by Corin Cain
But my traitorous body doesn’t care about logic – not when I’m in the presence of those three, towering warriors.
With a snarl of frustration, I pad to the sink – commanding the AI to turn the water to the coldest setting and then splashing my face with the icy stream. Even moments after showering, sweat is once again glistening on my naked body – coaxed from my pores by the dry heat of these living quarters.
I let the cold water drip from my face, and take a moment to stare at myself in the mirror opposite me. I spot an ugly, purple bruise blossoming on my forehead – wrought from all the damage I’d done to it. That, along with my still-wet hair and makeup-free face, can’t make me appear very attractive; but the Aurelians act as if I’m a goddess that they’re barely able to resist the lure of.
My mouth is dry, and I bend my head to drink greedily from the tap. I’m so used to having the bare minimum of creature comforts – either on a mission with Ling, or hiding out afterward. Throughout the universe, clean water is not something everybody has access to – and to me, this humble sink is nothing short of an oasis.
In fact, the whole bathroom is fancy – but in a strange, disquieting way. It’s as if the Toads who’d customized these quarters for their Aurelian guests had based the design on something they’d once seen – but had failed to fully comprehend. They tried, but failed to recreate the opulent luxury Aurelians are famous for, because their concept of such things is as alien to their species as the Aurelians themselves.
The end result looks like a cheap imitation of richness and wealth. For example, there’s a cupboard built into the far end of the bathroom – one I hope to find towels or a bathrobe inside to cover myself with – but when I pull the handles, they don’t budge.
It’s an imitation – not even real storage. Some Toad interior designer – if there could even be such a contradiction – must have seen the ornate handles mounted to the walls of a luxury bathroom, but failed to understand that humans and Aurelians use such things for access to storage space, and not merely as decoration.
Finally accepting defeat, I turn and open the door to the bathroom – thinking I might find something to wear in the bedroom beyond. In the worst case scenario, I wouldn’t be above wrapping a sheet around myself and calling it a day.
I pause in the doorway and take inventory. My eyes are drawn to the bed – where a beautiful, golden dress has been laid out across the sheets. One of the Aurelians must have placed it there for me while I was in the shower.
I tremble, thinking of how close one of those enormous creatures was to me without me even realizing it. I was deafened by the sound of the water, and they could have stepped into the bathroom without me knowing – not until the moment their big hands curled around my body and threw me against the wall…
And yet, that’s not what happened. Instead, whichever one of the three who left this dress here resisted the temptation – just as they’d done earlier.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved… or disappointed.
Then, my attention returns to the gorgeous dress. The fabric is whisper thin, and it shimmers and squirms as if craving flesh to cling to.
I’m not naive. I know this isn’t just any dress. I know exactly what it is – and it troubles me.
On their homeworld of Colossus, and all the other colonized worlds, Aurelians are famous for adorning their submissive women in gorgeous dresses made of fabric so sheer and clinging that it’s as if wearing nothing at all – but worse.
Right now, the dress I’m clearly expected to wear shifts and squirms – I think. It’s almost like the fabric is tricking my eyes. The dress is laid out, stationary on the bed, and it’s thin and sheer enough for me to see the blankets through it.
However, at the same time, there’s the illusion of movement – the shadows dancing amid the valleys and peaks of the golden fabric. I’m not sure if it’s a trick of the light, or some reflective substance woven into the material, or if my eyes are witnessing the truth, and the dress is actually moving on its own accord.
I couldn’t tell you for certain – but it’s very clear this gorgeous, golden gown was made with one purpose in mind – to tantalize the male gaze, by revealing and concealing the figure of whoever wears it in equally tantalizing turns.
I gulp and step over to the bed - running my fingers across the beautiful material. It feels as sleek as fur, as smooth as gold, and as sheer as the memory of a kiss.
I’m used to wearing rough, serviceable clothing – which often hasn’t been washed in weeks. Such is the life of a vigilante, and a fugitive.
This is alien to me – as alien as anything else that’s happened to me today. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m clean, fresh, and scrubbed. I can’t even remember the last time I felt like a woman – rather than a runaway in an unwashed sack.
“Ohhhhhh.”
I’m surprised to realize it’s my own heady murmur echoing across the room – coaxed from my lips as I run my fingertips up and down the sheer fabric of the gown.
As I touch the dress, it touches me. It’s as if the gown has a thousand soft fingers pressing up from beneath the material, gently and inexorably stimulating against my skin.
This is what Aurelians call a pleasure dress, and in addition to its thrilling design and decadent purpose, I know the gown itself is worth many times more than I even paid for my ticket to planet X12.
Not that I ever got there – or even look likely to, now.
I guess you get what you pay for.
That thought sours as I remember that I was paid for, too. The Aurelians bought me at the Bullfrog auction with the same credits they’d spent on this dress
And, just like the pleasure gown itself, that means they believe my body belongs to them.
The light, yellow and gold fabric of this shimmering dress is worth countless more than even its own weight in gold. Only the highest order of the Aurelians – the Elites – can routinely clad their entire harems in such dresses. These dresses are made to show off their women – their prizes – and the material is designed to hug and caress the womanly curves of whoever wears it no less intensely.
The fabric is literally alive, touching and teasing all who wear it, as if someone is constantly stroking and playing with the wearer’s body.
Suddenly, I let the dress fall from my fingers.
Outside the door to the bedroom, I can hear the Aurelians arguing. Well, one of them is – and his deep voice rumbles through the door loudly enough to alert me.
I can’t make out the Aurelians words, but I can sense his tone.
Just like before, that ensures I can’t get a read on any of them.
One moment, those three, towering warriors are buying me at an auction. Then, I’m taken to their quarters and they stare at me – slate-grey eyes burning with a need that’s so naked and intense it makes me anticipate being thrown to the floor and taken – bred like a mare… Like property.
But if this trio truly are Rogue Aurelians – then, why am I still unclaimed?
I look at myself in the full-length mirror. It’s made for an Aurelian, so the reflection looms above me. The last beads of water are still dripping down the curves of my naked body. It makes me wonder if their hesitation in claiming me isn’t as mysterious as I’d suspected.
Perhaps, Aurelians just like their women to be freshly washed before they fuck them – especially after splashing around in the filthy water of this Toad ship, and being painted with the disgusting slime dripping from the creature’s spindly, webbed fingers.
Who could blame them?
The Aurelians want their property cleansed of such filth, and then packaged in a pleasure dress like one might affix a bow on a birthday gift.
I shiver, pondering my options. But what options?
What should I do? I could sit in here and wait, I suppose… Aurelians are not known for their patience, despite the thousands of years of life they enjoy.
Besides, I’m not ready to face the
m – not yet. I might not have any control over my own life any more, but I still want to feel like I’m doing something of my own volition. It’s as if the rebellious nature of the old me is reemerging. I can feel myself coming alive again. I’ve been in a daze ever since Ling died – not letting myself feel, or letting myself do anything except retreat from reality.
Now that reality has caught up with me in the most grim manner possible, the old me has reawaken to cope with it. I’d thought that version of myself was gone – reduced to cold ashes – but I guess there was always a tiny ember burning deep down inside of me, and now it’s being stocked back aflame by the twisted winds of fate.
I just hope it doesn’t get snuffed out permanently this time – crushed so cruelly that the old me will never burn again.
I’m desperate to talk privately with Tessa – out of earshot of the Aurelians, so I can learn what she truly thinks about our captors. All things considered, Tessa has held up incredibly well under the pressure – and I’ve got a gut feeling that she can be trusted.
But to speak to Tessa, I’ll have to venture out into the main room again – into the heated gaze of those three lustful creatures.
My choices are no choices at all – not really. I could step out in my birthday suit – naked and vulnerable – or I could wrap a sheet around myself like a shameful, cowering child. I’d probably trip and fall if I did so, compounding my humiliation.
Or, I could put on this pleasure dress.
I bite my lip.
Once again, the dark desires these Aurelians have awoken in me come bubbling up to the surface; although I’d be lying if I pretended I’d never had this particular thought before.
I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to wear opulent, luxurious clothes – like the holo-vid stars wear. I’d never thought a vigilante or runaway like myself would ever have the chance.
I stare at myself critically in the mirror, and then pull the sheer dress up to see what the soft, golden color might look like against my skin tone.
When I stare at myself, I can’t help but compare my figure to that of Tessa. She seems so graceful and womanly compared to me – and yet I’m the one the Aurelians were staring at so intently.
But maybe they just want me, first – the same way I used to eat the vegetables on my plate first, saving the most delicious morsels of meat and gravy for last.
Perhaps she was sent to shower and change in one of the other rooms – and will now saunter back out into the main glistening and wet, and ready to thank the Aurelians for rescuing her with an eager sensuality I’m too ashamed to mimic.
The moment I think that, a red-hot surge of jealousy pulses through me - until I quench it sharply.
What the hell? Why would I even care? Let them have her!
But as before, my sensual body betrays my logical mind. I find myself pulling the pleasure dress on – slowly and luxuriously, as if somebody else is controlling my limbs.
As the fabric clings to my curves, I revel in the sheer, stimulating softness. It’s like wearing a lover’s breath on my skin, and nothing more.
Yet, in the mirror, the dress looks beautiful on me - and I find myself reborn as someone new.
Now, I’m no longer the fearless vigilante who saved slaves from Toads and Bullfrogs, but neither am I the broken, helpless woman I’d been when I lost my best friend – fleeing for her life.
I don’t know who I am now – this gorgeous woman in the clinging dress, staring back at me.
But, believe me – I’m going to find out soon enough.
After all, I’m trapped here on this mothership, behind a door that three huge, alien warriors lurk on the other side of. They were already on the verge of the mating frenzy when I stripped in front of them – and now I’ve accepted the inevitability of my fate, I find myself feeling calmer and more at peace than I have for years.
As if sensing my inner peace, the dress shimmers and flows around my body; clinging itself to my body and caressing my curves.
The dress is not insistent. It has the gentle, teasing touch of a lover – eliciting pleasure from every inch of my skin it touches – as if the fabric is molding itself against my body. My nipples harden beneath its touch, and I press my thighs together as I imagine the reaction it will elicit from those three perfectly proportioned warriors waiting on the other side of that door.
If I step into the main room wearing this, I’ll have no excuse for what happens next. I know the sight of me will be enough to drive them beyond the brink – and whatever happens next will be a direct consequence of a choice I consciously made, even knowing what might happen when I did.
But I can’t fight them. I promised to serve these three warriors, and Aurelians insist on keeping the terms of an agreement. They’re too big to resist physically, so the end result is not in question – only how I shall submit to it.
I have to make a choice:
I could let them take me willingly – getting on my hands and knees and crawling submissively to them. Alternatively, I could resist – to try futilely to fight the enormous warriors off, and then have my bottom turned red before I’m taken just as hard and deeply as I would have been otherwise.
And the worst part? The most shameful, humiliating truth about all this?
Both options turn me on so wildly, I can feel wetness glistening between my thighs.
Then, all thoughts cease. I’ve waited too long – and what little choice I had is robbed from me.
I gasp as I suddenly see the huge bulk of one of the warriors standing right behind me. I didn’t even hear the bedroom door open – much less the sound of his cat-like footsteps.
I whip around, eyes wide, and find the Aurelian looming over me – staring down at me with the cold, imperious intensity of a snow-capped mountain. His skin is even the same color as that snow – with the warrior’s full lips and finely chiseled features contrasting against the masculine strength of his straight, broad jaw.
The warrior’s eyes are hard and cold as he surveys me.
His property.
As I meet the warrior’s gaze, I realize this one isn’t just arrogant – he’s cocky.
Yes – cocky. Arrogant, full of himself, and his disdainful attitude resonates from him as clearly as a radio signal. It’s in the way he stands – the way he breathes.
In the warrior’s right hand is a bright, yellow honey-fruit – that succulent, mouthwatering delicacy that only grows on Deemak. I heard that somewhere – perhaps in some bar I’d gone to with Ling, looking for our next lead. It’s a tidbit of information I must have lodged somewhere in the back of my mind.
“I knew you’d put it on.”
The Aurelian’s voice is like aural whiskey – strong, and smoky, and smooth. That damned black t-shirt he wears is stretched across his enormous muscles and I can’t keep my eyes from following the clearly defined musculature that is barely hidden beneath.
The fabric binds to his muscles just as effectively as the pleasure dress clings to my own body – but I’m the one teased and tormented by it. Lust swells inside of me, and it’s amplified by the tingling, squirming fabric I wear.
The pleasure dress contorts agonizingly to my body. Even the tiniest movement I make – a single squirm or wriggle – shifts the fabric against my skin and forces the material to flow tightly against my skin and mold itself to me anew.
My nipples are now painfully hard – standing out clearly beneath the sheer fabric. This Aurelian no longer needs to sniff the air to taste my scent. He knows the effect he’s having on me. In this oppressive warmth, there’d be no other reason for the peaks of my nipples to be straining like the hard, little nubs of a pencil eraser.
We stand there, eye to eye. I shiver, knowing that with just one hand, this towering warrior could snap me like a twig. Or, more likely, he could press me back against the mirror and crush his thick, sensuous lips against mine – until my overstimulated body caved in to his dominance, and I could no longer pretend that I didn’t
want to be taken as clearly as he wants to take me.
But the old me stirs, and I repeated his statement in my head.
“I knew you’d put it on.”
My hands ball into fits.
“Because I don’t have any other bloody thing to wear, do I?” I snap defiantly. “You made me throw out the rest of my clothes!”
I’m satisfied with how annoyed I sound – but at the same time, my stomach flutters like the wings of a dove. I should cross my arms to cover my straining nipples, but the old me is at the controls of my tingling body – and suddenly I’m tired of being scared and submissive.
I place my hands on my hips and stare the Aurelian down – and, believe me, it’s not easy to stare down a seven-feet-tall, dominant alien warrior.
This Aurelian is beyond perfect. His skin is the purest, marble white. His complexion makes mine look dark and tanned – even after I’d spent months without the touch of a sun upon it.
As I stand there, I hear the warrior’s breath catch in his throat.
He says nothing, though. Instead, he steps forward – and suddenly, the room feels so much smaller.
I feel even more naked and exposed than I had when I was in the shower. A thousand little kisses are constantly teasing my nipples and my clit – anywhere the fabric clings to…
…and, believe me, it clings to everything.
It’s a subtle, sadistic, delicious sensation – magnifying every dark desire I have for this Aurelian to throw me down onto the bed and make me his, just like the auction was supposed to.
I gulp dryly, and suddenly my defiance isn’t quite as defiant any more.
“I-I promised I’d do whatever you want, right?” My chest is heaving. ”Have you come to collect? Is that what you want, Aurelian? How do you want it?”
I speak defiantly, but I have to press my thighs together to stop the wetness glistening down my thighs.
