by T. J. Quinn
“I don’t care. Your job here is to follow my orders, remember?” he pointed out, in a disdainful tone.
She pursed her lips and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He could tell she wanted to yell at him precisely what to do with his orders, but she didn’t dare, so she picked a clean cloth, and she was about to pour some soap on it when he stopped her. “Use mine,” he ordered her, signaling the cloth he had thrown to the floor just a few minutes ago.
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and he probably had, but he wanted her to bathe with his cloth, he wanted her caressing her body with the same cloth she had used to caress his.
“Yes, sir,” she replied in a cold tone as she leaned over and picked the cloth.
It was still a bit stained from the mud and the blood from his body, and she tried to wash it a bit before using it on her, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to mark her with his scent. Taking the cloth from her hands, he started to rub it all over her chest, daring her with his eyes to utter a protest.
She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and stayed there as he ran the cloth all over her body, loving the way his touch seemed to bring her body to life.
By the time he was finishing, she was breathing hard, and her nipples were hard as rocks. He had left her pussy for last on purpose, eager to see her reaction to his touch.
“Spread your legs as far apart as you can,” he ordered her, and she opened her mouth as if to protest, but she thought better and obeyed his command.
Slowly, with his eyes set on her, he slid the cloth down her belly and between her luscious thighs. She gasped for air, and he went lower, making sure he cupped her pussy before he squeezed it gently.
A muffled moan came out of her lips, and he smiled pleased before he dropped the cloth to the floor and cupped her pussy bare handed.
“Do you like that, slave?” he asked, mischievously.
She was heaving, and her nipples looked even more prominent and yet she had the guts to deny the undeniable. “There’s nothing to like, sir.”
He slid his finger between her folds and poked her entrance watching her gasp. “Are you sure, slave?” he insisted, towering over her and forcing her to step back until her back was against the wall.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, through gritted teeth, almost letting out a cry of pleasure when his big, thick finger slid inside her.
“Then I guess the pleasure will be the only mine,” he said, with a naughty smile as his thumb found her engorged clit and started rubbing it. “Don’t you think?”
She was unable to utter a damn word. Waves of pleasure rushed through her whole body until she could no longer summon a coherent thought.
Her body had become an instrument of pleasure in his experienced hands, and all she could think about was him, especially when his other hand cupped one of her breasts and started playing with her hard nipple, pulling on her ring and twisting it at will, while he thrust yet another finger inside her.
Biting her lips hard, she tried to muffle the cries of pleasure begging to come out, but it was probably the most difficult thing she had ever tried to do.
In just a few moments, she had lost her battle. He had found her G-spot and was combining his caresses to her clit with the ones to her G-spot. She was a quivering mass in no time, pushed against the wall, while he worked on her. Faster and faster, he caressed her intimately, until she gave up resisting him and allowed the orgasm welling inside her to flood her and push her over the edge.
The pleasure crashing over her was so powerful her legs gave in, and if it weren't for him, she would have slid to the floor. But he kept her in place until the waves subsided and she was once more able to stand for herself.
“I believe I’ll have a lot of fun with you, after all, slave,” he whispered in her ear before he nibbled it.
“My name is Savannah,” she muttered, tired of hearing him call her slave.
“Slaves don’t have names; didn’t you know that? At best, they get a number assigned, like this one,” he snarled at her, pointing at a number tattooed on his chest: 5789.
She gasped surprised with how low her kind had gone treating the cyborgs.
After that short encounter on the shower, she had no doubt he was as human as she was so she couldn’t explain the ill treatment nonenhanced humans were giving the cyborgs. Or, come to think of it, she could. The creation had surpassed the creator, and that was something humans weren’t good at accepting. They had to find a way to demote the cyborgs and what better way than enslaving them and dehumanizing them?
She lowered her eyes, ashamed of her own kind. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, let’s get out of here, I’m hungry,” he said, stepping out of the shower and handing her a towel for her to dry him.
“Would you please allow me to clean that wound, sir?” she asked, with a slight frown at the way it looked.
“It’s not necessary,” he insisted.
“I’m sure your nanocybots would appreciate a bit of help with that infection. There must be a first aid kit somewhere around here. Some antibiotics would be of help,” she insisted, unable to see the festering wound without trying to do something about it.
“Why do you care?” he grumbled.
“I can’t look at it and not try to fix it. I’m sorry if it bothers you, but it’s the way I am,” she tried to explain.
“I’m your enemy, you should be looking for ways of killing me, not healing me,” he replied icily.
“I’m afraid there’s not a warrior bone in my whole body,” she admitted, knowing she would never be able to kill him or even harm him.
She was aware it was insane, but deep down, she simply knew it.
He snorted doubtfully. “Go get the damn kit, but your life won’t be worth a thing if you try anything strange,” he accepted, and she nodded, starting to look for the first aid kit.
It didn’t take her long to find it in one of the bathroom cabinets. Like most of the things at the colony, it was a kit prepared for humans, so she didn’t have any trouble finding antibiotic ointment, a cleaning solution and a couple of gauzes to clean and cover the wound.
She cleaned and dressed his wound under his scrutiny, watching as if he thought she would harm him somehow. He only seemed to relax when she stepped aside, and he could lower his arm, protecting the area.
They returned to the bedroom, and she looked at him not sure what was she supposed to do. It was way past midnight, and she was exhausted, but she didn’t know what he planned to do with her now.
“It’s time to get some rest. Get in bed,” he ordered sternly, and she reluctantly obeyed, watching him hop up behind her. “Just remember, my sensors are always working. There is no way you can surprise me. Do you understand that, slave?” he warned her, as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to his body.
“Yes, sir.”
She was feeling so tired after all she had gone through that day, all she wanted was to get some sleep.
And she did. As soon as he turned off the lights, she closed her eyes and allowed her body to fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
Next, to her, Khajal was having trouble believing in how fast the woman had fallen asleep. It showed a level of trust he hadn't expected in a human female. But he had come to realize Savannah never acted as he expected her to and that he liked that in her.
He still didn’t trust her, and probably would never, but he was starting to think she could really make him have a good time at the colony, while he waited for the other cyborgs to pick him up.
The following morning, Savannah woke up alone in bed. She sighed and buried her face in her pillow, feeling a bit desperate. She had hoped to wake up in her bed, back home in the small village where she lived, but she hadn't. It wasn’t a nightmare, and she had to start accepting it.
“Get up,” Khajal said from the bathroom door. He could tell she was already awake. “I need some clothes. Find me some,” he ordered.
She sat in bed and looked at his impressive naked body. Though it would be a shame covering such perfection, she knew he wouldn’t be able to wander around the compound naked.
“Yes, sir. May I put on my own clothes?” she asked, with a sleepy tone.
She was clearly uncomfortable with her nudity, and for a moment he considered keeping her like that. But for some reason, he didn’t like the idea of other males looking at her naked body.
She was his, and his alone.
“Yes, do it.”
She jumped out of bed and walked to the bathroom, walking by him, and doing all in her power not to graze his naked body. There was no disgust in her face, and he was sure her manner only showed her desire to hide her feelings from him.
He turned around and watched her grab her rags from the floor where she had dropped them and put them on before she came out of the bathroom to go get him the clothes he had asked for.
“There are some jumpsuits here, but I truly doubt they would fit you, sir,” she said, with a slight frown, as she lifted one for him to see it.
He was a lot bigger than human men and the aliens as well. “I can’t wander around the place naked. Can you do something about it?” he snarled, resting his arms on his hips.
“Yes, I could make you some clothes. That was my job, back in the small town where I lived,” she informed.
He returned to the bathroom and picked a cleaned towel, wrapping it around his waist before he returned.
“Let’s go find where you can do that,” he ordered, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her behind him.
Not far from his quarters, they found a hard labor slaver and Savannah explained to her what they were looking for.
“If you allow me, I’ll ask the girls at the confection center to sew the clothes for you, sir.” The woman offered, but he rejected her suggestion.
“No, she can do it. Just take us there.”
The woman looked at him a bit surprised but didn’t dare to say anything. It wasn’t the first time she faced a cyborg, and she was well aware of their hatred for humans.
“Very well, sir. Please, follow me.”
She took them to what she had called confection center. There the women provided Savannah with all she needed to make Khajal a jumpsuit that would fit him perfectly.
“What color would you like it to be, sir?” she asked him, as she presented him a few fabrics.
“Dark blue would be alright.”
Smiling she sat in front of the sewing machine. After introducing his measurements into the machine, she set the fabric, pressed the start button, and waited until the suit came out on the other side of the machine. She checked for imperfections, and once she was pleased, she handed it to him. He immediately dropped his towel to the floor.
A collective gasp sounded in the room, and they turned around to look. The rest of the women in the room had been staring at him, the whole time, with so much lust in their eyes, Savannah felt the insane need to snarl at them and let them know he was hers.
Of course, she did nothing of the sort, but she was sure they were able to read the message in her eyes and her body language because they quickly went back to work.
Savannah turned to look at him. “I can make you a few more, if that one is alright, sir.”
The jumpsuit clung perfectly to his body, like a second skin, not leaving much to the imagination, but at least it covered him, and that was the important part.
“Yes, do it,” he ordered as he took a seat while she followed his orders.
Only a few minutes later, they were going back to his quarters with his new clothes.
Anion was there waiting for them.
“Ah, Khajal… I was waiting for you. I thought we could have breakfast together,” he suggested with a slimy smile.
“That sounds like a good idea.” Khajal nodded, as he turned to look at Savannah. “Put those clothes away and join us. I want you with me at all time,” he ordered her.
Anion wasn’t very pleased with that declaration but didn’t dare to comment it.
Savannah took the clothes to the wardrobe and joined the men in the hallway.
Anion guided them to a small dining room where food was set out for them, and both men took a seat. Savannah had no idea how to act, so she decided to stand behind Khajal’s chair and wait for his instructions.
He didn’t give her any, so she just stayed there.
“I was wondering if we could talk a bit about the humans’ strategies and how we can turn them in our favor. We would like to end this war as soon as possible,” Anion asked as they started eating.
“We have no access to that kind of information. They simply deploy us where we’re to fight your people and let us decide what to do to survive the battle. We are programmed to fight as long as we live,” Khajal replied, somberly, as he enjoyed his food. It was good to have something other than war rations to eat.
“How did you manage to escape?” the alien asked, surprised.
“I was severely wounded, and I needed time to recover, so I took cover behind a huge rock,” he explained. “I soon realized I could access my control center through my wound. I managed to quickly deactivate the command that forced me to fight your people,” he added. “From there, it was quite simple to escape, especially when the humans thought I was dead.”
“But now they know you aren’t, and they have been looking for you.” Anion pointed out.
“Yes, I guess they were able to detect me. Probably, through my tracking devices. Though I deactivated them, I couldn’t remove them, and they must be sending a signal.”
“Yes, that’s possible.” Anion agreed. “We could remove them for you,” he offered a bit too eagerly.
“No, I’m sure you have signal blocking devices here at the colony, so I’ll just wait until I’m with the other cyborgs,” Khajal replied. There was no way in hell he would allow anyone that close to him, especially not with a scalpel in their hands.
“Of course, as you wish.” The other man nodded, subserviently. “If you would allow us to scan you, that would be of great help for us. So far, what we have seen of how you are built is quite amazing, and though we’ve tried to emulate it, we haven’t been successful.”
“You do understand that by doing that, I would be endangering the lives of my friends, not only the ones of those enslaving us,” Khajal replied in a brittle tone, paying little attention to the other man and more to the food he was enjoying.
“Not necessarily. With people like you on our side, we could attack their cities before they knew we were coming and slowly erase them from the face of the planet.” Anion explained.
Savannah frowned as she heard him and wished she could see Khajal’s face. She understood his hatred towards those that had made his life miserable, but most human beings were innocent. They were just trying to survive a war caused by the Taucets. They traveled around the universe invading planets and sucking up all its resources before they moved on. Though they didn’t look like them, they sure acted like locusts a real plague.
“Perhaps.” Was Khajal’s noncompromising answer. “I’ll have to think about it. If that conditions my stay here, I would like to know it at once,” he added, taking his hands off the table and looking at the man with a stern expression on his face.
“No… no… of course not. There are no conditions attached to our invitation. Just rest and enjoy your slave,” he hastened to assure Khajal.
The cyborg nodded and went back to his food. The other man did the same and took the conversation to other topics.
When Anion finally finished eating, he excused himself and left them there alone.
“Join me at the table,” he ordered, not even turning to look at her.
She slowly obeyed him and took a seat next to his.
He pushed a plate with food in her direction. “Eat. I don’t want you passing out on me,” he ordered, and when she opened the mouth to finally express some of the things stuck in her throat, he stopped her. “Whate
ver you are about to say, keep it to yourself. This is not the place, nor the time,” he said, through gritted teeth.
She pursed her lips and clenched her hands into fists, struggling to obey him, and finding it very hard.
“I…” she uttered.
“Not a word, slave, or I’ll find an entertaining way to keep your mouth busy,” he promised, and she closed her mouth again, staring at the food. “Eat, or I’ll feed you. I’m sure you won’t enjoy the experience.”
Expressing a deep sigh, she finally picked the fork and started eating the eggs and bacon he had put on the plate for her, along with a couple of muffins, ham, and cheese. She had no idea where the Taucets were getting their food, but they had a better supplier than those in the small town where she used to live. She hadn't seen eggs in months, and bacon was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
She started eating, slow at first, but hurrying up when she realized he wasn’t eating anymore.
“You seemed to be enjoying the food,” he said when he saw her glancing at him.
“Yes, I am. I haven’t seen much of this food in quite some time. All that’s harvested is taken away by the government, and we receive the war rations they prepare for it. I understand the need to better use the resources, but I have to admit I’ve missed fresh food,” she confessed.
“I had no idea they were doing that,” Khajal stated.
“We all became government employees, and all the world is focused on preparing weapons and supplies to those fighting,” she explained.
“I have to admit I don’t know much of the civilian world. I was born on a military base, and I was raised and trained there, as all my friends. All we know to do is fight,” he said, in an almost sad tone.
She finished eating, not sure how to reply that. The more she knew about the cyborgs and the way they were treated by their own creators, made her more and more mad at the government.
Chapter Nine
When she was done, he took her out of the building, but it was snowing again, and it was too cold for her to be outside.
“We need to get you warmer clothes. I need fresh air,” he said, furrowing his brows.
