As soon as she heard the door open, she swept her feet off the fur-topped bed and gracefully padded over to her master. She bowed her head and lifted her arms away from her body slightly with palms facing him—a sign of submission. He towered over her lithe feminine frame by several feet, his face obscured by a dark nickel-colored metal mask. Thick glossy black tendrils draped around his shoulders, golden beads scattered about them. His muscular body was wrapped in a black netting and done up with polished armor and alien weapons.
"Aseigan." He clicked.
Her ears were accustomed to his thick accent, a deep voice that more easily growled and clicked then pronounce anything fluently, and she knew what the word meant. He had just called her "servant", which he used less as a name and more of a prompt for behaviors. She didn't mind the title, as she had never heard her name so mispronounced than when a predator tried to say it.
Kendra had been with him for years, knew what her duties were, how to behave, who his friends were, and knew the language to some degree. So, she placed her fingers on him immediately, and began to undo the straps that held his armor. She delicately set the pieces on the dresser along with the weapons she would have to polish afterwards, and removed the netting around him as well.
Turning for a moment to grab a small stool, she then was able to rise up enough to take off his metal mask. The tubes disconnected with a wisp of air and she set the lightweight metal on the dresser, and looked up at his face, awaiting further direction.
Small golden-tinged yellow eyes stared down at her, sunken into his skull and rimmed in black. A row of four sharp teeth lined his jutting bottom jaw, and two small tusk points sat at the top of his mouth. In front of those teeth sat a set of moveable tusk-tipped mandibles. His wide forehead slowly bent down towards her until his mouth was close to her ear, the spikes that replaced his eyebrows and facial hair grazing her long mahogany hair.
"Ka aseigan." He whispered, his hot breath on her neck, and when he leaned away he grabbed a tin container and thrust it into her hands.
She quickly popped the lid and got to work. For every almost-tender moment they shared, she wished she didn't know the language he spoke. He had just leaned in to call her, "slow servant" and those two words were as good as any threat when they were coming from him. She dipped her hand in the soft oily goo and worked it into the strands of his hair, making them look even more silky smooth and glossy. When she finished she quickly hopped off the stool and zipped off to the bathroom to wash off her hands.
Then, as quickly as she could, she stepped over to the small inground hot-tub like thing to draw him a bath. When her hand touched the top of the faucet, steaming water swelled up from the bottom and filled the tub. Her master entered with a woosh of the door as it slid sideways into the wall and he thrust his loincloth covering at her before he immersed himself in the hot water.
She hurried out of the room, as she still had armor and weapons to polish, but at the doorway she paused. A sense of fear crept up her spine, but she turned her head back to gaze at the alien. Her eyes traveled to the expanse of his muscular back, allowing herself to soak in those dark reptilian blotches over ever so slightly green tinged skin. His black dreds hung around his bulky shoulders and a lump formed in her throat at remembering the soft bendable feel of them in her hands. He was so much a god to her, a dark and dangerous god. Her fingers reluctantly slid the door closed and she returned to the dresser to begin her chores.
Her job was not a difficult one. She served her master, aided him in small tasks, and accompanied him to places occasionally. She was fed well, allowed exercise, and even had a few neat little alien trinkets . . . She no longer cried or had nightmares. Memories when she was first captured at age fifteen, torn away from Earth, held in a cage next to savage alien beasts in a crowded market, then sold into slavery no longer haunted her. This planet was her home now. Throughout the four years she had been with him, she was never beaten or mistreated, only punished and scolded when she was bad. She should have been content. Instead, she had grown miserable.
Something else now plagued her sleep, caused her to cry in frustration, and made her life hell.
The armor was polished and hung up in its usual place, the weapons were cleaned and put away with the rest, and she climbed back on top of the bed to wait for him to finish his bath. When she heard the bathroom door open, she whisked herself to the hidden in-wall drawers and pushed in a panel that allowed her to slide out a selection of clothes for him. She grabbed a casual-wear loincloth and held it out to him.
He stepped close, his very presence making her heart pound, and she tried not to let her eyes look between his muscular legs. But he growled, and she glanced up at his eyes with reluctance.
"M-di." He clicked.
That meant "no". She whirled around, and picked out a different covering, one that was a bit more formal with some dark ink patterning. When he growled, the vibrations from it shaking her ribcage, she presented him with a loincloth that he usually wore for hunts. Again, he growled. She bit her lip, prayed, and grabbed a different thicker pelt that she had seen him wear to parties of sorts, as it was decorated with tiny bones and polished stones. But he did not plan on going out, and a deep vibrating growl pulsed threw the air.
She plucked out a fur-covered loincloth, the soft hairs sliding over her skin like heavenly silk. His clawed hand grabbed the fur from her and quickly tied it around his waist. Wearing that fur, she knew exactly what he planned on doing for the evening.
She prepared for it as best she could, bringing a spotted fur pelt from the bed into the bathroom and grabbed a few of her toys—the equivalent of a rubix cube, some reminder cards of people's names, and a journal to write in though it was filled with more doodles then writing. She watched her master talk to a hologram against the bedroom wall, and though he talked too fast for her to understand, she knew what was coming next—or more correctly, who.
It was a new female this time however, with long light brown dreds hanging down her back and done up with pinkish copper bands. The female looked young, with bright green eyes, curving hips, and a leen muscular body. From where Kendra sat in the bathroom corner, she watched her master approach the female in a very predatory way. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths as he circled her, eyes greedily looking her over but he would not touch her until he was given consent. Females on this planet seemed to be the boss in many ways, and she had seen many males receive broken bones for touching a female who didn't give explicit permission first.
The female stopped his slow seductive circling by placing her palm against his chest—that served as a silent consent, her touching him first. There seemed to be a ritual to it, a step-by-step course of action to it every time. She supposed it was no different from what humans usually did, talking, kissing, touching, then further, but since it was different actions and different beings it seemed more ritual in her eyes. She knew where his hands would go before he moved them. Both of his clawed hands rose to delve his fingers into her hair, sort of groping and massaging the thick strands.
She responded with a light trilling purr, and that signaled that the next step could occur. The female was slightly taller than him, the norm for their species, and he pulled her head down for a kiss of sorts. Their mandibles rubbed and intertwined as they both made soft noises and their tusks clicked together.
As her master's deep purrs got louder, less like a cat and more like an engine, she knew the event was getting closer to happening. And she was right—the female felt up his body, her hands on his back and then to his chest as they slid down until she untied his fur covering and tossed it aside. Then, she removed her dainty thong-like covering, and they were both naked and standing so close.
At this point, Kendra wasn't sure how the female would react. She could always predict the steps exactly until this point, and then couldn't tell what would happen next from the female. Her master seemed to wait as well, as each female chose differently, and it was his duty to do it how the dominant female asked.
Some females chose the top position, forcing the male on his back and having their way with him. Others, would climb onto the bed in a favorite position of their choosing and allow the male to mount them. But some, did something very different. She had seen it only once, too mesmerized to look away, but had heard and seen the aftermath many times over. To a human, it looked like rape—but the female always gave consent ahead of time. This sort consenting rape she had at first thought to be just a kinky thing some females liked, but they only seemed to do it the first time they met her master. They would return to him until they got pregnant, but only on the first time did they fight him so.
Her master had explained the reason behind mating with so many, siring that many offspring. It was one of the few questions she had asked when a translator had been around and she was still learning the language and customs. Apparently, her master had sired many "pups" because he was unmated, unattached, and had "good blood"—good genes, and was a very high ranking yautja in his clan. She equated his to sperm banks back on Earth. . . except you got to directly have sex with the god-like alien man that was donating said sperm. . .
What these frequent events meant for was simple: torture.
She quickly jumped up and shut the bathroom door, her heart racing and between her legs dampening. She sat back down on the fur pelt and immediately began studying the rubix cube like orb, trying to block out any noises from the bedroom. On a quick decision, she dropped the game and hopped up to turn on the faucet and run the bubbles on the hottub—but even that didn't drown out the sex sounds.
Chewing on her lower lip, she tried not to concentrate on the noises, tried not to imagine what they were doing behind that door.
They sounded like crazy jungle cats at first—powerful purring, the tearing of furs on the bed, and the females high-pitched shrieks. But it quickly moved to deeper grunting and moaning, the sound of the bed bumping against the wall accompanied by the sound of flesh-hitting flesh as they humped each other. Quickly, the noises escalated. She tried to cover her ears and hum to drown it out but it sounded as though a couple of dinosaurs were mating in the other room—growling and things crashing to the floor before a loud roar ripped through the air, sounding like a powerful t-rex with the deep and vibrating ferocity of an African lion.
The noise created an earthquake in her loins, and she scissored her legs together to prevent her own fingers from touching between her legs were she was warm and wet. Her hands were sweaty and balled into tense fists and she sat wide-eyed and staring at the bathroom door. A tiny whimper escaped her, loathing the noises yet begging for them to continue. She would have given anything to be the one trapped under that eight-foot reptilian alien god, being stretched by his hard manhood and held down by those rippling muscles.
It was wrong.
It was so wrong, to want it, to want him.
This created her new torture, a new hell, and made her days miserable. Captured and brought to the planet that young, she hadn't had a chance to be with a human man even. Then this powerful alien continuously had sex when she was around, sometimes when she was forced to watch if they traveled to the bathroom where she was hiding and she got trapped. It was a sort of exotic fantasy porn, constantly, day after day. She shouldn't have wanted something she'd never had—how could the temptation of pleasure from sex plague her so much when she hadn't ever experienced it?
But she wanted it badly, begged and prayed for it.
He never touched her.
It was destroying her. . . She would not be able to take it much longer, and so she formulated a plan of action.
A plan to get this predator to hunt her, desire her, and use her.
Yautja translations:
Aseigan - Servant
Ka - Slow
M-di - No
