Alien Tribute

by Lee Savino

  There is still time before my sleep cycle, so I begin to read the courtship manuals. High Commander Gavrill claimed that human courtship rituals are not so different from our own, but I will be thoroughly versed by the time my Tribute arrives. If they are similar enough, then she should be no trouble, but where they differ, I already know I will rely more on Tsenturion rituals.

  She is to be a Tsenturion tribute, after all; her old life will be over and gone.

  We will have that in common, at least.

  “How are you, Bogdan? Are you prepared for the arrival of your Tribute?” The sneering question comes from Arkdhem a few daycycles later when we are at a meal, his tone implying that I am neglecting my duty. I glare at him. The only joy I have is knowing he wants a Tribute beyond anything, and he must wait. As I study him, his suit darkens slightly, a sign of the envy he was attempting to keep hidden.

  Foolish male.

  The lack of control over his emotions proves he is not ready for one. While he might want one more than I, I doubt his ability to master a Tribute. Especially having witnessed how he lets Tribute Dawn do what she pleases when he is her escort.

  “I have nothing to prepare. My quarters are adequate. She is the one who must be prepared for me.” The courtship manuals have reassured me of my role in the relationship. I will establish dominance and gain her submission and loyalty, and she will be the perfect Tribute, serving me in every way. The manuals describe how human females are capable of more emotional relationship and bonding, but I see no need to enter into a deep connection with my Tribute unless it is necessary for breeding. Even breeding feels a betrayal, but the chance to continue our race cannot be denied.

  Arkdhem stares at me, anger flickering through his armor. For a moment, I tense, expecting a blow. He and I have fought before, but not recently. Arkdhem prefers to hide behind his jokes and smiles, while plotting his true intent. He is a smooth edge, while I am rough. No doubt a Tribute would prefer him to me, but it would likely be to her detriment.

  “The Jabol are generous,” I say. I do not need to taunt him outright. My words are enough to invoke his ire. “They have sent me copious footage of her training. I haven’t had the time to view them yet, but perhaps you would review them and see for yourself how prepared she is for me?"

  Arkdhem’s suit darkens further. “Is that an order?”

  I would not actually trust any warrior with intimate viewings of my future mate. Even as I think the words without inflection, pain flickers through me. I will not consider Tribute Pareena a mate, not a real one. Even so, she should not be subject to another male’s gaze, especially of her special training to accept me as master. To share the recordings would be discourteous.

  I ignore the part of me that feels possessiveness at the idea of Arkdhem viewing her training. I am merely possessive about her because it is my duty. It has nothing to do with her. I don't even know her.

  Arkdhem meets my gaze with his own blank one. In the next moment, he smiles, and I realize I have been silent too long, withholding my answer. “It would be my pleasure to assist you with your Tribute in any way you wish. Is the footage stored on your personal console? I will access it, if you give me the code.”

  “No,” I bite out. “That won’t be necessary. No one need see the Tribute but me. I will do my duty by reviewing them myself.”

  Looking suspiciously like he wants to laugh, Arkdhem salutes me again and takes my spot on the bridge.

  Drakk. I told myself I wouldn’t care about my Tribute, but I have already broken this vow. If my suit turns any darker, it’ll become a black hole.

  My mood does not change as I march to my quarters. On the lift from the bridge, Officer Borodem falls into step with me. As soon as the door closes, he turns. “If I may offer my congratulations, Commander, on procuring a Tribute—”

  “You may not,” I cut him off, as I have begun doing when congratulations are offered. The other warriors need to see a Tribute for what she is—not a prize or a reward, but another thing to protect, a living burden aboard our ship. “It is my duty.”

  “It is not merely a duty,” the fool exclaims. Spines rise on my suit and he reconsiders. “Would that we all had such a duty.” He moves away from me, finally recognizing my need for solitude.

  I close my eyes and remind myself that most of my fellow warriors had no expectations for the last Mating Festival. They lost their families and friends in the Great Tragedy, as did we all, but they had not begun to make plans beyond the next mission.

  My next mission had been to make a family. To be with her. And then it was all gone. She was gone, along with our plans, our future, our world. But I went on.

  They know this, but they do not understand.

  They do not realize what it feels like to have to replace the one I could not save.

  Pareena

  Presentation Day is here. Finally. Frllil is more jiggly than normal. A sign of his nervousness? Why he should be nervous, I don’t know. I’m the one having a coma dream which involves being thrust into the unknown. Despite all the training I’ve done, I feel completely unprepared.

  That this entire sequence of events is a clear metaphor for death that my brain has conjured up does not escape me.

  I’m gonna miss his weird face. Is it because I’m actually going to miss him or because I’m worried that the next step in this sequence of events is actually my death? Orgasm is known as the ‘little death’ after all. If I wasn’t dying, I could have a field day writing a paper about all of this… if I could concentrate.

  I’m a bit more distracted than usual. I had no idea I had so many fantasies about orgasm denial. I followed a few femdenial accounts on the Tumblr account I use for porn, but it wasn’t my main kink. Nothing to warrant days of edging. I’m starting to think the Cruciatus Curse would be easier to bear.

  I’m not quite ready to face Avada Kedavra yet though.

  I really don’t want to leave Frllil.

  But what if I’m not about to die? What if I’m actually just continuing the dream, which was heavily affected by the books I was reading before I fell into this coma? In which case, what’s about to happen might be really fantastic. I sincerely hope it’s the latter. I want to see Bogdan and run my hands all over him and have fantastic sex and orgasms before I die.

  Or maybe I’m already dead. Frllil was purgatory and now I’m headed to heaven.

  I’m not Catholic, or Christian, or even Hindu like my parents, in fact I always considered myself an atheist, but the analogy is too on point to ignore.

  Either way, it will all be over soon. I smooth the front of my gown nervously. This is the most attractive I’ve looked since I started chemo. My hair spills over my shoulders in shining waves, the nearly see-through dress clings to my curves, the dark red color setting off my coloring nicely. I feel pretty. Feminine. And I still get a thrill of happiness whenever I touch my hair.

  “Now remember the process of the ceremony,” Frllil flutters beside me, pushing me into the pod even as he tries to dish out last minute instructions. “Your role—”

  “Is to leave the pod and walk down the row of warriors to my Master. Then Dumbledore places the Sorting Hat on my head, and I think Ravenclaw really hard—”

  “What?” Frllil’s platform zooms in front of me. His whole mass quivers in upset. Jabol, I’ve discovered, don’t exactly have a sense of humor. And despite using books as a lure for women, they don’t really understand fiction either. Trying to explain Harry Potter to him went over as well as him trying to explain how nanotechnology worked to me.

  “Relax.” I sigh. “It was a joke. I walk up to my Master and he’ll begin the process of bonding our nanotech.” Which Frllil hasn’t really explained what that means other than we will ‘touch’ in a ceremonial manner and the bond will initiate.

  “This is very important, Pareena Singh.” Back to first and last names. I stifle a groan. “You must—”

  “I know. I’m ready. I’ll miss you, though,” I
say honestly. In a weird way, despite the training, we did bond. I’d say we’re both Ravenclaws. We both want all the information and facts we can get our hands on. “You did a great job of easing the transition.” I know that’s the compliment he’ll appreciate the most.

  “Thank you, Tribute Pareena.” Frllil puffs up happily. “It has been a pleasure to train you. I believe the process was much easier this time, in large part due to your attitude.” This is not the first time he’s referenced how difficult the previous Tribute was, and I can’t help but be amused. Apparently, even in my head, I feel the need to excel in an imaginary comparison. Extending a tendril, Frllil waves as I step into the pod and lie down. The door swishes shut, cutting off the view of him on his platform.

  I can feel the subtle hum of vibrations shift. The pod is moving. Supposedly it will only take minutes for me to reach my destination.

  But minutes can feel like hours when you aren’t sure what’s going to happen next. Am I going to reach the next step I read about? Or is this my end?

  I got this. I can do this.

  Lots of positive self-talk. That was something I always advised my clients to use. Affirmations can be incredibly useful in developing a positive mental attitude.

  Whatever happens next, I can handle it.

  I almost start to believe it until the pod’s vibrations change again. My jaw clenches shut in reaction as fear blooms in my chest. I’m here. Wherever here is. Before I can completely psych myself out, the pod opens to a large atrium. From the curved lines of the walls, I can only assume I’m in the belly of one of the big Tsenturion ships. Probably the Command Ship, a part of my brain supplies, since that’s where Bogdan is supposed to be stationed.

  Ranks of Tsenturions in full battle armor line my view, staring at me, waiting for me to make my next move. Right.

  I can do this.

  Pushing back my fear I step out of the pod and they snap to attention. Turning my head back and forth, I look over them. At the back of their ranks is a small raised platform with a gangplank leading up to it. It’s exactly what Frllil described the ceremony would look like. Maybe that’s the reason for the orgasm denial. If I wasn’t desperate to climax, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to take that next step. Not with all these massive, intimidating males staring at me.

  As if responding to my thoughts, the Bride Trainer whirs to life, like it’s encouraging me to get moving. So, I take that first step. And then another.

  The closer I get, the more my Bride Trainer vibrates. My body flushes, my knees trembling with need. I move faster, like an arrow seeking out my target.

  There are five figures on the gangplank. Three are giant warriors in glittering armor. Frllil schooled me on the armor colors. Two of the warriors wear a neutral navy. The one in the middle is in shiny black. Could it be—

  The Bride Trainer hits max power and I almost misstep. Fisting the folds of my dress, I force myself to walk slower, even though every nerve ending in my pussy is screaming at me to pick up the pace. Falling on my face wouldn’t be a good first impression. Not that the Trainer is making it easy for me. I can feel the hot blush in my cheeks as the silky material of my dress rubs against my nipples and the heat between my legs becomes unbearable.

  I stare up at my new master, his features much clearer now that I’m nearly to him.

  Bogdan looks the same as he did in the training videos. Seven feet of pure muscle. Suit armor black as night. A lighter color flashes over the dark surface as I watch, too fast for me to register. Under his helmet, his jaw is set as he stares into the distance. Another alien warrior nudges him, and Bogdan glowers at the other warrior before transferring his foreboding gaze to me.

  His expression is far from happy. In all the footage I watched of him, he is never smiling. I thought it was because he’s an intense type of person, the type who becomes annoyed when you try to make small talk at work. He’s been on duty for a millennia ever since his planet was destroyed. That’s a ton of trauma right there. How do you deal with your entire species getting wiped out? Have these guys really dealt with their feelings about—

  No. I mentally smack myself. Rule number one of sexual fantasies: do not psychoanalyze the imaginary aliens. Not what I’m here for. I’m here for an orgasm.

  I’m too aroused to think clearly anyway. And I can’t take my eyes off Bogdan. Master. My new Master. All of this is so formal. High protocol. I never got into the pomp and ceremony of BDSM before. Guess this is my chance to try it.

  Thanks, brain.

  I raise my chin and meet Bogdan’s gaze. His face is blank. I’m almost to the gangplank, close enough to see when he looks me up and down. Nothing, not even a flicker of interest. Does he not like what he sees?

  My hands automatically go to my hair, stroking a long strand that’s settled over my shoulder for comfort. It’s like a security blanket. This isn’t real. It’s your fantasy. Of course, he likes what he sees, otherwise why would your subconscious have created him? You control this, if you want him to smile then make him smile!

  The warrior beside him nudges him again and he moves to the head of the gangplank, glowering in no particular direction.

  And wow does he have a major glower, the kind that makes me want to drop to my knees to avoid it. All right then. I’ve fantasized about a strict dominant Master who will fulfill all my sexy fantasies, and my subconscious delivered. I can deal with this.

  I hope he lets me orgasm soon. I mean, I hope I let me orgasm soon. This whole thing feels so real it’s becoming more and more difficult to remember it’s not, especially when things don’t go to the way I want them to.

  I climb the gangplank and stop in front of the giant warrior. With a smooth sweep of my arms, I spread my gown and dip my knees like I’ve practiced. It’s not quite like a curtsy on Earth, at least not like one I’ve ever seen. My feet are together, and my knees bend forward. The Tsenturion version of a curtsy I suppose. Three, two, one, then I straighten but keep my gaze on the ground as the Bride Trainer’s vibrations swell between my legs.

  My part is done. I sway a little. Just don’t pass out. I’m so close to orgasming I can almost taste it.

  Bogdan hasn’t moved, but I can feel his gaze on me. I lean towards him. My salvation. The Giver of Orgasms. At least, I really hope he is.

  The tallest of the group steps forward and Bodgan salutes him.

  “Commander Bogdan, as High Commander of the Tsenturion fleet, I present your Tribute.”

  I startle as the ranks behind me break out into a shouted chant. The huge room rings as over a thousand hands hit their armored chests in salute. The tall warrior—the High Commander—nods and steps back, reaching down to draw a small figure forward with a flutter of colorful robes.

  There’s a human on the deck with us. Blonde and draped in a flowy gown like mine, she’s wearing a small smile. When I glance at her, she winks.

  This must be Dawn, the first Tribute. Huh. She doesn’t look like she could possibly have given Frllil as much trouble as he claimed. The attitude he described is not immediately obvious either. I smile back at her a little, feeling relieved not to be the only human and female. What must it have been like for her to be all alone?

  She wasn’t, remember? You’re imagining yourself a human companion so that you won’t be all alone.

  I’m having so much trouble letting go and enjoying the fantasy that I can’t help but wonder if part of me is worried that this is all real. Which sounds insane, but it’s true.

  Bogdan beckons me forward. His face is still blank, but his eyes burn, moving over my form, pausing on my lips, my breasts and further down before sweeping back up to my face. It really does feel so real. I try to relax into it.

  Because this is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for.

  My knees wobble, strangely weak. I studied the pictures of him, but I didn’t expect the presence he’d have in the flesh. His face is as hard and chiseled as the armor he wears. His broad shoulders block out the sight of th
e ship. Up close, his armor is clearly molded to his skin. The amount of muscles clearly delineated on his body are inhuman. Obviously.

  He reaches for me, something in his hand. Maybe some kind of tech to help with the nanotech bonding? Silently, I curse Frllil for not being more descriptive, but I step forward, ready to embrace him, when he lifts my hair. That feels nice. Then something clicks, a cool metal presses around my throat, and I freeze.

  Did he just collar me?!

  Frllil definitely didn’t mention anything about that! Maybe I should have expected it because serious BDSM relationships often involve a collar, and I think I do remember something about it from the books I was reading, but I thought we’d at least get to know each other a little first. Not just wham, bam, collared ma’am.

  The collar is smooth yet soft under my fingers. Not metal but not fabric either—or if it is, it’s something I haven’t encountered. I can’t figure out how it latches, although my fingers frantically search for one.

  Bogdan holds up the end of a long, glittering leash which now connects us and gives the lead a warning tug. “It is forbidden for anyone to touch your collar but me.” I drop my hands but he’s still glowering at me. He tugs the leash again, and the way it jerks on my throat makes me want to reach out and smack him. “The correct response is ‘Yes, Master’.”

  I grind my teeth. Do not curse at the giant alien. If my subconscious was directing this scenario from my reading material, I definitely did not want to go there. “Yes, Master.”

  Despite my annoyance, my pussy throbs at the words. He turns back to the High Commander.

  “The Tribute is acceptable.” Without warning he’s moving forward, past the warriors and human, tugging me in his wake. Wait a second… where’s my ceremonial touch? Aren’t we supposed to kiss, or hug, or at least hold hands or something? I feel bereft and more than a little lost at the suddenness of our departure. I wouldn’t have thought being collared was going to be the outer limit of our interaction.