Hostage Brides of the Overlords: Part 1: (Futuristic Sci Fi Erotica)

by Jill Soffalot

  Hostage Brides of the Overlords: Part 1

  (Futuristic Sci Fi Erotica)

  Jill Soffalot

  Copyright 2014 Jill Soffalot

  Wild Charm Publishing Amazon Edition

  Cover Design Sam Butters

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The small blue car glided smoothly along the curves of the highway, smoothly navigating the looping left and right turns. Heading south toward San Francisco on California's Pacific coast highway, the two young women in the car gazed with wonder at the cliffs and beaches.

  "We've got to stop somewhere," Clara said. She sat in the passenger seat, looking out across the landscape. They were high above the beach, overlooking the ocean. "We should swim."

  They were in their swimsuits already, with bikini tops and jean shorts on, proper attire for a summer day spent touring around Northern California. Janelle, the driver, gripped the steering wheel tightly, slowly guiding the car around each turn. She barely dared to look over the gorgeous view; the constant swooping and turning of the highway would not allow her to break her focus on the road for a moment.

  "Keep an eye out for a place," Janelle said. "Holy crap, is this ever an intense drive."

  The two young friends were taking a late summer trip. Best friends in high school, Clara and Janelle had spent their first year of college apart, with Clara studying Mathematics at the University of California's Davis campus, while Janelle studied English at the Santa Cruz campus. With the return to study only a week away, they'd hopped in Janelle's old Honda Civic and went camping.

  "There," Clara said, pointing. "I see people on the beach down there. There must be a place ahead."

  They cruised along and slowed down when the car reached the exit. The gravel road swooped steeply down off the highway to a small parking lot overlooking a cliff. The girls got out, dug their beach towels out of the trunk, and picked their way down the path to the broad expanse of sand below.

  "This is so beautiful," Janelle said as they padded their way toward the water. The beach stretched on in either direction, disappearing behind the sloping cliffs. Massive stones squatted near the water with strips of seaweed dangling down their sides. The Pacific Ocean rumbled up, crashing in soft waves against the sand.

  The girls lay down their towels. There were others on the beach, but not nearby. A few pairs of people wandered here and there along the foot of the cliffs, or relaxed on towels. Clara looked at her friend. "Are we going to try the water?"

  Janelle, a slender red-head with pale skin and freckles, looked at the waves. "I guess," she said. "Do you figure it's cold?"

  Clara shrugged. "Probably," she said. "Come on, let's give it a shot."

  They wiggled out of their shorts and dropped them down on their towels, then walked down to the water's edge in their bikinis. Clara took the first steps into the foam. "Yep, it's cold," she said. Her firm, athletic body was deeply tanned from the summer days spent outside, and goose bumps ran up her body as the cold water rushed over her feet. She looked at her friend. "We're here though. Want to go for it?"

  Janelle stepped into the water. "Oh my gosh!" she screamed as a wave rushed in and the cold Pacific water splashed up her calves. "No way!"

  "Come on!" Clara said, wading out. "Be a brave Banana Slug."

  "I swear to god, if you call me Banana Slug one more time..."

  "It's your school team name!" Clara teased. "The Santa Cruz Banana Slugs. Be proud!" She sloshed deeper into the chilly water, feeling the waves crash against her thighs. She waved a hand, calling for her friend to join her. "Come!"

  Janelle squealed as she followed Clara into the water. At last they both dove, plunging into the cold, salty water. "Oh my god!" Janelle said, surfacing and wiping the water from her eyes. She looked around. Clara hadn't surfaced yet. Janelle's toes were just touching the sand at the bottom, and the waves made her float up, keeping her from staying in one spot. She turned around, waiting for her friend to come up.

  It had been too long. Thirty seconds? A minute? Janelle dove, trying to open her eyes in the salty water. She could see nothing. Clara was a excellent swimmer. Where was she? Had she darted away on that first dive? Was she farther out? Did she double back? Where was she?

  Panic mounted in Janelle as the seconds ticked by. She couldn't see her. Clara was gone. They walked out and dove, but only Janelle surfaced. Clara was just... gone.

  Could it be a shark? Sudden, violent undertow? Does that happen? Janelle swam back to shallower water so she could get a better look around. Clara was out there somewhere. Where the hell was she? Did she hit a rock when she dove? Impossible.

  Within minutes Janelle was screaming for help, calling to the other people wandering along the beach. Clara didn't resurface. She was gone.

  Emergency services arrived. The beach was searched. The ocean was searched. No one could rationalize how two girls could swim side by side and one could be swept away without a trace, and the other would not even notice a moving current.

  Clara was not found. A long time later, unseen by anyone, the two pieces of her bikini drifted up onto the beach. Wherever Clara had gone, her swimsuit was left behind.

  ***

  There was no definite moment of awakening. There were glimpses. Impressions. Feelings of slowly gaining awareness, as though coming out of a coma, waking up inside a dream.

  One impression was of being carried in massive arms, held against a huge chest. The sensation was like being carried along like a baby, or a kitten, swept along by some endlessly large being, some rescuer, or perhaps captor. There were feelings of being touched, felt, prodded, caressed, nurtured, probed, pinched. She was dimly aware of her body, and that it was being investigated. There was awareness, but no thought. There was no self. Clara hadn't surfaced yet.

  The first moments when she seemed to experience some levels of awareness were brought about by voices.

  "Hey man, what are you doing? Don't be an asshole, man. Cut that out."

  "Hey man, fair's fair. You know what she's here for, right?"

  "Yeah, asshole, but that doesn't give you the right. Get the fuck out of here."

  Then she felt hands. The hands released her. They had been on her breasts, feeling her. She hadn't noticed, but the voices woke her, and slowly her physical body woke too. She didn't move. She couldn't move. Awareness was flickering, but she wasn't at the level of interacting with her own body on the level of moving, acting, yet.

  "Sorry, dear." It was a man's voice. "That guy is pure asshole, through and through." She felt a blanket being adjusted across her body. "I guess you don't care much right now, but there has to be respect, right? I mean, you're a good looking girl, but that's just not cool, is it? Asshole."

  Then the voice disappeared, and slowly Clara faded away too, back to sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep.

  ***

  The waking process was gradual. Soon she was able to listen to conversations, process what was being said. She began to understand. She was in some kind of hospital. She was convalescing, recovering from some great trauma that she could not identify. She became aware of her body. There were tubes going into her nose, into her arms. The ones in her arms hurt, especially when the people caring for her moved her. The hands she felt touching her felt small.

  Remembering anything was a struggle. She was dimly aware of her life, in some abstract way. She was not an infant, a tabula rasa, a blank slate. She had a history, a past. A life. There were images of trees
, mountains. Houses. The inside of a house, her childhood home, she understood. Figures. A mother, a father, a brother. Friends. Faces. Places. A school. Her high school, with many faces. Games. Endless play on a bedroom floor, toys, dolls, cutting paper with scissors, making things, drawing, little friends. Girls. Boys. She remembered her own face in the mirror. A child first, then a young woman.

  She remembered study, her first year of college, Davis, being away from her home and family for the first time. She remembered the parties, the apartment with two other girls. She remembered classes, a bald-headed professor who inspired her, another that challenged her, she remembered coffee shops, a boy, his lips, his body.

  She remembered the summer job in a bakery. She remembered her best friend, Janelle. She remembered their trip. At last she remembered the cliffs, the beach. And then nothing.

  ***

  Clara remembered her mother's face. She remembered the warmth of her body. She remembered getting out of bed early in the morning and running into her parents' bedroom to climb into their bed for a few moments of snuggling under their warm covers before the alarm went off. She remembered her body pressed against her mother's. Clara's young, bony body squeezing in against the full, womanly curves of her mother. It was safety, warmth, and comfort. This place was a pale imitation of comfort.

  What was this place? There was a firm bed. There were firm hands, poking needles. This was no ordinary hospital. Where was she? What was happening to her?

  One day (could she say day? The word meant nothing. The passage of time was unrecorded here.) One time upon awakening she was aware that she could move her fingers. A flicker of hope fluttered through her, and she tried to open her eyes. There was the sensation of lifting a tremendous weight, and then a flood of painful light, stabbing into her consciousness. She was awake. Her eyes were open.

  The room where she was being kept was not brightly lit. There were lights around her, but they were shaded. She could see no windows. Although her neck muscles would not respond, she found that with effort she could focus and move her eyes back and forth. It was a small grey room. There were machines present. It was very confusing and obscure.

  In the days to come, she was able to open her eyes, move her body, recognize the people who came and went. It was a form of hospital, some strange hospital. The nurses who cared for her were all male, but they were not men as she expected. They were small, strange looking, like they were somehow malformed or stunted. They had large foreheads and bald pates, weak chins and narrow, cringing shoulders. There were no women, and there were no regular men. Just these sickly dwarves.

  Eventually she was able to speak and she asked where she was. The nurses smiled and said they would arrange a session for her. They would say no more than that. A session would explain everything.

  How long was she there? How long did it take for her to awaken, recover to the point of being able to sit up, talk? Was it months? Weeks? Days? Clara had no idea. There was nothing to record the passage of time, and there were no patterns to the appearance of the strange little male nurses. She found there was nothing to do but await the session.

  Once upon awakening the nurses offered her a drink. She took it, and although it upset her stomach, she did not throw up. Now each time she awoke, she was offered a drink. Sometimes the drink was water, at other times it was a thick, chalky liquid. Soon after she was able to take liquids, and the tubes in her arms and nose were removed.

  She announced the need to urinate to one of the nurses, and he helped her to stand. She took steps on wobbling legs and he guided her to the bathroom, where she sat on a small toilet and peed. Then, exhausted, she returned to bed.

  The session arrived. Clara was now able to stand and move around her little grey room, but she was set in a wheelchair and rolled out into the bright hallway. She was rolled past other dimly lit rooms. In the rooms other men and women lay in beds. They seemed as distant and sleepy as Clara did. The men were regular men though, not these stunted individuals that operated the hospital.

  Clara was taken to a brightly lit room. Instead of the grey of her hospital room, the walls were painted lilac. There was a small table with a bouquet of flowers. Her attendant left her sitting in her wheelchair.

  "One moment," he said, and left. She sat, wondering.

  At last the door opened, and a man entered. He was also in a wheelchair, although his was motorized. He was small, like the nurses and attendants, although he looked much older than the others. He was deeply wrinkled and stooped low at the shoulders. He had a bird-like appearance somehow, like a vulture in pristine white clothes, riding in a wheelchair. He wore dark glasses.

  "Hello!" he said upon entering, clapping his hands together. "Well, well. It's a pleasure. How are we? Are we feeling well?"

  "Who are you?" Clara replied.

  "No, no, no!" he laughed. "The question is, who are you? Do you know your name?"

  Clara nodded.

  "Yes, of course you do. Very well. My name is Doctor Milton Kosmoff. I am one of the many administrators of this facility, and I am here to answer all of your questions. But first, let me welcome you, and let you know that the reason you have felt so sick for the last little while is that you have just performed the amazing task of travelling through time. I congratulate you! You are a brave pioneer. You have left your time behind, and are now an explorer in the strange distant future, one that I assure you, people of your time could not have foreseen."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied.

  He smiled. It was unsettling, talking to him. He looked like a bizarre special effect, or a puppet from an '80s movie. He didn't look quite human. "Tell me dear," he said. "Can you tell me what year it is?"

  Clara paused and thought for a long while. "Two thousand something," she said. "Did I get a concussion or something? Two thousand... fourteen."

  "Yes!" Doctor Kosmoff clapped his hands. "Yes, my dear, it was indeed 2014. Let me repeat that: it was 2014. You were selected from the year 2014, although it's very important for you to understand that it is no longer 2014, and times have changed. Oh, how times have changed."

  "What do you mean," she said, looking at him with suspicious eyes, "that I was selected?"

  "Yes!" he said, clapping his hands again. "Ask questions, my dear! Learn about your new situation, your new environment. Now, I said you were selected, indeed I did. Well, I'll tell you all about it. I understand that you are a sports fan, my dear. You played volleyball in school, you participated in competitive swimming for some time, and you played some softball. I'm sorry to say there are no softball leagues anymore, although there definitely are sports! But there will be time for all that later, of course."

  Like a lecturer wandering back and forth in front of his chalkboard, Doctor Kosmoff began rolling his chair around the room. "As well as playing softball," he said, "I understand you also paid a great deal of attention to professional baseball, following the major leagues. You will recall that the teams in the major leagues supplied themselves with players by closely watching young talents, watching them perform, studying them, scouting them, as the expression goes, and then drafting them into their organization. You, my dear," he said, holding his hands up, "you have been drafted."

  She looked at him blankly. "Drafted... by a sports team?"

  He laughed and shook his head. "No, no, no my dear. Drafted. By the future."

  Clara sighed in dull frustration. She knew she was smarter than this. Her memories were fuzzy, but somehow she had a sense that she was intelligent and quick to understand difficult concepts. She knew that right now her brain was not operating as it should. She wanted to muddle through whatever nonsense this weird little man was giving her, but she just couldn't. The future? What the hell was he saying?

  "We've pulled you forward, Clara," he said. "Pulled you out of 2014 to this time, twenty-three-sixty-two. And 2362 is a very different time indeed."

  "But... why?"

  "Because we need your help, my
dear. Just as those sporting teams of your era drafted young players because they saw potential in them, we have selected you and brought you forward, because we know that you are an exceptional young person, and you have the potential to do great things. As the expression goes, you have the potential to benefit mankind, which is important indeed, for mankind is in grave need of help."

  He rolled his chair near to her and extended his hand, laying it on top of hers. It felt cold. "These are strange days, I'm sorry to say. Strange, dark days, made brighter by your joining us here."

  Clara showed no sign of understanding, and he patted the back of your hand. "That's enough for now, I think. There will be plenty of time for you to become acclimatized to your new era, your new surroundings. It was a distinct pleasure meeting you, dear Clara. Rest now. Find your strength."

  Doctor Kosmoff rolled out, and attendants arrived to wheel Clara back to her room. They got her into her bed and left her to sleep, but it was a long time before she drifted off into fitful rest, as her mind struggled to comprehend what the blue hell was going on.

  Chapter Two

  Day by day, Clara woke up. She became attuned to her new surroundings, and listened carefully to what was said around her. She was soon able to walk without help, could take solid food, and gradually began to feel like normal: strong and healthy and smart.

  "All right, sister," said an attendant one day. "You're doing just great, aren't you? Time to move out of this section. We need the bed. More new arrivals all the time, you know."

  "New arrivals?"

  The attendant was a younger fellow, but still bald in the front, with a bulging forehead. He stood about as high as Clara's elbow. The ceilings were high, but all the furniture and equipment in the place was designed for small people.

  "Sure, new arrivals," he said. "This is like the recovery department. You'll be moving to your next stop. There will be others there like you. And you'll get filled in a whole lot better. Don't worry," he gave her a wink. "You're going to have a hell of a good time."