Blue Light of Home

by Robin Smith

  The fingers of one hand flexed, drumming on his armored thigh in a preoccupied manner. He glanced at her suitcases, then turned around. Without another word, he went out through a doorless opening and into a narrow hall.

  Well, she guessed the interview was over. Skye stepped out of her boots, gathered up the spacesuit and spent a few minutes trying to juggle it and both suitcases (which, thanks to the gravity, were now both heavy as hell), and finally trudged after him.

  It wasn’t a long walk. He was waiting by a closed door maybe ten feet away, and while he did not offer to hold one damned thing for her, he did open the door. “This will be your room,” he said.

  Grand. She got everything inside, let the suit drop, and looked around. The room wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Low-ceilinged, but bigger than her bedroom back home. There were cupboards all along the walls, a nice view of the Earthrise out the window, and, of course, a fairly good-sized egg-shaped bed.

  She stared at the bed, wondering if the next phase of orientation included a trial run of “sexual services”.

  “Here,” the alien said behind her, and when she turned, he thumbed a panel on the wall. Out came an oddly-shaped but perfectly recognizable toilet bowl, with a sink where the tank should be.

  “Waste,” said the alien, toggling each of three switches in turn. The toilet hissed a flush. “Wash.” Water jetted up from the sides of the bowl. “Dry.” Another hiss of air. He hit the panel again and the toilet took itself away.

  Much nicer than Earth’s space-faring setup, she had to admit, although she wasn’t sure how she was going to feel about a power-wash and an assertive breeze.

  “There is ample room for your possessions,” he continued, gesturing towards the cupboards. “I can adjust the temperature controls if you are too uncomfortable.” He paused, but when Skye just stood there, went on, “Put your soiled bedding in the washer behind you. It’s all automatic.”

  “Okay,” said Skye, since she supposed she had to say something.

  The alien pointed to a dark bubble on the wall right behind the bed. “The light will come on when I want you. You will come to my room. This way.”

  Skye followed him back into the narrow, curving hall, past another closed door—”The exercise room,” the alien remarked. “Daily regimes are recommended. I will show you how to work the devices.”—to his room.

  It was exactly the same size as hers, which came as something of an illogical comfort to her. It was all pretty Spartan; he had a spare harness tossed over the foot of the bed, a couple alien devices casually strewn over a small side-table, and one dark stone object of unclear purpose sitting on a narrow ledge, perhaps as decoration. There was no light above his bed, but there was a small panel within easy reach of it, so he wouldn’t even have to get up when he decided he wanted her.

  Wanted her.

  Again, her nerve tried to fail her. Again, she refused to let it. She was going to be here for a whole year, maybe two. She’d just better learn to deal.

  The alien decided she’d had enough of a look and shut the door. Without comment, he continued along the hall and back to the main room through a second door.

  “When you are hungry,” he began once she joined him, and thumbed at a wide panel above a small alcove in the wall. The first button he pressed opened a cupboard full of what appeared to be gravy tureens. He took one and placed it in the alcove, then touched a second button. A thick, colorless gel began to plop heavily into the tureen; It was about the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen. “This will satisfy your nutritional needs,” he continued, watching the tureen fill. “You will require two servings each day. I require three. Have you eaten?”

  “Yes,” she lied. She wasn’t ready to down a gravy boat of clear snot yet.

  He grunted again, took the filled tureen and drank it in ten deep swallows. “Emptied vessels are placed here,” he said, wiping his snout, and set the tureen in another cupboard. He pressed a button. “For sterilization.”

  They waited while the wall hummed. He drummed his fingers now and then, glanced at her and away. The wall sounded a tone. He took the tureen and put it with the clean ones in the cupboard.

  “You can sit to eat if you like,” he added, and indicated yet another touch-panel without activating it. “Apart from these things, you will not touch anything on the bridge. That—” He pointed straight up at another hatch in the ceiling. “—is the navigations deck. You won’t be going up there. Neither will I, until my work is done. If you are unsure at all which controls are which, ask me.”

  She was pretty sure she could keep it all straight, but she nodded anyway.

  He looked at her again, from head to toe and back again. “There is certain to be a need for disciplinary measures before our time is ended. How would you prefer them handled?”

  “Disciplinary measures?” she echoed, feeling her eyes bug out slightly. “No, sir, I swear I’ll be good!”

  He rested his eyes heavily on hers. It was a singularly unamused look. He began to walk around her, inspecting her closely. “If you were one of my people, a light slap to the snout would be sufficient deterrent, but—” He came back before her and eyed her nose. “—I wouldn’t want to break anything. Where should I strike you?”

  “Does it have to be violent like that?”

  “Violence is effective,” he said evenly, and began to circle her again. “The threat of violence is particularly effective once violence has already been implemented. The object is to discourage conflicts before they occur.”

  “I can do that just fine without getting hit.”

  “This is not a negotiation. Here?” His claw brushed at her stomach and her hands flew up at once to cover herself.

  “No. I keep my organs there. Can’t I just promise to behave?”

  “It is unreasonable to expect there to be no conflict between us. I would like a firm understanding of expectations before we reach our inevitable difficulties. I dislike improvisation and I greatly dislike surprises. Here?”

  He was touching her back.

  Skye flinched away again. “Not there, it’s…look, why can’t we just solve our problems with mutual discussion and respect?”

  “Because this is not a partnership. You are not my equal. You are here to serve my needs. I do not plan to discuss things with you. Understand, human, that what we are doing here is as symbolic as it is vital to a peaceful assimilation. You will learn to live according to my ways, and my discipline shall be painful and uncompromising, an example to all humanity.”

  “How is this fair?”

  “It isn’t. In your own histories, when two peoples meet and make a treaty between them, even in peacetime, the strongest walks away with the better deal. The Empire is strongest. We are subjugating you, make no mistake, but we are doing so precisely because we wish to avoid a bloody conquest, whether you believe me or not. Here?”

  His hand brushed across her bottom.

  Skye hopped forward, one hand flying back to clutch protectively at her nether cheeks. “What, like a spanking? No!”

  He came back to stand in front of her, his eyes narrowing. “Explain this.”

  She didn’t want to, and it was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but then she realized all at once that if he was here to study Earth’s satellites and all the information on the internet, he could easily find out about spankings for himself, and then he’d just punish her for not telling him. Stammering, she tried to explain whatever there was to explain about getting spanked, but it was difficult to think of the words when he was just standing there, staring narrowly into her eyes, silent.

  At last he said, “So there’s a precedent.”

  “Yeah, when you’re five!”

  “I don’t anticipate a frequent need.” He angled his head around to look at her bottom and grunted again. “I haven’t many demands. Pick up after yourself and don’t touch the controls, come when I send for you and do what you’re told. Don’t argue with me.”

 
She opened her mouth for a final desperate protest, ready to suggest slapping her hands or, heck, slapping her snout, anything that was not the indignity of a spanking, but that might be construed as arguing with him. She closed it again unhappily and stared at her feet.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “What’s your name?”

  He recoiled, as if this were the very last thing he’d expected to hear, as if wanting an introduction to the man you were going to be taking orders from, having sex with, and possibly getting spanked by for the next two years were just mind-boggling.

  “I’m Skye,” she said. “With an E.”

  His brow creased. “S…K, E?”

  “S, K, Y, E,” she corrected. “I guess I should have said, ‘With an extra E.’ Please, what do I call you?”

  Maybe it was the please. He didn’t relax exactly, but he did manage to disguise some of his obvious discomfort with this whole line of questioning, and after some delay during which he visibly grappled with it, he said, “Vala.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Vala,” she said desperately.

  He stared at her, openly baffled, and said nothing.

  She went to her room.

  * * *

  She fell asleep.

  She didn’t mean to. Realistically, it was probably only noon when she got into bed, but she was tired—emotionally and physically sapped—and it was always the middle of the night outside every window. Although she’d made a point of dressing and hanging out in the main room with him for a few hours, Vala had not once looked at or spoken to her. So she went back to her room. Unpacked. Did a few puzzles from one of the many puzzle-books in her “Things To Do” suitcase. Ate one M & M. And went to bed.

  Her dreams were tangled things in which she was simultaneously chased down dark tunnels and trapped in tiny boxes, the sort of thing that made no sense but wasn’t exactly beyond interpretation. They weren’t nightmares, but they weren’t pleasant, and she was almost glad when the overhead light came abruptly on and woke her out of them.

  Skye raised her arm from its sleeping place over her eyes and looked blearily up at the alien filling her doorway. It was kind of a shock to see him, as if part of her had been hoping he’d blow away like the rest of her dreams.

  “I’ve been waiting,” he said, and pointed.

  She looked. The light over the bed was on. A steady, piercing, pale blue light which she had effortlessly shut out with the application of her crooked arm over her eyes without even waking up. “Oh,” she said, disoriented. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right there.”

  He closed the door without even crossing her threshold and retreated down the hall.

  Here it was. Her first night as a bought woman.

  She pushed the blankets back and sat on the edge of the bed, looking uncertainly toward the cupboard where she’d put her clothes. Should she dress? Seemed kind of silly to dress just to undress again in a few seconds. Equally, it seemed silly to walk around naked just because she wasn’t required to wear clothes to do her job.

  She’d made the Space Administration people buy her a nightgown, something short and slinky and silver. She’d thought of it as her working clothes at the time, back when the shock of all this was still a pleasant dampener over the rest of her reality. She guessed it was time to put it on.

  The material was clingy, very light, almost transparent. It had no sleeves, just some silver spaghetti-thin straps. There was a little lace low on the neckline, right between her breasts, with a rose at the center. It was easily the most feminine thing she’d ever owned, and one of the most expensive, to tell the truth. You didn’t buy a lot of nice things on a janitor’s salary. She wished she had a mirror. Then she decided she really didn’t want any sentimental memories of how she looked on her first day as a whore. She brushed her hair, took a few deep breaths, and walked barefoot down the hall to his room.

  Vala had mostly undressed. He’d taken off his harness anyway, and his armored leggings. Now he sat on the side of his bed wearing only some uncomfortable-looking underwear that was mostly netting with a metal panel over the crotch. He made no effort to remove it right away.

  “I will not be kept waiting while you cover your eyes and sleep,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “This is not going to happen again.”

  “No, I’m very sorry.”

  He stared her down, then grunted, and beckoned her to him. As he reached for her hand, he said, firmly and matter-of-factly, “Now you will be disciplined.”

  She yanked her wrist back reflexively. “Wait a second!”

  In the next instant, he was on his feet and towering over her, his grip like steel around her arm. “Do not argue with me!” he snapped. “There are very few rules. You were warned of the consequences of breaking them.”

  “I said I was sorry! I didn’t do it on purpose! For God’s sake, I was asleep!”

  “Now you will remember to sleep differently,” he said, and swung her roughly around.

  She didn’t believe he was going to do it, not really, right up until his hard, scaly hand came down with a SMACK over her thinly-covered bottom. She jumped away; he hauled her back into place and spanked her three times more, each time just a little harder, as if testing her resiliency. She howled at the second, screamed at the third, and flung back her hand to cover her burning bottom from further abuse.

  She thought it worked. Briefly.

  Then she was being towed fast to the side-table, which was cleared with a sweep of his arm, and thrown face-down over it, her ass in the air and both wrists pinned in one of his hands at the small of her back. She had enough time for a wail of anticipation, and then he was spanking her hard and fast, blistering every inch of her bottom as she kicked and howled for him to stop, please stop!

  This was it. This was as bad as it could possibly get. She was half-naked and defenseless, pinned down under his implacable grip, getting spanked like a little kid, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She had never felt so horribly exposed or vulnerable in her life. That is was an alien doing the spanking almost didn’t even matter, except that there was no getting away, no calling for help, no driving angrily to a friend’s house afterwards. The isolation overwhelmed even the pain.

  She was alone up here. She was alone with nothing to look forward to but more of this.

  She didn’t cry, but it was a near thing. A very near thing. She hadn’t cried in years, not since her parents’ funeral, and she wasn’t going to cry now, not over this. He could do what he wanted, but he wasn’t going to make her cry.

  The spanking stopped, and he was there, breathing hard somewhere behind her while she huddled miserably against the table, trying to pretend she was somewhere else.

  The heat in her bottom just kept on getting bigger and bigger, as if it was still going on in some other dimension. It dug itself in, stinging and gnawing at her under the skin, and the battle to keep her eyes dry just went on and on.

  “You said one slap on the snout was enough,” she said finally, shakily.

  “You would not stand quiet!” he snapped. “Discipline is effective only when it is accepted with remorse!”

  “How am I supposed to stand there when you—”

  SMACK SMACK SMACK!

  Skye clenched her teeth together and focused on breathing, just breathing, deep and slow.

  He muttered something in another language, something that did not sound angry as much as incredulous, and released her to stomp back to his bed. He stripped away his underwear and threw it down; that metal panel clanged as it bounced over the floor. She heard him sit down.

  Her bottom throbbed. Throbbed and stung and burned all at once, like a really bad sunburn sometimes will. She straightened up slowly, leaning on the table as she reached gingerly back to feel the damage. It just felt like a bottom. That was actually hard to believe.

  ‘I got dressed up for this,’ she thought, and felt the threat of tea
rs again, only be damned if she’d break with him glaring at her. She turned around.

  He was naked, but not…not what she expected. Between his splayed thighs was only a heavy pouch, a narrow slit. He saw her confusion, her trepidation, and some of the anger dimmed from his eyes. He beckoned. “I know we’re different,” he said. “But not so different as we appear. Sit down.”

  Her rubbing hand clenched protectively at her bottom. “You must be joking!”

  “Then kneel!” he shot back, voice and temper rising.

  Skye clenched her jaws and went to kneel before him. He put out his hand; she gave him hers, and he guided her to the hot bulge beneath his skin, moving her in careful passes only once or twice before letting go and leaning back, leaving the rest to her.

  When his phallus first began to emerge, she yanked back like her hands had touched hot lava, but just as quickly resumed her stroking motions. She was in no hurry for Round Two under his spanking hand. And while she wasn’t what anyone would call worldly, she could see that he really wasn’t so different. He kept it in a weird place, but apart from that, he was just a man. Like all the rest of him, it was a little bigger, a little different, and a little scary, but still just a man.

  “Touch,” he said, gazing at the ceiling. “But be gentle.”

  She obeyed, taking the wet rod of him into her fist and queasily stroking. He hissed sharply, but waved at her to continue, slowing and coarsening his breath to match the rhythm of her hand. ‘I guess I’m good at this,’ she thought, and wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or just hugely depressed.

  “Are you a virgin?” he asked suddenly.

  “No,” she answered, giving him a startled look. “Did you want one?”

  “Good,” he said, ignoring the question entirely. He pointed, and she backed up, confused, until she bumped up against the little table where he’d spanked her. He stood, gestured for her to turn around.

  Okay, she got it. She obeyed, bent, gripping the surface of the table and wincing as she felt her slinky nightie raised. Her cotton panties scoured like steel wool as he pulled them down, starting her bottom stinging all over again. His fingers tested her, gave her thigh a distracted sort of pat, and then he was pushing into her.