eel,” Red Devil says drunkenly. His lips keep moving, but even my translator can’t make sense of his inebriated gibberish. I do, however, catch the word ‘room’.
Great. Time to get intimately acquainted. I can only hope he passes out or his junk doesn’t work.
Drenken unceremoniously gives my pain/kill collar controller to Devil and slogs off in his characteristic rolling, chubby gait. My table companion is about to nod off, so I have a moment to inventory him.
I don’t know how, but between his craggy horns and his gold-green eyes with the snake-like pupils, you’d think he’d look hideous. Somehow everything pulls together into an almost handsome look, albeit alien. It’s his personality that tips the scales to make you think he’s ugly.
Devil seems to come back to his senses and lurches out of his chair, obviously wanting me to follow, which I dutifully do. I learned quickly that no matter how odious, mean, slovenly, or disgusting the master, the bite of the shock collar is the same—painful.
I spent the first three months of my captivity nursing the aftermath of repeated shocks. I thought my nervous system would never recover. The skin under the collar turned light brown and has stayed discolored to this day.
It didn’t matter how rebellious my spirit was, or how much I fought back—the collar always won. After a while, I quit fighting. So I’m scurrying behind the Devil, hoping to stay out of his eyesight and avoid his wrath.
As wasted as he is, he’s moving pretty swiftly until he stops in the hallway between the casino and the hotel.
I’ve been on so many different planets, it’s hard to remember where I am at any given time. It’s only now that I remember I’m on planet Paragon, aka the Pleasure Planet. As a slave, no place provides pleasure to me.
But this place is designed to provide all amenities and all types of pleasure. Respectable couples stay in the main areas of the huge resort. However, I was booked to sing in this area. I’ve heard it called Intercourse Island, Cum City, Love Lagoon, Dick’s Delight—the lewd names are endless. I’ve chosen to call it the Bang District, and I call this hotel the Hump Hostel.
So I’m surprised in this swamp of sport-fucking and testosterone that there would be a wedding chapel so prominently featured in the casino. More surprising, though, is the interest Devil is showing in the window display.
The fact that he owns me is one thing. As I’ve observed, ownership comes and goes on a whim. But marriage? This takes things to a whole new level.
“Bad idea, Red,” I say, stepping into his line of sight so his feeble brain can register my serious-as-a-heart-attack expression and my shaking head. “You need to sleep this off.”
He mumbles something unintelligible as he pulls me into the small shop. This place doesn’t even pretend to be romantic. No Elvis packages or plastic rental flowers. There’s a shaggy blue guy behind the counter who points to the price.
“You just looking?” he asks.
“No,” Red says as he looks.
Perhaps because he smells a sale, Shaggy Blue elaborates on his product. “This isn’t the most lavish mating chapel on the planet, but you’ll be legally mated all the same.” Quite the persuasive sales pitch.
He looks pointedly at my slave collar and says, “Slaves can’t wed.”
“Wha?” Red mumbles.
“She can’t be mated as a slave. For a nominal fee, I can write up her papers of manumission.”
Holy shit. Really? Manumission. That means freedom, right? Could this be the answer to my prayers? The price of freedom will be enduring one evening of world-class heckling and perhaps a night in bed with the devil himself. Then as a free woman, I can get a divorce and live out my life on a safe planet where I can make a living singing torch songs? Where do I sign?
“Come on honey,” I have the balls to say as I lovingly slip my arm around Red’s waist. “I’ve always dreamed of getting married in the Cum Quadrant. Let’s do it,” I urge.
“Mmm.” He cocks his head.
“Do you want to get mated, Sir?” Blue Guy asks Red.
“Mmm.”
“Now you realize that although this isn’t the fanciest facility, the vows are serious? When you sign these papers you are mated for life.” His chartreuse eyes spear into me to underscore his sincerity.
“Forever and always,” I say, nodding my head compliantly. I watched my mom swear ‘until death do us part’ before God and the state of Ohio three times. None of those lasted more than four years. I can almost taste my freedom.
“Sir, are you in agreement?” he asks.
Big Red is swaying on his feet. I have a feeling if we don’t get th
is over in a hurry he’s going to pass out before the nuptials are over.
“Of course, he’s in agreement. Although we’ve talked about a big wedding for years, we decided tonight’s the night.” I cozy up next to him and cradle my arm around his waist hoping I can hold up the huge pillar of muscle if he topples.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” he says, clear as a bell. I think he was just answering ‘yes’ to ‘sir’ and not the question of his buy-in to the marriage, but Blue Guy takes his ‘yes’ as a yes.
“I’ll prepare the manumission papers,” he says. I never thought I’d love a word as much as I love ‘manumission’. “While you two decide on a brand.”
What the fuck? My head snaps to him.
“Brand?” Certainly, I didn’t hear that correctly.
“Haven’t you dreamed of an official Paragon mating ceremony? The reason people come from all over the galaxy is the branding ceremony. I have a wide variety to choose from. By the size of you two, I’d suggest you look for a pair with bigger and smaller matching brands. Over there.” He points vaguely to the wall to my right.
How’d I miss this? It reminds me of the Medieval Torture Museum I toured. There must be over a hundred brands of all sizes and designs hanging neatly from metal racks.
“Perhaps I missed this in the brochure,” I say, hesitant to interrupt his completion of the papers of manumission—I still love that word. “The branding involves actual heat? Actual pain?”
“Why yes. That’s the beauty of it. It signifies your deep connection, commitment, and that nothing will tear your bond asunder.”
“How about we just do the mini-ceremony? The one without the brand. Don’t worry. We’ll pay the full price. No problem.”
“On Paragon it’s not an official mating without the brand. Without the mating, you don’t get the papers of manumission.” He holds them up as incentive.
Shit. Big Red’s knees wobble as he makes a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a hiccup.
“Stand up straight, gladiator,” I order. I’m only half surprised when he immediately complies.
“Branding it is,” I say as I pull him toward the implements.
I spend long minutes inspecting the choices. I’m not looking for the prettiest brand. I’m looking for the smallest one.
Finally, I find the perfect choice. The feminine choice is petite, the masculine is one of the largest. Serves the bastard right.
“We’ve made our choice,” I call to the blue guy. “Right, honey?”
“Mmm.”
Exactly.
I can do this. A moment of pain for a lifetime of freedom? I can totally do this.
“Now it will take a half to a whole annum for this to heal,” Blue informs me.
Shit! Okay, small correction. A year of pain for a lifetime of freedom. Still worth it.
After I point out our choice, the brands go into a container that I assume is heating them to just this side of molten.
You can do this, Elyse. Yes, you can. Short-term pain for long-term gain. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.
Maybe he’ll marry us first and we can skedaddle before he gets to the branding.
“Branding first, then nuptials, and finally your papers of manumission,” Blue Guy says with a big smile. Even his teeth have a blue tinge. I’ve certainly seen weirder things since I left planet Earth.
“Can I pay extra for painkiller?” I ask. “Got some?”
“Yes, I do. Part of the ceremony is the pain. When the ritual is complete, I’ll sell you some salve to take with you, though.”
He’s about to do the Red Devil first when I stop him. The brand is certain to wake Red from his alcohol-induced stupor and might put the kibosh on the whole process. I’ll offer to go first so it will be a done deal by the time Red knows what hit him.
“My fiance’s a wimp,” I say, “do me first.”
He sits me on a chair near the wall. My confidence, what little I had, is truly shaken when I see splatters of red and green blood on the metal wall to my left. I lean against it anyway, close my eyes, and get ready for him to brand me.
“They say it’s best to close your eyes and count to ten out loud. Press your left shoulder to the wall. Whatever you do, don’t move until I step away. If you do, the pain will be the same, but the brand won’t look good.”
Wouldn’t want that, would I?
I scoot my hips and shoulder to the wall, close my eyes, and count. With every number, I gird myself more, readying myself to tolerate the pain. Maybe this is all just a little Paragonian test to see if a couple really loves each other. Maybe there’s no brand at all.
“Eight,” I say, controlling my breathing.
And he presses the blazing fires of hell into my right bicep.
“Dear God,” I say through clenched teeth. Searing pain. Agony. My thoughts stop completely for long moments. Then I realize the brand is no longer burning my flesh, but the pain has not abated. If anything it’s getting stronger.
I want to scream, but I don’t want to wake Red Devil from his stupor. I put a picture of the manumission papers in front of my eyes, then flash an image of me without a pain/kill collar around my neck. This is worth it. At least it will be worth it when I can breathe again.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking down the halls of the hotel to Red’s room. I’m honestly not certain he knows he was branded; he practically slept through the torture. Fucker.
I paid Blue for an extra container of salve, which I slipped into my pocket and will never divulge to the Red Devil. He’ll be hurting tomorrow and I’ll be blissfully pain-free. Pain-free and on my way to the courthouse to get a divorce—as a free woman.
~.~
Well, Dear Reader, I just read that chapter along with you and I have to admit, I did a good job of making our hero unlikeable. I promise, there are reasons he’s an ass and you’re going to start loving him shortly. Scout’s Honor.
Alana
Who’s Who
Zar and Anya—The feline captain of the Fool’s Errand and Anya led the insurrection against their masters and freed all twenty slaves on the original ship. They are loving life mates.
Shadow and Petra—Shadow could pass for human except for his bionic parts, although he’s from planet Morgana. His mate, Petra, is a hairdresser.
Tyree and Grace—Tyree morphed from a three-foot-tall non-sexual being to a huge alpha male. His mate, Grace is known throughout the galaxy for her ethereal musical compositions.
Devolose and Tawny—This mated pair left the Galaxy Gladiators to join Dev’s cousin, Thantose, in the Galaxy Pirates series.
Dr. Drayke sun Omron and Nova—Nova came aboard after her arm was chopped off in a gladiator fight. Originally an MMA fighter, after she was abducted from Earth, she was trained as a gladiator. She now assists her mate, Drayke in medbay.
Axxios, Braxxus, and Brianna—All males of this species are born as twins—one silver and one gold. The gold of the pair is more dominant. They fell hard for Brianna, a BBW massage therapist with a heart big enough to love them both.
Sirius and Aliyah—Born a geneslave with genetic material from different animal species, Sirius found his mate on planet Nativus. Aliyah was an Earth girl abducted young and nurtured by her native father. Her mother and father’s story is told in the novelette, Jax-Xon.
Dax and Dahlia—Dahlia was ripped from her life on Earth just days before her wedding. She had to adjust to life in space to realize how compelling her feelings were for huge gladiator, Dax.
Beast and Aerie—Beast and Aerie joined the crew when they and three others were rescued from a slave ship. Beast is a Premier Gladiator (one of only ten in the Galaxy), and Aerie was stolen from her life as a Sports Attorney. She had a love for Louboutins and now prefers flipflops with chartreuse alien eyes.