by Paul Blades
In the kitchen, he saw a table, some chairs, and what looked like food preparation and storage units. He would need food soon. There was a bowl with colorful, round objects in it on the table. He picked up one that was a dullish red, but shiny and appealing. He stood for a moment and searched the information he had gathered from the woman's mind, not all of it processed yet, and he formed a recognition. This was an apple. The woman's mind had catalogued this object and ones like it as edible and pleasing. He assimilated her knowledge of how to consume it and placed it to his mouth. A little unsure of himself, he pressed his teeth slowly on the reddish sphere and pressed downwards on the stiff outer coating. As his teeth pierced its surface, a rush of the object's juice leaked into his mouth. His body gave out a sigh and his mind reeled with pleasure.
So this was what taste was like, he thought. It was remarkable. He finished his bite and tore a chunk of the fruit's meat into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he masticated it, reveling in its sweetness and its texture. When he swallowed the mashed pulp, his body expressed its appreciation for the delivery of such succulent sustenance.
He continued to eat the apple as he rooted around the kitchen. When he had consumed it down to its core, which he agreed, after a sample, was not edible, he placed the remnants on the table. Exploring the room's features, it took him a moment to figure out how to open a drawer. The doors to the cabinets were easier. He made only a cursory inspection, a catalogue of observations he would go back to later when there was more time. He noted the long, sharp objects meant for piercing or slicing and he made a note to keep the female away from them. In the refrigerator, he saw what he assumed were comestibles. He left them alone since he wasn't sure whether any of them needed processing or not before ingestion.
There was a carton of orange liquid which had a picture of a human child consuming some of it out of an open topped, clear, cylindrical object. “A glass,” he noted. He had seen some similar artifacts in one of the cabinets. He went back and retrieved one and tried to open the top of the carton so that he could pour some in. The hard, green top wouldn't pull off and he was, at first, perplexed as to how to open the container. Then, by accident, the top moved to the left and he felt it grow looser. He kept turning it until it fell off and dropped to the table. He placed his nose over the opening on the carton and inhaled the pleasing scent of its contents. He poured some into the glass carefully, not wanting to spill a drop of the fresh looking, orange substance. He put the glass to his lips and tilted it back until his tongue could dip its tip into it. It was cold. A new experience. He dipped his tongue in again, enjoying the refreshing feeling. The taste was thrilling. He tipped the glass back further and took a small mouthful of the liquid. He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. Again his body thanked him as he let it seep down his throat. He downed the whole glass, coughing and sputtering some of the liquid back up when he took it too fast. Some of it ran over his lips and onto his chest, giving him an uncomfortable feeling. He was amused by the body's reaction to the too quick consumption of the liquid. He finished the glass, slowly this time.
Having satisfied himself no one else was around, he was eager to see what it was like outside of the structure. He remembered the door in the other room and walked towards it. He recognized the handle and what it was for, but when he pulled on it, he got no results. He tested it further and realized it was meant to be twisted. But still the door would not open. The word ‘locked’ came into his head. Looking between the edge of the door and the frame, he could see the gleaming, brass plug that held the door fast. There was a knob across from it on the door and he turned it. The door sprung free.
For the first time, the visitor stepped out under the open sky of our planet. He felt the coolness of the air all over his naked body. He paid it little heed as his eyes took in the wondrous vista before him. The sun had not yet crested the heavy, looming mountains many miles away. The sky was spread with rays of yellow, red and deep orange across an underlay of grey, tinted by a soft hue of purple. The fields around the farmhouse were awash with deep browns, yellows, and oranges and here and there a hint of green. He could hear the rushing of the nearby stream, a shushing and gurgling that was a collaboration of amiable sounds. Up in the sky, circling in a wide arc around the farmhouse was what he recognized as a bird, a creature of flight. It looked graceful and harmonious with its surroundings.
The new man stepped carefully over the wooden porch and down the three short steps to the ground. The walkway to the house was made of cinder gravel and the sensation of placing his bare feet on the stones was sharp and painful. Another new experience. It was just enough to command his attention to the possibility of harm to his soft skin and he appreciated the value and purpose of the function. The house was surrounded by a fifteen yard wide carpet of grass and he stepped over to it gingerly. His feet felt comfortable as he trod on the soft, spongy surface. He looked carefully at the ground beneath him as he walked, observing the dewy drops on the pale green stalks and the tiny forms of life that crawled among them.
And then there was the brook. The water was running fast and clear. He could see the rounded rocks and stones beneath its surface. He marveled at the sight of the flowing, clear liquid. He looked up and down stream, considering the length of the waterway and seeing how it curved and snaked in parts, slowing as it rounded its bends, and then speeding up again as if it had caught its breath and was hurrying on. He lowered himself into a crouch and dipped his right hand into the water. It was cold, far colder than the air around him. Its touch was exhilarating. He placed both hands in and then, excited, stood and stepped into the rushing water. The cold ran all the way up his legs as his feet began to numb. He wanted to immerse his naked body in the water and he looked downstream to where he had seen the water pooling. He stepped over to it quickly and sunk into the cold liquid above his knees. The bottom was soft and sandy. He dropped to a crouch, letting the water rise up to his hips and then he leaned back and let it flow all over him.
The man rose from the water as if shocked. His long, black hair dribbled water down his back, his muscles contracted from the cold. “Ahhhhhhh!” he exclaimed. “What pleasures these creatures have!” He sank back down to his knees and leaned back again. This time, he stayed in longer. His body reacted instinctively as he closed his mouth and eyes. He waited, submerged, his body growing pained due to the 45 degree water until he felt his lungs demanding air. He rose up, all at once, and leapt from the stream. His body was freezing cold, but his mind was racing with the pleasure of the experience. “What a delightful world,” he thought.
As if shaken from a dream, he suddenly recalled the human female he had left inside the structure. It wouldn't do to have her awaken and cause a fuss. She could lock the door again, keeping him out. His revelry in the experiences of his new world was threatening to destroy his purpose. He pushed his soaking hair back on his head and took long, quick strides back to the house.
* * * *
Kelly had finally struggled to awareness. When she realized she was awake, she panicked and half rose in the bed, turning to see if the man was still there. She was alone. Her upper sheet and comforter were twisted and disheveled. Her body felt like she had been through a bout with herself. Maybe it was all a dream, a horrible, frightening dream. But it felt so real. Her body shuddered when she recalled the pounding, soul shaking orgasms she had experienced. That meant that it had to be a dream, right? She would never experience pleasure from a man who had taken her without her consent. Rapists were cruel and brutal and took you ruthlessly, striking you and hurting you. And where was he now if he was real? Would a rapist just up and leave without tying her up or maybe even killing her so as to avoid identification, arrest and a long imprisonment?
But it had seemed so real. She could still taste the man's hot tongue in her mouth, feel the echoes of his manhood inside her. She remembered coming and coming and coming, the feel of his hard torso in her hands, his weight on her, the noise he made when he came.
>
Kelly shifted her hand down to her loins. She was surprised to find the dried evidence of passion in her pubic hair. She looked down at the mattress next to her. Was it her imagination, or was there a long, deep indentation there? Then she saw what sealed it. Lying on the bright, white sheet was a long strand of black hair. Her heart went cold. She picked it up. It was definitely not hers. It was definitely black. The man last night had had long, shoulder length black hair.
Kelly leapt from the bed. Was he still here? She needed to get to her cell phone in the living room to call the police. As she rounded the edge of her bedroom door, she saw the door to her cabin was wide open. There, framed in the doorway, hurriedly walking up the steps, was the man, the man who had forced himself on her. He looked big and strong. He was naked, his body glistening just like in the dream, and he was very, very real.
There was just one chance. If she could reach the door before he did, she could slam it shut and lock him out. He might try and smash the windows to get in, but that would give her the opportunity to grab her cell phone and escape out of one of the kitchen windows. She exercised religiously and was in excellent shape. Maybe she could outrun him and hide in the woods. Or maybe she could grab one of the kitchen knives and keep him at bay until the police arrived. How she wished she had a gun. She hated them but would have given her eye teeth for one now.
Kelly sprang towards the door. The man had been looking down at his feet as he negotiated the steps as if unsure of his tread. He looked up at her just as she started for the door. Astonishment spread across his face. He reacted quickly, leaping forwards.
The frantic woman got to the door first. She placed her hands on the door's edge and began to swing it shut, throwing her entire weight behind the effort. For a moment, she thought she had achieved success and a thrill of victory swept through her. But just as the door was reaching its closed position, she met an opposite, more powerful force.
"Nooooooo!” Kelly screamed loudly. Last night, she remembered, she had lost her voice, been unable to scream or protest. She found it now.
"No! No! No!” she yelled as she tried to dig her bare feet into the floor, leaning against the slowly opening door. “Stop! Stop!” she yelled, as if her imprecations would halt the man who had callously invaded her home and her body.
Slowly, but surely, the door eased open. When Kelly realized she had lost the struggle, she let go of the door and tried to retreat to the kitchen to get a knife or something to defend herself with. The man was immediately behind her. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of her long ponytail and pulled her back. She gave a loud screech at the pain in her scalp and in frustration and fear at having been captured. Coolly, she remembered one of her moves from her self defense class back in college. She pivoted on one bare foot and swung her other leg out at the man's crotch. Instinctively, he released her hair to ward off the blow. To her surprise, he caught her foot in midswing. He raised it high and then kicked at her planted foot.
Kelly’ body went topsy turvy and she fell to the hardwood floor of the hallway. She groaned as she hit the floor, but scrambled immediately back to her feet, her arms flailing, her fingernails scratching and tearing at the man's naked flesh as he tried to subdue her. “You bastard!” Kelly yelled at him. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” She tried to kick at him again, but he pushed her body flat against the wall, knocking a shelf of knick knacks to the floor with a crash. He had grabbed both of her arms and he pressed his bare flesh against hers. He was slippery and cold and Kelly managed to slide away from him. She kicked him in the right thigh, once, twice, bringing a grimace of pain to his face. He managed to take hold of both her thin wrists in one hand and then pushed her back up against the wall. Kelly thought he was going to strike her when she saw his other hand coming towards her face, but instead, he placed it over the side of her head and closed his eyes.
Immediately, Kelly felt her mind and body freeze. The sensation was not actually pain, but was as close to painful as you could get. Her body felt insulted, empty, kind of soured, all at the same time. She uttered “Uhhhhh!” as she felt her knees buckle. Something had come over her! He had done something to her! Her backbone felt like rubber and her brain felt sick. She gave the man a look in his cold, dark brown eyes. “Please, please, don't do this,” she begged him with her glance, and then everything went dark.
* * * *
The man had been startled when he saw the woman rushing towards the door. It was exactly what he had feared and he reacted immediately. He was lucky to get there just before the door slammed shut. It took a great effort to stop the forward motion of the door and reverse it. He was bigger and more heavily muscled than the woman, but he was still tired from his journey. As he gained mastery over the door, he felt it go free and saw the female try and run away. He lashed out his hand and caught her hair, pulling her to a stop.
He had no experience at using this body in a fight. Physical combat was not a thing in his world. He seemed to sense nonetheless what to do to bring the girl under control. His mind was quicker than hers, even at this early stage of his adjustment. She telegraphed her kick at his groin and he was able to move his hand to catch her foot. She had a fierce, angry look on her face. He was actually able to absorb her emotions she struggled with him. Like an analytical computer, he saw she was poised, unstable, on one foot and he reacted quickly to bring her to the floor.
A more experienced combatant would have fallen on her, taken advantage of his weight and strength once she was on the floor, but his indecision gave her the opportunity to regain her feet, scratching and clawing at him. As his mind recorded the new experience of the pain of her nails scraping across his skin, he noted the raising of his adrenalin level. It felt good. He determined to bring the struggle to a quick halt. It would absorb more of his limited energy, more than he wanted, but this was a desperate fight and if somehow the woman got free or disabled him it would be a disaster of the highest order. For without this human female under his control, available to strengthen him, to anchor him in this world, he would be lost. His body would, in a matter of hours, begin to dissipate and his essence would be lost. Later, when he was stronger and drawing sustenance for the psychic energy necessary to retain him in his current form, he would be able to go longer periods without using her. Now, she was all he had and was the one humanoid in this entire universe he needed.
He didn't want to hurt her and he was not angry at her resistance. Surprised, desperate, but not angry. The teachings of the Whole were clear when it came to the subject of administering pain to other beings, sentient or not. It was permissible only as a last measure and then only to creatures of significantly lower intellect and reason. These humans qualified in that category, and it was necessary. She might injure herself or him. It was also essential he not create undue interference with her brain patterns. The energy that flowed through her to him, his connection to the Whole, depended on the maintenance of the synapses and brain connections that existed at the time of his jump. Disturbing them might weaken or even break the connection. He had to be careful.
The alien was capable of delivering a literally agonizing amount of pain to the woman's system. He had, after all, access to her mind. Aside from the practical reasons not to inflict it, however, he knew that would be wrong, even if it did temporarily disable her and make her fear to oppose him. There were lesser measures which would suffice. When he laid his hand to her head, his mind entered hers and caused a mild disturbance in her cells. The feeling it would produce would be akin to extreme sickness, like a raging flue. He watched as her surprised eyes recorded the sickening discomfort. Her lips moved in a futile attempt to speak, she looked at him forlornly and then she collapsed.
The man was both exhausted and exhilarated from his combat with the human female. Some part of his maleness thrilled at the experience of physically dominating her. And victory seemed sweet. But he had expended a lot of energy. He would need to recuperate and revitalize himself. First, though, he needed to be ass
ured the woman would no longer pose a threat, that she would be controlled until such time as he could utilize more sophisticated, subtle methods.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize her ability to use her arms against him needed to be suppressed and that she needed to be silenced. Her screams could alert other humans, even in this remote location, who would come to her aid. His mind went over the inventory of objects he had viewed in his quick survey of the house and combined it with images he had taken from the young woman's memories and experiences. An image of a ball of thick but soft cordage in a drawer in the kitchen came to his consciousness as did a roll of silvery tape. He saw from her mind how they could be used.
It took some effort to drag the woman's limp body over to the bed. He placed her on it, face down and went into the kitchen to gather his tools. He added to his list a sharp knife with which to cut the cord and scissors to cut the tape.
When he came back to the room, the woman was beginning to stir. She tried to crawl away from him as he sat down next to her. He placed his weight on her, pinning her to the bed. He acted quickly. He cut a 3’ long length of the cord and, relying on images the woman had herself unknowingly given him, gathered her wrists behind her and tied them off together. He made several circuits with the cord around her joined wrists, sideways and over the top, in a crossed pattern. He fastened it with a firm, triple knot.
He tore off a seven inch long strip of the wide duct tape. Holding the strip in his hand, he turned her body over to get access to her face. He moved his leg across her torso and knelt on either side, straddling her. Her eyes blinked open; her face was a mask of fear. She was about to speak when he laid the top side of the tape over her upper lip. With his hands on either side of her face, her forced her chin up and her lips together with his thumbs and pressed the tape across her mouth, patting it down until the seal was complete.
