by Alana Khan
She walks to the toilet and gives me a scathing look, silently commanding me to look away. Her race must like privacy for that. I try to imagine a life where a person could have privacy for basic bodily functions. It must be nice.
Her cheeks already flushed with embarrassment, the color deepens as she shucks her pants and dives into bed. Covering her face with the blanket, she reaches between her legs and readies herself for me. I grab my length to stroke it, surprised to find it’s already standing proud and ready to perform.
I wait for her hushed, “I’m ready,” and join her under the blanket. She’s on her hands and knees, as I’d instructed her yesterday, but I find myself yearning to mount her from the front, to see her interesting face and expressions. I’m certain that would distress her, so I just cover her from behind, and get ready to complete the act.
I’m certain she wants to get this over as quickly as I do, so I don’t know what possesses me to touch one finger to her soft halo of brown curls, or stroke her cheek with my knuckle. At first, she sucks in a breath and stiffens, but when I freeze and do nothing else, she calms herself, breathing more slowly, limbs relaxing.
I have no idea how to make this easier for her. Placing myself at her entrance, I notice her dampness there. I stroke the head of my cock back and forth, making sure she’s slick enough to accept me. Gently placing my hands on hers, I reassure her wordlessly. I enter her slowly, tenderly, then finish the act as quickly as possible to cause her the least discomfort.
Anya
It’s not that Zar, the Minute Man, and I have a relationship of any kind, but it hurts my feelings that he can’t stand to be inside me for more than thirty seconds. I should be happy he’s so quick about his business. It’s ridiculous for me to feel insulted—but I am.
Peeking at the women in the two cells I pass on my way to medbay, I give them my wordless support. I’m glad to see “boxer girl” in the cell next to mine is now wearing a humongous blue jumpsuit. I would have hated to be walking around half nude under the scrutiny of so many eyes. The enforced sex hasn’t been easy on any of us, but I think I heard her crying while “completing the act” this morning. I feel powerless realizing there’s nothing I can do to help.
I pay little attention to anything but ideas of how to escape as an Urlut forces me down the hallways at gunpoint. While we hurry through the corridors, I notice every doorway and every turn as I look for any crew I’ve never seen before. I wonder what the guard-to-prisoner ratio is in case we ever find an opportunity to have an uprising. I forbid myself to even wonder if the others want to overthrow our masters. I can’t allow myself to be negative—I’ve got to focus on escape.
Yesterday, I wasn't aware that every male prisoner is a full-fledged, trained, powerful gladiator. Zar explained this morning that the only thing they do all day every day is train and fight. No wonder the Urluts are so quick to use shock collars on them. Even though the guards are huge and armed to the teeth, it sounds like they would be no match for any of these warriors if they squared off in a fair fight.
My thoughts come to a halt as we arrive at medbay. Dr. Evil, who never introduced himself even though he was so insistent that I give him my name, tries to get me up on the exam table as fast as possible.
I decide to converse, even if it is one-sided, the whole time I’m in the exam room. I want him to realize he’s hurting us women—that we’re real people with emotions. Maybe I can reconnect him to his desire to be a helping professional.
“So assuming you did at one point want to heal people, what happened to you? How did you wind up serving on a slave ship?” How’s that for getting right to the point?
He pats the table, looking totally resigned to the fact that I’m not going to jump right up. We’re having a staredown. He sighs, shrugs, and for some unknown reason answers me.
“Student loans.”
“Say what?”
“You’re right; I always wanted to be a physician, a healer. Medical training doesn’t come cheap. I didn’t want myself or my family burdened with my loans, so I accepted this job. It was supposed to be a quick one annum tour of duty with the Urluts on a transport freighter and would erase all my debt. I was told I would be tending the vessel's crew. I never dreamed the ship would be transporting slaves. Or that it would involve…” He looks forlornly down at the speculum in his hand as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen one. “It was bait and switch, but the contract is ironclad.”
Those deep-set, piercing blue eyes look haunted for the briefest moment. Then he’s patting the table again.
He definitely paid the price for my cooperation today. I quickly shuck my PJ bottoms, climb onto the table and put my feet in the stirrups. How come they’ve invented space flight and they still can’t figure out a way to warm those things?
“What are you going to do when your debt is paid?” I ask afterward as I slip back into my clothes. I’m still trying to figure out how to use this information to my advantage.
“I had originally thought I’d go back to Dacia, my home planet. But I’ll probably be charged with war crimes for this. I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed to return.”
Whoa, for being the one in total control of this situation, he certainly looks powerless and forlorn.
“I guess we’re all prisoners in one way or another,” I add faintly.
He breathes a deep sigh. We both know we’ll be continuing this conversation tomorrow.
When I’m back in my cell I have nothing to occupy my mind. I think it’s been two days since I was kidnapped, but now my old life seems far away. I guess it is far away. I don’t know much about space travel, but I’m guessing I could be millions of miles from Earth by now.
The call center where I worked has probably already sent me a termination notice via email for my two unexcused absences. Kinda makes me all warm and fuzzy inside thinking about my relationship with my former employers. They didn’t have shock collars at my job, but it definitely felt like a master/slave relationship in other ways.
My fists ball in anger at myself. I hated that crappy job. Why was I sleepwalking through my life? I don’t know how it happened. I had plans to go to college after I moved away from home. Instead, I got a crappy job to get a steady income and before you know it several years passed and I never did enroll. My plans for my future got hazier, and I got caught up in the treadmill of just getting by.
If I ever do get back to Earth—like if this is a bad dream and I wake up any time soon—the first thing I’m going to do, if they haven’t already fired me, is quit that soul-sucking job and find something I’m passionate about.
I wonder if my parents and two sisters know I’m AWOL; they must be worried sick. What I wouldn’t give for a Skype call right about now.
That’s a depressing thought, which is doing me no good. I will not allow myself to fall down that rabbit hole. I switch gears; I need to figure out how to escape. We might actually have a chance. After all, we have a cadre of trained fighters who probably all want to be free. There’s a ship’s officer who hates what he’s doing, and, of course, little telepathic Tyree.
After the guards transport us to medbay and back, they’re pretty scarce. There doesn’t seem to be a vast army of them onboard, so they must be closely monitoring the gladiators and not bothering with us puny Earth women.
Gingerly fingering my shock collar, I decide to take a risk. Moving to the front of the cell next to boxer girl’s compartment I whisper, “What’s your name?”
No answer. Also no shock. So, emboldened, I ask more loudly.
“Shhhh,” is her only reply. Then, after a moment while she’s probably waiting to see if she gets zapped, she answers, “Grace.”
“I’m Anya. It’s nice to know your name. I was tired of calling you ‘Boxer Girl’ in my mind.”
“I think of you as Moose,” she admits with a soft laugh. “I’m glad the doctor got me these clothes, even though I look like the doc's Mini-Me in this rolled-up blue jumpsuit.”
/>
“Yes, I was glad to see that. It must have been awful for you to have to walk around almost naked that first day.”
I pause a moment, wondering if I should mention my concerns, then barge ahead. “I've heard some...distressing noises from your cell. I’ve wondered if you’ve been crying. Is your guy treating you all right?” There is such a long silence I wonder if her collar’s been shocked.
“It's awful,” she sounds dejected, and resigned.
I’m not surprised. From the sounds of things, I had wondered if the guy with the red robotic eye had been considerate with her during out mandatory mating.
“Grace, I’m so sorry. Does he understand he’s scaring you? Hurting you?”
“He’s...I’m not sure if he has actual emotions other than anger. He doesn’t really talk. When I told him it hurt, he slowed down. I think he tried. He warns me we'll both be punished if we don’t follow orders. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting me in some crazy way. I honestly don’t think he wants to hurt me; he’s just so...disconnected.
“I mean, have you seen his face? His arm? I’m not sure how much of him is human and how much is robot.”
“I don’t know how to help. Do you think my guy could talk to him at the ludus tomorrow? Urge him to be more gentle? More considerate?”
“Anything’s worth a try.”
My head fills with selfish thoughts—like I’m so glad Zar has been kind. I try not to have any survivor’s guilt over my luck.
Luck, that’s a funny word to describe such an awful situation.
Chapter Three
Zar
I can’t read Anya’s human features when I arrive back in the cell. She’s not shy about sharing, though.
“You’ve showered,” she almost shouts. “So unfair! I’m dirty and stinky.”
“Showered in the ludus.” I shrug my shoulders.
“I’m jealous. And filthy.” She sniffs me, “You smell clean. And good.”
I have no idea what to say, which is no problem because she always seems to fill the silences. But right now she’s wordless. She’s staring at me like she’s never seen me before. I smell something under her “filth,” as she calls it. I smell...arousal.
Anya
He smells great. Not just clean, but a mixture of pine woods and musk. Then my mind goes straight to all kinds of crazy thoughts about my cellmate. I guess I was too busy to notice before, but he is sexy as hell.
He’s rocking that angry feline vibe. His movements are so graceful as he paces around our little space. His mane, now clean, is kind of eighties’ glam rock meets Born Free. The pronounced split between flat nose and upper lip almost begs to be traced by yours truly. I imagine doing just that. First with my finger, then with my tongue. Stop it, Anya! What am I thinking?
But his fur, how did I never notice how alluring it is? His skin is covered in soft fur everywhere except his sex and tiny male nipples. I tried not to pay attention during our forced mating, but it feels like velvet.
My fingers itch to reach out and stroke him. I physically grip my thighs, where my hands are resting, in an effort to keep from investigating those rock-hard biceps.
This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be attracted to him; he's a different species FFS. It’s just the enforced togetherness, right? I couldn’t be aroused by this alien male. Could I?
But my heart beats faster and my palms get so clammy I have to rub them back and forth on my pajamas to dry them. My mouth is parched. My core clenches. I can’t deny the desire I feel welling up inside me.
I’ll admit, it’s been a long dry spell for me as far as males are concerned. Even though I sat on my ass all day at my job, there’s something about the mind-numbing monotony of it all that makes me so tired all I want to do when I get home at night is eat and watch Netflix. I’ve had my share of lackluster dates, but none I was thrilled with. And certainly, none of them were as buff as the male standing in front of me.
I’m intently focused on how well built Zar is. He works out all day every day. His muscles are like corded steel ropes covered by soft golden suede. His fur accentuates his six pack rather than obscuring it. And that loincloth leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
His eyes, those decidedly feline eyes, golden with black pupils, are compelling. Instead of his differences being scary or creepy, they are tempting as hell.
All at once, his appeal becomes obvious. I was so busy trying to ignore the forced bed sessions, that I totally repressed my intense attraction.
Oops, he’s staring at me. And by the looks of it, he has read my transparent little mind. And the result is not what one would expect from a hot, virile animal guy. Instead of acting on my obvious interest, he backs into the corner, slides down the wall and begins to painstakingly study the floor.
This male could kill a grizzly with his bare hands, and I have completely debilitated him with my lustful looks.
He’s not human, he’s part animal. He probably smells my attraction. He’s obviously not interested. Here we are, locked in this cell together. You’d think he’d take advantage of the situation—unless he finds me totally unattractive. My hands grip my elbows and my stomach drops as I realize my feelings are hurt. I feel rejected.
Well, Anya, it’s certainly not the first time you’ve had a crush that hasn’t been reciprocated. It’s just that this has obviously made Zar extremely uncomfortable and we have to live together in this tiny cell for the next who knows how long?
Should I just come out and acknowledge my faux pas? Ignore it? Deny it? Should I ask if he’s gay?
“Um, I think I’m having a moment of temporary insanity.” After no response from him, I begin to babble. “That’s a legal term on Earth...it means you are not responsible for your actions...it can reduce the amount of punishment a person gets…” I trail off. I’m clearly making it worse.
Zar
“Emotions are normal.” Did I really say that? What a hypocrite I am. Well, they are normal, for everyone except me. Mine are nicely locked down, if they even exist at all.
“Is it hard for you?” she asks. “I mean being around almost-naked men all day and not being able to act on your attraction.”
My confusion must show on my face because she elaborates.
“Are you gay?”
“I assure you, a lifetime of servitude has not made me happy.”
“Oh,” she pauses, evidently searching for the right words. “I mean, are you attracted to other males?”
“No.” I shake my head, my eyes narrowing. Why would she think that?
“Oh…” she pauses for a long time, then begins to slowly nod her head as if she’s just solved a difficult puzzle. “You’re just not attracted to me.”
She looks dejected. I have no idea what to do. I’m not a talker. I’m not an explainer. I am not good with words. I’m a quiet male who has only had one actual relationship with another sentient being his whole life.
I don’t want to hurt her feelings. How do I explain I’m not a real person? I’m a stone who looks alive.
Her face is trembling. She’s experiencing emotions. Lots of them. Bad ones.
“I have no attractions,” I explain. “Not to males. Not to females. I wake, I fight, I eat, I sleep, and then I repeat.”
She’s watching me, wordless. “There’s nothing in here.” I lightly thump my chest. “I’m dead inside. I’m dead and my body just doesn’t know it.”
Tears well in her eyes. They quiver there for a moment and then two single tears slide down her cheeks.
“I didn’t want to make you cry.”
This somehow makes her cry harder.
I move without thinking. I’m instantly up on my feet, then I sit gently on the bed beside her—but not too close. She won’t look at me. She’s like a lyrian bug that rolls into a ball as its only defense.
“This isn’t about you.” My hand reaches up of its own volition to touch her, where, I do not know; it quickly drops back into my lap as if burned. She glances int
o my eyes and seems to calm a bit, so I keep gently talking.
“Your world has changed in an instant. You’re scared and far from home. You just don’t know what to do with all of the feelings swirling inside you.” I sound like I’m some expert on emotions, even though I have none.
Her tears are slowing. She’s quietly gasping big gulps of air and giving me more eye contact. I think I’ve soothed her, at least a bit.
