My love. My light. My captive.
She looks at me with that bright blue rebellious gaze that has been burning in my mind’s eye for a very long time. We have been separated by so much space, so much death, so much disaster. I never thought I would lay hands on her again. But here we are. She is in my grasp, and she will never leave again.
This little human has much to answer for. She looks so soft and weak, and I know she would protest her innocence if I would let her. She is anything but innocent. She is as guilty as they come, and no amount of soft quivering lower lip or tear haze in her wide blue eyes will change that.
She is going to pay for what she’s done. Her human sins are going to be absolved before my warriors. I will thrust myself into the soft core of her and she will be made mine all over again.
Human women are so delicate, so soft. They meet the world with a grace and beauty that belies their inner strength. This female I now hold captive is stronger than any of the warriors around her. She has traveled further, suffered greatly—and now she must suffer again, because there is no pleasure in this universe that does not come with some pain.
I want her more than I have ever wanted anything. Anyone. She is mine. Her soft human heart beats only for me. But possessing her means destruction. Loving her means the end of everything.
I do not care. I would see the universe itself destroyed in order to have her for my own. I would see every star burned to nothing. I would crush worlds. My desire for this woman is an endless hunger that has been tormenting me from the moment I gave her up in a futile attempt to save her. Now I understand something I did not then. She cannot be saved. She can only be conquered.
“The human must pay!”
Master Isu’s alien voice rises in a roar of ferocity, anger, and absolute triumph. I tremble before him as flames leap around us, the heat from them making me sweat, my fear making me shake. There is a beast before me, one who is going to take everything I have to give and more. His alien dominance will be absolute. I know this in my soul. I knew it, I think, when I came here. I could have turned back at any time, but I went on, prodded by conscience and desire. Now I am in his grasp and it is too late to be afraid. It is time to submit.
“The wyrm requires sacrifice. You will not give up your life, but you will give your body.” His black eyes flick over me. “Every part of it.”
He and I have been through so much. I have loved him. I have adored him. Now I fear him. He is more than a tormentor or captor. He is the love of my life. But I think I might hate him.
“Strip,” he intones. “You do not deserve clothes.”
His kind do not wear clothes. He knows what mine mean to me. That is why he is taking them from me. He will take everything away, bit by bit until there is nothing left but the rampant desire that binds us in spite of the fact we are now enemies.
“I loved you once.”
His massive hand closes under my chin, long fingers clasping the sides of my face. “You love me still,” he hisses with that quiet but powerful rage that we now both share.
His kiss is rough and hot, ripe with the promise of what is to come.
“The clothes,” he rasps again.
I can take them off myself, or I can let him rip them from me. I don’t know which would be worse. I know that I don’t get to keep them either way. I know that life and death surround us, the flames giving his people energy.
I choose not to move. I choose to make him be the one to undo me. His low growl tells me he understands I’m not going to give him anything. He’s going to have to take it.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, runs them down over the swell of my breasts. His hands are hot like the fire, but they do not burn my skin, even as my clothes are singed away.
This was in some way inevitable. This was my destiny. I was made to be devoured by an alien, for my flesh to give pleasure. I am about to fulfill that destiny.
A year ago…
“That one’s not ugly.”
It’s not a compliment.
I stare straight ahead, blinking slowly from the sedating gas they’ve pumped into the inspection chamber to make certain that I will remain compliant and stay tender. I can hear everything they say. They said the girl ahead of me had a ripe rump and good white teeth. My assessment is less specific.
“Huh, she’s not.”
“She’s not top grade, but she’s not parts material either, is she? Not with that hair. They like the rare hair.”
“No. Good condition on her.”
They’re talking about me as a collection of pieces. In the eyes of the aliens who control this facility, I am not a person. The concept of being a person is something I can only vaguely grasp. I am used to being a thing. A useful thing. Now, not an ugly thing.
“Could probably get ten thousand for her on the Antari Auction House. They’ve been asking for under the table anteparts humans. They like to play with them.” There’s a suggestion to the tone that means play doesn’t mean play. It means something else. Something that makes me shudder even in my sedated state.
“They’ll check the inventory. They’ll know one’s missing.”
I can’t see the Vargons. They are standing on the walkway above me. Their job is to push the button that opens the door that ends things.
“Pull her and we’ll fix the numbers later. The shuttle’s going tonight.”
“It isn’t, is it? There’s solar storms forecast from here to Orion-V. Ship’ll be ripped apart.”
I listen to the Vargons bicker over the last little bit of my life. I’m faintly aware that there is a decision being made, that something might be about to happen that is not part of the plan laid out for me since the day I was born.
“No risk, no reward. They’re paying incredible money at the auction house. Don’t you have debt? I do.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. Then the first voice, the keen one, urges the uncertain one more.
“They’ll never know. It’s Zug on duty. He’s slack.”
The chamber slides open. Instead of going through the dark door, I am pulled out into the light. Unsteady on my feet, and still very much under the effects of the sedation gas, I am cuffed, collared, chained, and taken away.
“Don’t touch her. She’s worth a month of your wages.”
I come to full consciousness with an annoyed curse coming from the front of what I guess is a transport.
“I’m not touching her!”
“I saw you pawing at her, Gex. Cut it out! If she has slime burn, she’s worthless.”
I stare straight ahead, not looking at anything, not touching anything, especially not the slimy flesh seller to my right, whose acidic skin grease is sloughing into the ridges and valleys in the seat beneath him.
There are big cuffs around my wrists and ankles, a collar around my neck, an electric chain connecting all three containment points. If I move, I get zapped. If I don’t move, but am jostled by a careless trader, I also get zapped.
This is a Vargon ship. The Vargons are the primary traders of live humans and human products in the galaxy. There is a shelf opposite me, clear containers marked with various labels.
An eyeball inside its plastic tomb looks straight at me with a you’re fucked expression. As the ship rattles on its course, the eye rotates upward, rolling at me in disgust. I can hear teeth chattering, even though they no longer have any reason to be afraid. The worst is over for them.
Parts of humanity have been scattered far and wide since the aliens found Earth, contained it, and started farming us. I was born. I have lived. Now I will work until I die.
Maybe not. Most of the people I knew were separated off six months ago to become parts. We know what happens to us. We don’t care. Fear has been bred out of our lineage. Acceptance of the fate all living beings find in the universal meat grinder has been genetically inserted into the core of our beings. We are livestock.
I was picked from the line before the sorting gate, plucked from the line by a great clawed machine that lifted me aloft and deposited me in a transport crate. Apparently I am ‘pleasing.’ I do not know what that means. I have light-colored hair and dark-colored eyes, but so did everybody else I lived with. We were all approximately the same size and shape, bred to type. Golden Brown, they called us when they were making reference on their sheets.
“Be fucking careful,” the Vargon next to me shouts as the ship jolts again. The chains swing against my belly, zapping me painfully, making me recoil from the punishment I did not earn. “She’s going to be burned to bits by the time we get her there!”
“I’m doing my best, these solar winds are fucking high,” the other Vargon shouts back wetly. “We should turn around.”
“No way! I am making this delivery!” the one next to me screeches. “I owe Muklog, and if I don’t pay he’s going to take my other toe.”
“Stop gambling, then.”
“What was it?”
“I skimmed.” The Vargon reaches over, grabs a container of eyes and reaches his gooey paw inside it, cupping a handful of unseeing orbs into his mouth. The sound he makes as he chews will stay with me for the rest of my short life.
“Stop eating the stock, you fat fuck!”
Those are the last words I hear before the ship is thrown sideways hard and fast. The world tumbles. Human parts break free and fly back and forth, vague suggestions of humanity forming patterns in the air. Two eyes and some teeth fly by in a mad grin before something more solid than my head hits it and everything goes black.
Something is poking me. Something pointed and organic.
I did not expect to wake up. Consciousness is pain and it is light and it is heat. There is crusty dry surface beneath my body. Land. I’m not on the ship anymore. I don’t know where I am. I know that it tastes metallic between my teeth… no, that’s my blood.
When I lift my head, I see that the ship, such as it was, has been dashed into millions of pieces across an unfamiliar landscape.
I am outside.
I’ve never been outside. We talked about it in the farm. We wondered what it would be like outside the high walls that kept us contained. Outside is big. Really big. I can’t see any walls whatsoever in the view I have of what seems like eternity.
Someone says something nearby. The voice makes me freeze instantly, my body locking with the fear of prey.
“M’uklahk dizlahk vinu vunu sisi,” someone else replies.
It is language, but not language I can process. I could understand the Vargons because they use standard speech, the tongue we were taught to follow instructions in.
“M’uklahk dino vavu sisi!”
I think M’uklahk refers to me, somehow. I can’t see the beings speaking, and I don’t want to. Their voices are rough and guttural and full of rage. They do not seem pleased about me. I close my eyes and play dead, hoping that they will go away and leave me alone.
I am poked again.
They want me to move. They want to see what I am. I am grateful that they have not begun consuming me where I lie, but I know instinctively that I am not safe. The only place I ever felt safe was inside the white plastic walls of the early juvenile raising chambers. We were fed, tended, had the colorful pictures to watch until we slept and then we would be fed again. I wish so badly that I could return to the raising chamber. But I was removed from that eight years ago and put into the maturation center where we were taught how to work, follow standard speech instructions, and prepare ourselves for a life of servitude, if we were fortunate. One by one, the most pleasing of us were taken away. First draft was for the breeders. The second draft was for the slaves. The third draft, my draft, by far the largest, was for parts.
I cringe knowing what parts are, and how close I came to being eyeballs and teeth rattling on a shuttle bound for nowhere.
“Uba sh’aka, M’uklahk.”
Their voices are quieter, but no less intense. I feel the presence of something creeping closer. Toes make sound on sand. I close my eyes even tighter, knowing that I do not want to see what is looming over me. The resonance of the voices tells me that these are large beings.
I have experienced very little in my farmed life, but my instincts are still intact. I was born with certain abilities, and one of them is to know when I am in the presence of predators. I have no doubt that I am right now, and that playing dead is my only chance to survive.
Something hand-like touches me. Fingers. They’re clawed and long and strong. Much larger than my own svelte digits and much rougher along the pads. They draw down my back slowly, exploring me with a touch that might be gentle, but is more likely just cautious.
I was made to be consumed. I am prey. My kind, human, were likely just as wild and strong as whatever is examining me now, but we were selectively bred for a very long time. I know this because it was displayed to us, our fall from grace shown to us on a near daily basis. It was not enough to consume us. They had to humiliate us too.
The fingers are moving down my spine and have reached the swell of my cheeks. They do not stop moving. They slide over the soft rise and then down again, between my thighs, finding a place where it is almost impossible not to react—but I stay still.
Motionless, I try to keep my breathing unnoticeable as those big, thick, powerful fingers continue their exploration of my body, running over the seam of my sex, finding the sensitive parts of me where pleasure flowers in spite of everything.
The human body is incredible. It is used, it is taken advantage of, it is crafted and shaped, and it is traded, but it does not lose the basics of desire and the simple function of survival.
The fingers find my clitoris with a frighteningly knowing touch. They stop. Pinch. My hips buck and I let out a gasp, which gives the game away entirely. A hand grasps my shoulder and pulls me over onto my back.
A wail of pain accompanies the sudden movement, jabs and aches flaring to life. I fell from the stars. I am broken.
“Shhhhh…” He looks at me with wide dark eyes. There is no white. No iris. No pupil. No way to tell where he is looking, but for the creeping horror that pools in my belly when he stares directly at me.
“Shhhh ni shaka, M’uklahk.”
“Please, don’t hurt me…” I whisper the words, not expecting to be understood. I have never seen a creature so alien before. I am accustomed to the Vargons, but not the one I am looking at now.
He is red. The same color of the rock dust that covers everything. He is lined with many muscles over his torso, arms, shoulders; every part of him seems to comprise a new muscular plane. His shoulders are broad, very broad, like a bull. His hips are narrow in comparison, but still twice the width of my own fragile form. There is thick black hair growing out of his head. It flows over his shoulders in a curtain interspersed by two ridges emerging from the tops of his shoulders. He breathes deep and speaks through a fanged mouth.
“You… are safe.”
Standard speech, coming from the mouth of a beast. I must look as shocked as I feel, because he lets out a snort of amusement.
He turns to the others who wait grunting behind him. These beasts breathe aggressively.
“Human,” he says. “M’uklahk.”
“Please, help me.”
Three words escape me. Three hopeful, desperate, pathetic words.
He looks at me with those dark eyes and I do not know what to think. I don’t know how to interpret the emotions or intentions of anything this alien. The Vargons were simple enough, they were always going to hurt you if you didn’t follow their instructions, and sometimes, even if you did. This one looks far stronger, much more brutal. I quiver to the very core of me, feeling fire where he has touched, a lingering trace of heat that burns on in the absence of his touch.
The place between my legs, the one I touch only in secret is humming with heat and new excitement, but fear is the major driving force now, consuming my body with tension.
“Who are you?”
“I…” Who am I? That is a question that barely computes. We are not given identities on the farm. We are not individuals. We are products being grown for sale. “I am… meat.” That is what I feel like—frightened, bruised, lost meat.
“Me-at…” He thinks for a second. “Hunzch,” he translates for the benefit of the several others.
They laugh as one, making me feel small.
“You are not meat. You are human.”
How does he know? He is unclothed, as primitive a beast as I have ever laid eyes on. He looks more animal than man.
“Humans are not good eating,” he clarifies, making me think that humans must have been here before, and ended up being consumed to their displeasure.
“Please,” I whimper, bringing my knees to my chest and my arms around my legs. “Don’t hurt me.”
I do not know how to defend myself. Even if I did know by what means a beast like this one might be defeated, I would not be able to lift a finger to him. Everything about his presence is pure intimidation.
He crouches down next to me, his body so much bigger because it is so much closer. I am overwhelmed instantly, becoming faint and dizzy. Heat emanates from him, and when he puts a hand on my arm to steady me, I feel as though bright sunlight is shining on that particular part of my skin.
This is a very alien creature. I should be used to other forms of life. The Vargons are very different from us, but they disgust me. They are slime-ridden and they have no legs. They undulate along the ground leaving a trail behind them. This creature’s legs are thick, powerful, and there is an organ between them that draws my attention instantly, a thick hard length of flesh pressed up against his lower body. It does not disgust me. It intrigues me.
I flinch at his touch, a sound somewhere between a whimper and an animalistic growl escaping my lips.
“Shhh.” He makes the sound as he tightens his grip on not one of my arms, but both of them, lifting me from the ground. My breeding takes over. I was created to not resist the will of authority, and he is as great an authority as I have ever encountered.
He lifts me up, up into the air and puts me over his shoulder to hold me, my hips pressed against the fulcrum of his hard body. One of his hands splays across my cheeks, two fingers on each side, one slipping right down the middle of the crevice where it presses firmly along another sensitive part of my body, rubbing my anus.
When he walks, I am jostled between his hand and his shoulder. My clit rubs against the ridge of a muscle in motion, and my anus tightens with the touch of his digit.
“M’uklahk, heba vivisi,” he says to the others. I still have no idea what the words mean, but they are deep and they are calm and they make me feel safe in some intangible way. I have no way of knowing that I am being taken to safety, but those old instincts, the part of me that wasn’t completely bred out, tell me not to struggle. I lie, compliant and complicit in my alien abduction as I am carried across this planet of sand and stone.
His finger is pressing against my tight hole, rocking there with every step, making me feel sensations that are unfamiliar, but pleasantly distracting. It is a massage for the underside of me, a place that has not been touched by any other hand before. I was not breeding stock. They did not check me. They did not test my willingness, or chart my fertility, as they did to some of the others. I was picked for parts, then saved last moment for auction, not quite ugly enough to die.
Now I am very alive, every part of my body responding to these new sensations the alien brings to my flesh. He is wrong. I am meat. But there is nothing wrong with meat that knows it is meat. I inhabit my flesh fully as an animal might, and I respond to the sensations that are flowing through me without reservation.
My legs spread to allow my clit to press against the hot, hard plane of his shoulder. I want more contact. More pleasure. I want relief and release from the terror of the last hours and all the days before them. I am held firmly, undoubtedly captive, but I think I might like it.
Male touch was withheld from us. Once a male escaped from the breeding pens and rushed in among us. I saw him mate with seventeen of us before he was dragged away by his Vargon handlers. The ones who had been mated with were taken away too. I do not know what happened to them, but the sights I saw that day stayed with me a very long time. The sounds the women made as he mated them, the way he held them for his lust, how fast and hard his hips moved, his flesh pushing inside theirs from all angles until both parties cried out and shook and pulled apart, forever changed me.
I think I am feeling some of that pleasure now over the shoulder of the alien beast. I grind with his steps, I let my lips part in soft moans. I have no reason to hide my reaction.
“Sluzt a’hearny,” the one behind me laughs. “Fizk.”
The beast carrying me stops and moves me, pulling me from his shoulder. I am shocked when his hand comes down across my cheeks in a hard slap.
“No,” he says firmly. “Not in public.”
“What not in public?”
The pain in my cheeks is followed with heat and both sensations melt into the same pleasure I felt before. My body is an excellent converter. It turns food into meat, and air into sound. Now it turns pain into perfection. I reach between my legs, but the alien takes my hand, pulls it from my sex, and shakes his head firmly.
I was not bred to be defiant, but I was made to take what I need, as all animals are. He doesn’t understand what he has already done to me. From the moment his fingers first made contact with my skin, he has been stirring something inside me. He called and I answered and now I writhe in his grasp, my hips undulating in a helpless dance of need. It feels as if I have been taken over by something I cannot control. The wetness between my thighs is spreading and growing… my legs start to shake. My knees are weak. I don’t know if it is the effect of the monster, or the crash, or some combination of the two, but I am suddenly out of control. I reach for the alien to hold myself up and he catches my hands in his two massive palms. More heat flashes through me, two intense pulses that travel to the core of me and make an involuntary moan escape my lips. I can’t take this. There’s something building inside me. Something I cannot contain. I find myself drawn to him, my body pressing against his, craving his heat.
None of this makes sense. Where are the Vargons? How did I survive a crash that tore our shuttle apart and set me free on this alien world? And why am I now so utterly consumed with animal lust in a way I never have been before? I try to think, but thinking is not something I have been allowed to do before. Every decision in my life has been made for me several steps ahead of time. In the farm, we followed routine in return for being fed and allowed to survive.
I look into the big, brutal face of the alien holding me, and I hope he is not as cruel as he looks. If he is, I still can’t help myself. I am caught in a powerful vortex of wild emotion, my senses suddenly exposed to all the wonders of a world and my own internal desires.
His expression softens. He can read the desperation on my face. See the grazes and bruises that should, by all rights, be broken bones and deep gashes.
How did I survive?
The question echoes around my head, then gets lost in the mix of everything else. He leans down, his hair falling over his face and mine, a dark curtain that cuts out the rest of the world. I see his dark eyes, nearly black, drawing me in.
“Stop,” he repeats. “Or… I… won’t…”
I buck my hips forward. How do I stop what I cannot control? My body is not mine. Has never been mine. I am a collection of dirty, hungry impulses and questions, and he is the answer to all of them.
He lets out a sigh and gestures to the others. “Igz vizla sinsoday.”
They saunter off ahead of us, three broad-shouldered beasts leaving us to the red desert dust.
“You,” he says, pausing as if searching for a word. “Have to…”
The words are so uncomfortable and foreign on his tongue, but he knows them. He must be a very intelligent creature to be able to speak the language of those from other stars. I understand Vargons enough to know that I am not on the planet I was born on. I have been taken far away, I have been cast into the winds, and now I am wrapped in the arms of a beast who I can barely communicate with.
He touches me. He pulls me close and he starts to give me what I need. But it is not what I expect. There is a hunger between my thighs that I know can only be sated with the rough thrust of a hard cock.
That is not what happens. He is hard, but I do not receive that hardness. Instead he pins me against his body, swipes some of the wetness from my pussy and presses the hot finger back where it was. This time, the tight ring of muscle doesn’t stay tight. It gives way slowly to him, allows him inside me, and I feel my body become host to another being, the tip of his hot finger sinking inside me.
“Ungh,” I grunt.
He pulls it free, then pushes it back again.
“You stop, when I say,” he growls. “You will… obey me.”
His words are halting, delivered between the grunts and moans escaping my mouth. My bottom has become the nexus of his authority. He is teaching me a lesson of obedience, and that is why there is a tightness and a sternness. I am not getting what I want. I am taking what he wants to give.
“Please,” I whine.
“Do as I say,” he repeats. “Tell me you understand.”
Do I understand? I know I feel the heat of his finger burning away inside my bottom. I know that he could hurt me if he wanted to, but he’s using a very specific piece of my body to make his point.
We do not have many words. We do not know one another at all. We are strangers from strange worlds, but this is a point of connection I understand.
“Yes,” I gasp as his digit sinks further inside me.
“There is… time for this,” he says. “But not now. Not here. Is… danger.”
I do not see any danger other than him, but I believe him. The size and power of this creature, if he is concerned about something out here, then I am too.
He pulls his finger free of the tight hole between my cheeks and picks me up again. This time, he doesn’t throw me over his shoulder. Instead, he holds me close to his body, letting me wrap my legs around his waist as he starts to move toward the tall rocky outcroppings in the distance. They look like shelter. That’s what I need. This big world with its unseen danger is too much for me. I want to hide. For the moment, the only cover is his bulk and his hair. I feel the planes of his musculature against me, the soft curtain of his hair blocking out the strangeness of the world that threatens to rush in on me.