The Alien's Captive (3 page)

“The door is there.” The man identified as General Bron pointed toward a panel just a shade paler than the surrounding wall. Phaedra wasn’t sure what she’d find, but didn’t care. She was done with this game.

When she reached the wall, the door slid up and she walked through. There was a hiss as it shut behind her. But she barely heard it. She was almost in shock as she stared out. A vast plain stretched before her, and a warm wind lifted her hair. This was not a stage. She was outside. She turned and her eyes widened. The three moons on the horizon were nearly full, casting an eerie orange glow across the craggy mountains beyond. She drew in a breath to scream and instantly collapsed, her hand clawing at her throat as it began to close up. She struggled to rise, struggled to breathe, her hands scrabbling at the loose rocks around her.

She was dying. She could feel it. This was not like the loss of consciousness from the sedative. This was lack of oxygen, pure and simple. Her eyes began to water and burn, her nose to run. Her skin was tingling with pain.

She wanted to scream for help but couldn’t.

She rolled onto her back, arching at the waist, reaching up for… for what? For help?

Just let go
, she told herself, but something deeper struggled within Phaedra’s spirit, continued to cling to life in this place where her kind was not supposed to exist. And then she felt them—strong arms that lifted her as a child.

Darkness was settling on her when she felt herself being lowered, felt a pinch on her arm. The breath she took was so deep she arched into it, her eyes flying open and meeting those of her rescuer. The man called General Bron was staring at her, studying her as she took another breath, and another.

“Does she need another dose?” a voice asked.

“No, her color’s coming back.”

“Good.” The senator’s voice this time. “Get her back up and in line. It’s time for you and the others to make your choice.”

“I’ve already made my choice. I choose this one.”

“But general!” The senator’s tone was incredulous. “Are you sure? The other pets are of higher quality and more befitting a man of your station.”

Phaedra felt her heart begin to pound as the large man kneeling over her tightened his grip on her arm. “This is the one. Once trained, she will be as fine as the others.”

“Very well,” the senator said. “I’ll see that Otto gets her…”

“No.” The large man’s eyes bored into her. “I’ll train her myself.”

Chapter Three

She was seated on the cushioned platform in the corner of the holding chamber he had prepared for her. Her back was against the wall, her legs drawn up. She was watching him over her kneecaps, and when he met her eyes he saw fear. But he noticed something else, too. Even with all she’d been through, this human still had the nerve to glare—
glare!
—at him.

Defiance. Bron had seen that same look in the eyes of young soldiers. Military service for males on Trao X39 was mandatory, and Bron found the reluctant new troops to be the most difficult. His job was to take strong, strapping young males, break them down, and rebuild them as obedient soldiers.

As an accomplished disciplinarian, General Bron enjoyed a challenge. He knew the appeal of such a battle was lost on a soft man like Senator Flavius Rue; that’s why he’d sent his pet to Otto for training. But Bron decided if he had to take a pet for political reasons, he’d train her himself, his way.

Yes, some of the other prospects had been comelier. But he’d looked past the painted faces to see the fire in this little Earthling’s eyes, and when she’d turned to run he’d viewed the curve of her firm, plump buttocks and could imagine spanking those fleshy mounds until defiance gave way to tearful, quivering compliance.

“This can’t be real.” Her voice broke the stillness of the room. “It just can’t be.”

“But it is, and you are now mine.”

She ignored this. “If this is an alien planet, then why do you speak my language?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But before you awoke, you were implanted with a special device—through here.” He pointed to his temple. “That automatically interprets the language of any planet in any known system into your own. Even your eyes are tricked into seeing the speaker’s mouth form your words.” He watched as Phaedra’s hand moved to her temple. “Don’t try to dig it out,” he said. “It’s as small as a grain of sand.” He paused, allowing the words to register before continuing. “I am General Augustus Bron of the Traoian Iron Guard,” he said. “And you are now my pet, acquired to serve my needs.”

“I won’t,” she said, and he almost smiled. The little thing was actually serious.

“Oh, but you will,” he replied. “You’ll serve them willingly and without question.”

He walked over to where she stood. “This is predicated, of course, on whether you can pass the final physical exam.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll play along with your little sci-fi scenario. More special effects? I suppose you’ll knock me out again and when I come to I’ll be microchipped like a dog and look outside a window to see three fake suns to go with your three fake moons. And just what kind of gas will you be filling the outside chamber with then? Will I be breathing laughing gas this time?”

He could tell by her tone that she was willfully sinking back into denial in spite of the mounting evidence against her self-delusion. But he was patient. In time, this spiky little female would be forced to face what was happening to her, and her helplessness in the face of it.

“This is an entirely different exam,” Bron replied. “Before I can claim you, I must be sure that your woman’s sheath will stretch enough to hold my lance. You’ll be stripped, little one. Stripped and cleansed and assessed as any other pleasure pet.”

As if on cue, the door to the containment chamber opened and a man in a long white robe appeared.

“We’re ready for her,” he said.

“Come along.” Bron held out his hand.

While he didn’t expect her to take it eagerly, the last thing he expected was to be bitten. But that’s just what she did, sinking her hard white teeth into the heel of his palm and hanging on even as she shoved her foot out and caught him in the groin.

His roar of pain filled the room. Bron pushed a forefinger into the corner of her mouth, pushing behind Phaedra’s teeth until she had no choice but to release. Then he sat down and pulled her across his lap, glancing at his palm as he did so. He was surprised she’d not broken the skin; it certainly felt like she had. But he decided by the time he was finished, his hand would sting more from striking her helpless flesh than from the bite.

She was already screaming and kicking, her gyrations forcing the fabric of her shift to mold and accentuate the bottom he’d glimpsed earlier. Bron jerked the hem upward and took a moment to stare down at the perfectly sculpted nates. The human’s bottom cheeks jiggled and bounced as she struggled, and Bron found her struggles so delicious that he decided to change tacks. Lifting her, he sank his teeth into one soft globe of flesh. The little human wailed, clawing frantically at the air as she kicked.

He did not bite hard enough to break the skin—just hard enough to hurt, to leave his mark, to make her afraid. And he knew she was afraid because he could smell it, that sweet soft scent of vulnerability undetectable to Earthlings, but so obvious and intoxicating to his species. Bron felt his mighty cock harden as she began to beg him to release her. He smelled salt now, too. Tears. Good. Now that his defiant little bundle was helpless and scared, he’d introduce her to real correction.

He reluctantly released his bite and dropped her to his lap before raising his hand and lowering it in a stinging slap right over the imprint his teeth had left on her creamy skin. A red handprint bloomed over the bite mark, and his captive shrieked at the sensation and tried to pull forward off his lap. But the small woman’s strength was no match for a Traoian general who dwarfed her. Bron gauged the effectiveness of his punishment not by her cries, but by the shade of her bottom cheeks, which flattened and rebounded with increasing levels of cherry redness. Not one inch of the surface was spared. He spanked from the top of the cleft down the center of her bottom before tilting her slightly left and right to redden the sides of her cheeks. But he reserved the fiercest blows for the soft, velvety skin just above her thighs. Bron tilted his little human forward for this, opening up the crease even as her position forced the parting of her thighs.

As he reddened her lower bottom, the force of his blows caused his hand to impact the soft pouch of her pussy. He could feel the downy fleece, slightly damp, and could smell the unmistakable scent of arousal that was remarkably similar to the females of his own species. Only his pet’s was somehow sweeter, like the smell of her fear.

When he finished spanking her, he left his hand pressed right across the very lowest portion of her upturned bottom. He could feel the heat off her pussy—which he knew was also called a pussy—and longed to dip a finger inside, to see if she was wet. He knew if he probed her, she’d fight him anew. And, of course, he’d win. Again. But reluctantly, Bron decided to wait. There would be more sweet battles, and if she didn’t pass the exam, he’d just be left tormented by the sample of what he couldn’t have.

“Stand up.” He lifted her roughly to her feet, lightly supporting her as she swayed. His dark eyes bored into her tearful ones. There was no defiance now, only fear, humiliation, and a resentment she seemed to be trying to hide for purposes of self-preservation.

“You’ll obey now,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t object either as he turned her to the door to face the doctor. “She’ll do as you say.”

“Come along…” The doctor looked at Bron. “What’s her name?”

It occurred to Bron then that he’d not thought to name his new pet. “I’ve not yet given her one,” he said.

“I already have a name.” Her voice was quavering as she spoke, but she looked Bron in the eye nonetheless. “It’s Phaedra. I’ll answer to nothing else. I don’t care if you beat me to death.”

Phaedra. He could have forced the issue, tested her, beaten her bottom purple until she promised to answer to whatever he decided to call her. But molding a defiant spirit was an art, and Bron was careful when and where to apply correctives strokes.

“It’s pleasing to the ear,” he said. “Now, Phaedra. Let us go. We’ve kept the doctor waiting long enough.”

Chapter Four

It was a different room she was taken to. The walls were silver white, the ceilings high, the roof transparent. Phaedra could see two of the three moons overhead, looking down like large, curious eyes.

In the center of the room was a table shaped like a large Y. There were no sides, no restraints of any kind. But Phaedra knew no such measures were needed here. They could control her, immobilize her, render her helpless on a whim.

This is real.
She was forced to admit it to herself now. As irrational as it all seemed, it was less rational to think that Pinnacle or anyone else would invest the extraordinary amount of money required to build such an elaborate set. She shuddered as she recalled running outside. The wind, the heat, the feel of the air, the vast horizon—all these things had been proof of her situation. That had been no set. The horizon she’d seen was not that of home. This was not Earth.

Her bottom was simultaneously throbbing and burning from the very thorough spanking the man called Bron had given her. On the painful walk from the transport pod to this room, Phaedra’s mind had played a dozen revenge fantasies involving grave bodily injury to her captors, followed by a dramatic escape.

But that’s all they were. Fantasies.

She felt the general’s large hand descend to her shoulder. It was the same hand that had spanked—spanked!—her just moments earlier. He’d treated her like a child, and she felt as helpless as a child as that hand now guided her to the Y-shaped table. It was topped with an odd purple covering that reminded her of Neoprene.

“Remove her shift.” The doctor’s voice was high and reedy, and he spoke with an odd, nasally accent. As Phaedra stood woodenly while Bron stripped her, she realized that the physician was not of the same race. Bron looked human, but this other man—this
alien
—had an ethereally beautiful, androgynous face, almond-shaped eyes, pointed ears, and lavender-tinted skin.

“GilAman is an expert on Earth women based on over a hundred Earth years of research,” Bron said, but if his words were meant to be reassuring, they weren’t. Phaedra could only recall stories she and others had laughed off as nonsense—stories of women abducted and taken aboard spaceships where they were poked and prodded and impregnated.

“Don’t…” she said as Bron suddenly picked her up and stepped toward the table. In that instant, Phaedra found herself inexplicably clinging to him, her fear of the unknown stronger than her fear of the man who’d spanked her.

“You will not be hurt,” he said. “I promise you, little Phaedra.”

His voice was deep when he spoke her name, and the sound of it spoken so sonorously shocked her so that she loosened her grip on him. In that moment, Bron laid her down on the table. Phaedra instinctively tried to rise, but to her horror could not. The covering that looked like Neoprene was warm like skin, and bonded to hers, melding her to the table.

“It’s important to keep you still for what must be done.” Dr. GilAman spoke in a monotone as he ignored Phaedra’s attempts to squirm. Instead, he focused on a cabinet that rose soundlessly from the floor. Phaedra felt a pit of fear form in her stomach as a panel raised on the side of the cabinet to reveal a collection of probes.

The bottom half of the table was now raising, the tops of the Y spreading her legs apart. Phaedra was now naked, immobile, and exposed in a way she’d never fathomed she would be. She heard the sound of whimpering as GilAman stepped between her parted legs and realized that the sound was coming from her own throat.