by Tristan Vick
Abethca let out a deep sigh then trailed after her new mistress. It wasn’t every day you got invited to dine with the emperor of the entire galaxy.
3
Jegra’s moans seeped out into the hallway and drew the attention of the guards outside her door who looked at each other with stupid grins on their faces.
Upon her bed, she lay face down and topless, with Abethca perched on Jegra’s buttocks while she gave her the deepest, most penetrating back massage of her life.
Abethca was also scantily clothed, wearing only a white gossamer loincloth and a matching white lehenga top that doubled as a sports bra. Jamming her thumb under Jegra’s shoulder blade as hard as she could, she forced another moan from Jegra’s lips.
“That’s the spot,” Jegra said, her voice muffled as she spoke into her pillow.
Abethca picked up a glass decanter filled with birtchkum oil, made from small, edible seeds that smell like almonds, and poured a large amount into the center of Jegra’s back so it pooled between her shoulder blades. Rubbing her hands across Jegra’s skin, she spread the oil with her palms.
Once Jegra’s body was copper toned and glistening, Abethca gently stroked the scar on Jegra’s back. “I can’t believe you’ve already fully healed from our battle just hours ago,” Abethca said in amazement, still tracing the contours of the scar with her fingers.
“Just another one of the many strange side effects of being amped up on alien steroids,” Jegra laughed, turning her head to the side so she could see Abethca’s soft green face and lovely blue eyes.
Abethca reached down and touched her own ribs. There was black and blue bruising all around and her abdomen had a nasty, yellow and purple bruise. “It’ll take me at least a month to heal from this.”
“Sorry about that,” Jegra said remorsefully, rolling onto her side.
Abethca slid down from Jegra’s slick thigh and stretched out next to her on the bed. Jegra brushed Abethca’s hair away from her face and smiled at her affectionately. Noticing that Jegra was staring, she grew self-conscious and asked, “What?”
“Nothing,” Jegra said, turning her face away. She was blushing slightly, but she didn’t want Abethca to know that she was sort of “into her.”
Abethca held up the bottle of oil and said, “Tell me, or I dump this entire thing onto your chest.”
Jegra laughed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Too late,” Abethca teased, and she poured out the remaining oil all over Jegra’s bare chest.
They both began laughing but Jegra grabbed Abethca and reeled her in close. Abethca’s chest glided across Jegra’s well-oiled breasts and then, once again, their lips were locked.
After a long, sultry kiss, Abethca pulled away slightly and asked, “Can I finish your massage for you?”
Jegra rolled onto her back and stared up at the stone ceiling and let out a deep sigh. “I supposed we should get ourselves ready for our fancy dinner party this evening.”
She sounded less than enthused. But Abethca was starving, so she leapt out of bed and hopped up and down with excitement. “In that case, I’ll prepare you a bubble bath.”
Jegra chortled softly and nodded in agreement. With that settled, Abethca cheerfully scurried off to get things ready.
Jegra sat up in bed and, reaching over to a pile of disheveled clothes, fished for her top. Getting out of bed, she stretched, cracked her neck to either side, and then slipped her top back on.
Before she had even finished pulling her top over her head, she sauntered across the room to where there was a desk with a large video monitor built into the wall. Although the technology was somewhat dated, it still worked.
She fastened the strap on the back of her top and then adjusted her large breasts, making sure they were in their proper place. Taking a deep breath, she tossed her brown hair over her shoulder and flicked the display on. Then, her voice cool and calculated, she said, “Dial Emperor Dakroth.”
The screen flickered and a beautiful, blue skinned woman in Imperial armor and wearing a tight ponytail that pulled the skin of her face tight appeared on the monitor. “This is Vice Admiral Cassera Van Danica Amelorak, who is this and how did you get this number?”
“Vice Admiral, it’s me. Jegra.”
The Vice Admiral squinted at her vidscreen and made a sour face, as if to let Jegra know she was disgusted by her. “And what do you want?”
“The Emperor invited us up for an evening dinner.”
“Of course, he did,” Cassera sighed in a vexed tone.
“I was wondering if the meal was going to be formal or informal.”
Cassera eyeballed Jegra and laughed. “My dear,” she said in a condescending fashion, “The only thing you’ll ever be is an informal preoccupation. But don’t worry, I’ll have some proper clothes sent down.”
“Please send for two,” Jegra said. This caused Cassera to raise an eyebrow. “A friend will be accompanying me.”
Cassera hit a button off screen and there was a chirp followed by a violet light that came through Jegra’s chamber walls. She took a step back as it scanned the room and her. “I take it it’s the Bre’lal woman bathing in your chambers?”
“That would be correct,” Jegra said.
Cassera rolled her eyes and said, “Fine.” Then the monitor went black as she abruptly ended the call.
“What a bitch,” Jegra said in a hushed tone. When she turned around, a golden particle beam appeared on her bed and two elegant dresses manifested out of thin air, then the particles dissipated again.
Jegra walked over and held up the white dress, which was hers. She smiled. Even though Cassera was a royal pain in the ass, she did have good taste.
Abethca’s dress was a form-fitting tube top with green zebra print on black. In fact, the green seemed to be color matched to her exact gradient of skin so that it would look as though the black dress was shredded and her skin was peeking out from beneath. Sexy and stylish.
Jegra laid her dress back onto the bed and then turned to head to the bathroom; she noticed water running out from under the door. “What in the world?”
She rushed to the door and practically broke it down as she burst onto the scene. Entering the bathroom chambers, Jegra found a bald, red-skinned female of an unknown alien race strangling Abethca in the rectangular stone tub. The tub was built into the wall, and water was sloshing over the edges of the bath as it overflowed onto the floor.
The mysterious woman had intricate, circuitry-like black tattoos running from the top of her smooth head down either side of her neck and to her sternum. They disappeared beneath her thick, black armor, which Jegra could only describe as techno-gothic. It looked like something right out of the middle ages, but with veins of red light pulsing through it–definitely technology she hadn’t seen before.
Not waiting around for introductions, Jegra grabbed the towel hanger bolted to the wall and tore the metal rod off. The screws shot out and ricocheted against the side wall with a resounding ping. This caught the assassin’s attention, but by the time she had spotted Jegra bearing down upon her, it was already too late.
The assassin barely had time to grab the rod with both hands as Jegra forced it down across her neck. Colliding with the red-skinned assassin, they skidded back on the wet floor, a spray of water shooting up around them. With bone shattering force, the assassin slammed into the rock wall. Some of the stones cracked from the strength of the impact.
Through a clenched jaw, Jegra leaned forward and growled, “You chose the wrong gladiator’s bedroom to pick a fight in. Now. Tell me what you’re doing here and who sent you.”
The red-skinned woman had yellow eyes that flared bright, as though they coursed with raw energy, and her armor began to hum. Then, unexpectedly, she shoved Jegra off her–matching Jegra’s incredible strength. This surprised Jegra, since there weren’t many who could equal her in power.
With great force, Jegra slid back, kicking up another spray of water. She stuck her right le
g back and dug her heel in, slowing herself and quickly coming to a halt in the center of the room.
She glanced to the side to see Abethca’s naked body laying at the bottom of the tub, her bright blue eyes staring vacantly up at Jegra from beneath the water. A shocked expression on her face. It was obvious the assassin had caught her off guard.
Jegra knew that she needed to get Abethca out of the water as soon as possible. Abethca’s heart had stopped and the clock was ticking.
Ready to get her revenge, Jegra popped her knuckles and then, balling up her fists, asked, “Now, where were we?”
The red-skinned assassin shot her a jeering grin and, without breaking eye contact, slowly reached down and tapped a touch-button pad on her forearm. A computer beeped with a transmission and almost instantly, a yellow beam of light came down and whisked the red-skinned woman away.
Her opponent gone, Jegra rushed over to the bath, scooped Abethca up in both arms, and brought her out. Laying her naked body down onto the bathroom floor, she knelt down next to her and began administering CPR.
After tilting Abethca’s head back to open the air passage of her throat and blowing air into her mouth, Jegra pumped on her chest ten times. She repeated the process several more times and whispered, “Don’t die on me. You’re stronger than this.”
As she worked desperately to save her friend, Jegra realized that she was crying. It was the first time she’d cried since the slavers abducted her from Earth; she’d been trapped in a cage in a cold and frightening place aboard an old cargo frigate, leaving her solar system.
She had watched Earth fade away into the distance until it was a pale blue dot. That’s when they jumped into faster than light travel; she broke down in her cage, weeping as though a loved one had died.
Of course, being powerful didn’t mean she no longer had feelings. She still had feelings. But she had learned to suppress them. She had to; feelings led to weakness, vulnerability. Killing helpless creatures much weaker than herself for sport had become her profession. She couldn’t afford to be compassionate. That would only cause her to question her actions, to hesitate in the arena. And that would spell certain doom for her.
It was kill or be killed. And it wasn’t like she had any choice in the matter. She had tried to escape only once, when she had first been forced into the arena. She had made it only as far as Riverion, a moon edging on the outer rim, before the Intergalactic Gladiatorial Syndicate’s goons caught up to her.
She was out of her depth and they easily subdued her and brought her back to Thessalonica, desert moon to the planet Dagon Prime–home of Emperor Dakroth.
Jegra stopped compressing Abethca’s chest and laid her head down onto her bosom. She sobbed until she felt numb. She had failed.
Very gently, Jegra scooped Abethca’s still warm body off the floor and carried her out into the main bedroom and laid her down on her bed. She gathered herself and wiped a tear from her cheek.
“Rest peacefully, my strange and wonderful friend.”
Jegra walked over to the wall and touched an orange button next to a metal panel. The panel slid open and she reached in and opened up a false bottom to the cubby. Inside was a laser pistol.
She took out the pistol and set it to vaporize, then aimed it at Abethca’s deceased body. “I wish we could have had more time together,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the trigger.
A steady beam of red light shot out of the laser pistol and disintegrated Abethca’s body, which burned away like paper set aflame.
As the last pieces of her body dissolved into thin air, Jegra let up on the trigger and ceased firing. She watched as a couple of flakes of ash, all that remained of her friend, fluttered down onto her bed. She returned the pistol to the cubby and sealed it up.
Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be in possession of such a weapon, but it was given to her by Lord Dakroth, who felt it might come in handy in her new, hostile environment. “Just in case,” he’d told her.
Once Jegra had changed out of her work clothes and into the evening dress, she marched out of her chambers and headed up the hall toward the silent arena. It was mostly empty, nothing but drunkards sleeping in the tiered bleachers and several homeless children scavenging beneath the seats for discarded food scraps–any decent sized morsels to eat.
Because of her dour mood, Jegra felt it awfully sad for the street urchins. But soon enough, the colosseum’s security detail, two Dragonian security guards with their menacing lizard faces, chased the vagabonds and loiterers out.
At the same time, a clean-up crew began tidying things up for tomorrow’s match, to be held in honor of Emperor Dakroth’s return.
Jegra sauntered out into the center of the arena in her nearly see-through gossamer dress. Although her dark nipples shone through the fabric, her white silk panties prevented her nether region from being revealed. It wasn’t at all a modest dress, which surprised her since Cassera typically derided the idea of the Emperor’s dalliances with a common gladiatrix.
Regardless, when she got to the center of the arena, she looked up at the battle cruiser hanging low in the sky and said in her normal tone of voice, “I’m ready.”
A yellow beam of light came down from the ship and engulfed her. In the blink of an eye, she was transported to Dakroth’s ship.
4
Rematerialized and reassembled, Jegra staggered off the transporter pad. Her head spun uncontrollably and her stomach felt as though it had been turned inside out. Teleportation sucks, she thought.
Even as she said the words to herself, alarm bells started ringing in her head, and she knew an emergency was brewing in the depths of her gut. Lurching forward, Jegra collapsed onto her hands and knees and spewed the contents of her stomach onto the finely polished floor.
If puking all over the place wasn’t embarrassing enough, some of her vomit splashed onto a pair of shiny black boots which stood directly in front of her. Gulping nervously, she slowly raised her head to find the vice admiral, Cassera Van Danica Amelorak, scowling down at her in disgust.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” Jegra apologized. “I’m still not used to the dematerializing process.”
“I could hardly tell,” Cassera quipped sarcastically, her disdainful gaze drilling into the top of Jegra’s scull and making her humiliation that much worse.
Cassera pulled out a black handkerchief from a back pocket and held it out for Jegra. She took it without hesitation and began to wipe the excess vomit from her chin.
As she cleaned herself off, the transporter room officer scurried over and waited impatiently until she had finished. Helping her to her feet, he took the handkerchief from her and promptly got down on all fours and began cleaning the vice admiral’s boots.
Nervous that she may have sullied her dress with her own sick, Jegra checked to make sure she didn’t accidentally splash any vomit on her borrowed gown. Groping her large chest, she mashed her breasts from side to side, and even hoisted them up briefly to check underneath, as she searched for any excess spillage.
Satisfied that she was in the clear, she readjusted her chest, and made sure her girls were presenting themselves well–since it was, after all, a transparent gown. The last thing she wanted was to be seen on her way to meet the emperor with mashed up areolas and wonky nipples pointing in opposite directions. Running her hands down her sides and over her hips, she chased away the creases and smoothed out her dress.
Not waiting for the officer to finish buffing her boots to their former luster, Cassera spun on her heel, whipping her long, white ponytail behind her like a horse tail chasing away pesky flies, and then marched out of the double sliding doors and exited the transporter room.
Without looking back, she beckoned Jegra, and said, “This way, if you please.”
Straight forward and to the point. That was Cassera’s way. And even though she had the emotional warmth of an icicle, Jegra could at least respect Cassera’s no-nonsense personality.
Over the
course of a year, if there’s anything that Jegra had learned, it’s that ninety-nine percent of the alien species she’d met lied without reservation. It was refreshing to meet someone like Cassera, who simply didn’t have time for conjuring up falsehoods. The truth was much more economic. And Cassera was as pragmatic as they came.
Complying with the vice admiral’s wishes, she followed Cassera out of the transporter room. Along the way, she passed the officer cleaning up her vomit and glanced down at him as she went, but said nothing, out of embarrassment.
When she entered the corridor of the battle cruiser, she glanced back and caught him starring at her ass. The moment she caught him watching her, however, he quickly diverted his gaze and went back to his begrudging task of cleaning up after her.
Normally, she would have shot him a nasty look, but seeing as he was currently cleaning up her disgusting mess, she figured the least she could do was allow him the privilege of having a little look-see. No harm in that.
When she turned back around, she saw Vice Admiral Cassera impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for her in the middle of the open corridor. “Coming?” she griped, her arms folded across her white uniform, her yellow eyes staring at Jegra with immense irritation.
“Apologies, Vice Admiral,” Jegra answered as she caught up to Cassera.
As she moved up the corridor at a brisk pace, the long tail of Cassera’s platinum hair swayed behind her shoulder blades, her hips seductively swiveling side-to-side as she went. She swaggered across the deck like a veritable supermodel who was strutting her stuff on the catwalk. As a Dagon woman, she always presented herself as the most formal and appealing version of herself she could.
Personally, Jegra felt the Dagon people were, perhaps, a bit too vain for their own good. But, even she had to confess, they all looked stunning. Like Asians back on her homeworld, they all shared certain homogenous traits. Every Dagon man and woman had blue skin and white hair. Meanwhile, the men had red eyes, the women typically had yellow, but she’d seen children with orange eyes.
