Tamed by the Alien Overlords

by Renee Bond

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Tamed by the Alien Overlords

  by Renee Bond

  Copyright © 2019 by Renee Bond Inc.

  Copyright © 2019 by Renee Bond Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.

  Published by Renee Bond Inc.

  Bond, Renee

  Tamed by the Alien Overlords

  Cover design by Lisa Richards

  Images by Anatol Smith

  This book is intended for adults only. All activities and events represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Any resemblance to any persons, real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

  A very special thank you to

  Courtney Green,

  Beta Reader Extraordinaire

  and

  Theresa Culbertson,

  Proofreading Warrior

  Chapter 1

  Liza

  The Domann warrior spoke proudly, addressing his crowd of thousands, wearing only that long ceremonial kilt that they favored. Which, of course, left his immaculate body naked from the waist up, putting on full display his sculpted torso, so full of rippling muscle and deep, alluring lines.

  They said their way of dress - minimal, to say the least - was traditional. Cultural.

  I suspected otherwise. Quite strongly.

  “There is a reason that no human woman, once taken by a superior race, has ever been unhappy at having become the mate of a Domann! Human women, hear me: becoming a Domann mate is nothing to run from - it is something to run towards!”

  Damn the Domann.

  “Fucking alien scum,” said a voice from behind me.

  I didn’t turn around. If I did, I may not have been able to face the Domann broadcast in front of me again. Along with two dozen other resistance fighters, I sat woodenly in my cheap metal chair, in a cramped, musty room. One of hundreds like it in the sprawling underground bunker that was our headquarters.

  I was not enjoying the show.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Yet another voice, one I recognized this time. Damien was a friend. Good soldier. Good shot. Cute, too. We’d screwed more than once. In a strictly comrades-with-benefits way.

  “That’s why we’re doing this,” I said loudly. It was time to play the good leader, even though I was very firmly in Damien’s boat. “So we never forget just who the Domann are.”

  “As if we could ever forget,” said a voice right beside me. Kara, one of my few good friends in the South Atlanta Human Resistance cell to which I belonged. Damn serious lady, with her fists or a gun. She had a glare as dark as her hair or her skin, and she always had her head on straight. We’d ambushed Domann patrols together more than once.

  Not that it ever did much good, in the long run.

  In front of us, a small projector displayed an image on a stained cinder block wall. A Domann broadcast: the public mating of a trio of Domann males with their recently captured human woman.

  They always held such spectacles in old stadiums or sports venues. This one was in a particularly large stadium, in which I heard that people used to do something called Based Ball. Or Baseing Ball. I think. There was definitely a ball. Anyways, there was a huge open space, surrounded on all sides by row after row of seats. Seats that were always filled to capacity.

  Not by Domann, but by humans.

  Not everybody agreed that being conquered by aliens was something to get all revolutionary about.

  Fucking traitors.

  In the middle of the stadium were the captives. Something like a hundred men and women, all in a circle, all strung up by the wrists - not hanging, but just unable to lower their arms or sit down. All of them wore special shirts that left their backs bare. And all of them were being slowly whipped by at least one of the Domann’s robot-drones. Though the Domann, in their infinite mercy, were careful never to break the skin, it wasn’t hard to tell that every single victim was in a considerable amount of distress.

  In the center of it all was a raised platform.

  On which was a large bed.

  In the middle of which, three Domann warriors took their pleasure from their single human mate. Not that she minded. Indeed, she may not even have been aware of what was happening around her, so deeply and enthusiastically was she lost in the throes of passionate Domann lovemaking.

  Fucking traitor.

  The captives all around the stadium were captured resistance fighters. One and all were being punished for the crime of daring to dream of a life that wasn’t spent under the heel of the Domann military. That, and shooting at the Domann military. After their public punishment, they would all be shipped off to either labor camps, if they were lucky, or penal colonies, if they weren’t.

  The woman was different, though. Special. No whipping drones for that one.

  No, she was being intimately attended to by three actual, honest-to-goodness aliens, each one more than seven feet of hard muscle and long flowing multi-colored hair. One had a deep emerald tinge to his skin. Another had an intricate, swirling pattern of thin lines of every color of the rainbow seemingly etched into his body. The last one had four arms instead of two. That was unusual, even for the Domann, a race so technologically advanced that they each carried billions of nanites in their bodies - and could use those nanites to achieve feats of wonder unimaginable by us lowly humans. Feats like shapeshifting. Or being nearly indestructible. Or healing what would otherwise be a mortal wound in mere hours.

  The emerald one and the multicolored one lay to each side of the woman on the platform in the middle of the stadium filled with tens of thousands of spectators. The four-armed one was between her legs, upright, on his knees, using his arms to hold her legs high in the air… and to grope and spank her ass and thighs. The woman herself appeared barely able to breath, so quickly came her gasps, so deep were her moans. Huge alien hands squeezed her breasts, pinched her nipples, gripped her hair. Luscious alien lips suckled at her neck, her chest.

  All around her, whips fell on human backs.

  It was a quintessentially Domann display: they could surround a woman with the suffering of her people, and still make her scream with pleasure and beg for more.

  Such displays were all too common.

  To understand why, you have to know a little bit about the Domann themselves.

  Twen
ty years ago - less than a year before I was born - the Domann came to Earth. Not, like, with a delegation. I mean their entire species showed up on our doorstep, with a fleet of thousands of hyper-advanced spacecraft.

  And they quickly announced their intention of conquering our little planet.

  Didn’t take them long. Not with their technology.

  The Domann empire used to contain hundreds of worlds. They had conquered hundreds of sentient species, subjecting each one by force - until they met their match. Just one alien species was able to foil the Domann war machine. Not with guns, or bombs, or warships. But with a genetically engineered plague. This plague was beyond insidious. It had an incubation window of years. Enough time for it to spread to the whole of the Domann empire before the first symptoms started to show. Before they knew it, the entire Domann species was infected.

  The plague didn’t kill them off.

  It was worse than that.

  It made every last one of their women utterly incapable of bearing female children. Within a decade, the Domann were facing an enemy they had no defense against: catastrophic population reduction. Within a generation, the epidemic became an existential crisis.

  They managed to augment their population with genetic material they happened to have stored - think sperm and egg banks, but for aliens. Apparently, family planning was an industry for them too. But their stockpiles of baby-making supplies ran out more then a decade ago, and every single child born in a Domann lab was eventually infected with the same plague that infects their entire race.

  The Domann empire has already collapsed. They hold just one planet now, besides their own homeworld.

  Earth.

  Why Earth, you ask?

  Because the Domann discovered that there’s a startling amount of overlap between the DNA of humans and Domann. And that’s exactly why they came. Why they relocated their entire species to our world. Because of the similarity between their DNA and ours, Domann men can successfully mate with human women.

  It sounds corny, but they came here, conquered humanity... to make babies.

  We are the only species the Domann have found who they can mate with. The only ones who can ensure the survival of their race.

  And they were never about to leave something like the survival of their race to diplomacy.

  Diplomacy has never really been in their nature anyway.

  When they attacked, we never stood a chance. They knew everything about us - where our bases were, how to hit them to cause maximum material loss, even what weapons to use to ensure that they killed as few of our soldiers as possible. During the entire invasion, which lasted all of a week, fewer than three thousand humans died… while every missile, jet, tank, riffle, bullet and fucking band-aid in every military around the entire world was utterly annihilated.

  To this day, the Domann maintain that we didn’t manage to kill even a single one of them during the entire invasion.

  They didn’t just conquer us. They humiliated us.

  Maybe if we’d had another thousand years, we could have developed the kind of technology that would have allowed us to resist them effectively. As it was, their drones, ballistic shields, hyper-durable combat suites, their freaking spaceships dominated us. Almost like we weren’t even there.

  The world’s politicians surrendered in under a week.

  And the Domann have been here ever since.

  Domann and human have a… complicated, relationship.

  The subjugation of other species has always been central to Domann culture - they once ruled over the largest, most powerful, and to our knowledge the only interstellar empire ever. Their own society is ruled by a complex social hierarchy.

  But the domination of humanity, they claim, is different than anything they have yet attempted.

  They’re not trying to simply rule us.

  They’re attempting to fuse our species with theirs - beneath theirs, of course - so that, in the future, human and Domann will exist as one.

  That makes us different. More sympathetic in their eyes, I guess. It’s why they bothered to reduce human casualties as much as possible during their initial invasion. Why they make every effort to capture our resistance fighters, instead of simply killing them.

  And it’s why they bother putting on public displays like the one I was watching.

  The woman on the bed on the platform cried out in ecstacy. Again. Sometimes, when my comrades and I forced ourselves to watch these disgusting displays, I counted how many times a woman - or women - would orgasm.

  Today, I’d lost count.

  One of the Domann looped a leather strap around the woman’s neck, using it to gently control the movements of her head as he cupped one of her breasts in his other hand, kneading the flesh, lightly pinching and twisting her nipples as he whispered something into her ear. The woman gasped. Again and again. She writhed, but against the eight massive alien hands holding her, massaging her body, she had no hope of escape. Not that she was really trying to escape. Hell, she was visibly grinding her pelvis upwards against the four-armed Domann’s oh-so-proportional cock.

  The spectacle revolved around her. And only she could end it. The prisoners around her, deemed the worst resistance fighters of those recently captured, would be whipped for as long as the Domann on the platforn could keep pulling orgasams out of their human mate.

  Eventually, she would break. Would fall, exhausted, into a sort of post-coitus coma, too weak and used up to even move her limbs. Then, and only then, would the rest of the humans in the stadium be brought down and sent on to whatever fate the Domann had in store for them.

  I’d seen it before. We all had. These kinds of broadcasts came on about once or twice a week, from different parts of the world.

  And it was always a woman at the center of the spectacle of punishment and pleasure.

  The shortest amount of time a woman had been fucked in public like that had been seven hours. The longest had taken days. The captives being punished had actually had to be given breaks for food and water so that they survived during that one.

  “Don’t do it,” Kara growled at the screen, as the woman’s thrusting started to pick up the pace again. I kept silent as more of the men and women around me voiced their disgust. It was always the same. The woman on the platform never seemed to give a fuck about what happened to the people all around her - nor did all the bastards filling the stadium, for that matter.

  It was rumored that the Domann secreted a pheromone that drove human women wild with lust. That Domann were such skillful lovers, that no woman could resist their attentions. Maybe that was one of the reasons so many humans - something like half of humanity - had embraced their alien oppressors. Or maybe it was just because they were all cowards, too afraid to stand up and fight for their freedom.

  I didn’t give a fuck. Nobody should be able to enjoy sex - much less with some fucking alien - when humans were suffering all around them. I prefered to think of the women in these spectacles as the simple, cold-hearted fucking traitors to their race that they were.

  On the screen, the four-armed Domann’s hands slithered around his woman’s waist. Lifted her pelvis off the bed. Up towards his waiting mouth and tongue. The woman sure looked like she spread her legs willingly. Eagerly. The Domann soon found just the right spot down there, because she began emitting a series of short, high-pitched gasps, thrusting her pussy forward and up as best as her position would allow.

  That was the entire point of the spectacle, really. Of the broadcast.

  The Domann wanted all of humanity to see how those who resisted were punished. But even that wasn’t enough.

  They also wanted to show our species that they could give us pleasure if they chose to. They wanted to show us both the carrot, and the stick, and in doing so convince us that our total submission to them was not only inevitable, but desirable.

  One of the Domann whispered something else in the woman’s ear.

  She actually smiled.

 
Before she was captured, she’d been part of the resistance network, living her life off the grid to avoid Domann patrols - and to avoid any possibility of being captured as a Domann mate.

  Now she was theirs. Completely. A willing slave. A happy mate.

  That is what the Domann wanted us to see.

  They thought it would break us. Would deaden our resolve.

  But every time I watched a broadcast like this, it only re-lit the fire of resistance in my belly, stroking it ever hotter.

  To that woman’s credit, she’d probably never really stood a chance at resisting. It was well known that the men of the Domann species were experts when it came to seduction and lovemaking - and anyone with even half an eye could see that they were an exceptionally beautiful species. They were also masters at blending the pleasure they could elicit with the pain they could inflict. There was a reason that thousands of women from around the world actually applied to mate with Domann men every year.

  Fucking traitors.

  Of course, the Domann didn’t want just any woman.

  Only a tiny fraction of human women had the right genetic profile to be able to successfully breed with the Domann. And some of those women were too old, or too young, or had medical issues, or some other problem that made them unsuitable as potential mates.

  All of this meant that women who were actually eligible to mate with the Domann were damn rare.

  And, as such, incredibly valuable to our Domann overlords.

  One of the Domann in the broadcast bit the neck of his woman. His mate. She cried out, clearly in pain, but she didn’t resist.

  The Domann wouldn’t broadcast the fucking-to-unconciousness of just any woman. They only went to this much trouble for women they could mate with. To them, this little show had multiple meanings. It showed humanity how resistance would be punished. It showed us just how thoroughly the Domann intended to dominate us. And it showed potential mates how pleasurable it was to become one of their whores. True, woman who became Domann mates were treated almost like royalty within Domann society, since they were some of the very most important members of it. They were afforded every luxury, spending their days flitting between the orbital places the Domann constructed especially for them, and whatever city or location on Earth they wished to spend time in. Whole teams of humans and drones catered to their every desires. They could have practically anything they want - and they could even wield tremendous influence over the lives of other humans.