Human Surrender: Five Dark Sci-Fi Alien Romance Novellas

by Renee Rose

  He thought about taking her again. It was his right, after all. She was his slave, chained to his bed. But, no, she’d had enough for one day. He didn’t want to make her cry again. He’d probably have to do plenty of that again in the next planet rotation.

  Chapter Three

  She woke alone on Zander’s sleeping platform. She opened her eyes without moving, not wanting to call attention to herself. The fabrics touching her skin were silky soft, finely woven with incredibly intricate patterns in beautiful colors—some she’d never seen before.

  Zander sat shirtless on his platform in front of his holograms. His back was to her. He worked quickly, fingers flying as he opened holograms and sent them. He had the volume turned low—was that for her? He truly had allowed her to sleep in, as he’d promised. Something warm and syrupy slithered through her chest and belly.

  With her gaze, she traced the lines of his rigid muscles from his wide shoulders and down his corded arms, tapering to a narrow waist. Her body heated as she remembered the way he’d taken her the night before, strapped down to the bench with her ass in the air. Something jumped and fluttered in her belly. Her pussy clenched. She squeezed her bottom, testing. It didn’t hurt anymore, even though she’d thought she’d die at the time. So the punishment had not been so awful after all. Her pussy still stung, but not in a bad way. It was the initial stretching that had hurt. When he’d entered her the second time, she’d almost enjoyed the feel of him surging inside her. It was like scratching an itch—both satisfying and uncomfortable at the same time. But it had ended sooner than she wanted.

  She honestly didn’t know why she’d cried afterward. It wasn’t because she hurt, although she had. It was more the buildup and shock of the entire day. Being away from familiar surroundings, having to adjust to new rules. Grieving for her mother.

  When he’d asked her if she wanted to return to her old life, she hadn’t been sure how to answer. She missed her mother, yes. And she’d loved her plants. But her life there had been full of hard work, with little rest or sustenance. Beatings there were brutal—life-threatening. There’d been no beauty.

  The punishments here had been painful and humiliating but had caused her no lasting harm. And all she had to do to avoid them was grovel—something she hated, but that only damaged her pride. In Zander’s pod, she was surrounded by opulence and beauty. The food and drink practically exploded with flavor. Color and light and fine quality materials glittered at every turn. So far, the worst she had to suffer here was kneeling at Zander’s feet, showing him respect, and letting him use her body as often as he pleased. She wondered how often he would please. Daily? More than once a day? That thought should not excite her so much, and she felt guilty for enjoying things here when her mother remained on the agrifarm.

  Zander opened a new communication hologram and spoke rapidly in another language to the male whose image appeared in the chamber.

  The being raked his eyes over her with a leer and said something.

  Zander whipped his head around to look at her and scowled. He waved his hand and disconnected the transmission with a sharp command.

  “Cover yourself.”

  Was he jealous about other males looking at her? The thought shouldn’t please her half as much as it did.

  “It’s a little hard to do with my wrists bound.”

  His lips tightened.

  “Master,” she added.

  He stood up and walked over, towering over her as he gazed down with a speculative look. “You continue to sass me.”

  She caught her breath at his glower. Her pussy leaked moisture. Why did his dominance excite her traitorous body?

  “I’m sorry.” She truly was. She didn’t want to start the day off with punishment, not when her dreams had been filled with scenes of the Zandian tracing his fingertips across her breasts and stroking her torso with his horns as if it gave him some kind erotic pleasure.

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe anything you say, little human. Your deceit is the only constant.”

  She didn’t know how to answer, so she kept still, making her posture and expression subservient, hoping he’d release her wrists so she could use the washroom again.

  “Release cuffs.”

  Blood rushed to her hands and arms. She winced, shaking them out.

  Zander still stood above her, staring down. His eyes shone more purple than before, and his hungry expression sent a zing of electricity shooting up her inner thighs, straight to her pussy. She shivered.

  His lips twitched and he leaned down and grasped her hips roughly, flipping her over to her belly. She squeezed her eyes closed, thinking he meant to punish her, but he only stroked his large palm over her buttocks.

  “Minimal marks. Your buttocks do, indeed, make a good target for punishment.”

  “How is your thumb?” She didn’t dare show her face when she spoke, and it came out in such a tiny voice she thought he didn’t hear.

  “It’s healed.” He flipped her back over and held his palm up. “Zandians repair quickly, unlike humans.”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “May I please use the washroom?”

  He stood back. “Go.”

  And, he dismissed her, turning his back and returning to his work.

  She climbed out of bed and jogged to the washroom. It took her a moment to figure out how to illuminate the room and how to shut the door. She used the commode and washed her hands in the sink of polished gray gemstone. The liquid soap smelled of exotic complex spices, earthy and vaguely sweet. She recognized it as part of what made Zander smell so sinful. In the corner stood a cylinder of the same gemstone. Was that where he took the light baths? Remembering the vision she’d had of herself enjoying it, she traced her fingertips along the opening, searching for a spring to open it. Finding the latch, she triggered it, jumping back and gasping when the door lifted vertically rather than in.

  Inside shone the same as the outside, a smooth polished stone cylinder.

  “You may wash, if you like,” Zander called from the other room.

  Wash. Was this for washing? She stepped inside and examined the small enclosure. The door slid shut and suddenly water shot out from nozzles all around her.

  She yelped. The temperature was warm but the spray hit hard. After she grew accustomed to it, she enjoyed it, but the entire tube filled up fast. Water had reached her waist already, then her chest. She spun in a circle, looking for an off switch. She saw nothing of the kind. Liquid rose to her chin.

  “Um...Zander?” Panic pitched her voice higher than usual.

  She couldn’t hear over the spray of water whether he answered or not.

  Oh galaxies, oh suns, oh veck, veck, veck. The level reached her nose. She tipped her head back to lift her mouth out of the water and screamed, “Help!”

  Water filled the entire cylinder. She held her breath as it rushed in swirls around her, like a mini hurricane. Just when she thought she might die from holding her breath, it began to drain. The tube emptied as quickly as it had filled. She gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs. The door slid open to reveal Zander leaning against the doorframe, amusement playing on his face. And veeeeck. The sight of his muscled bare chest sent fresh spirals of arousal straight to her core. Or maybe it was his heavy-lidded gaze.

  “Have you never washed in a quick-wash tube before?”

  She shook her head, sending droplets flying from the ends of her hair. “No...master.”

  His lips kicked up another notch. He liked being called that.

  Her pussy moistened again.

  Zander slid his eyes down the length of her dripping body and back up again, and his irises turned deep violet once more. His horns tilted in her direction.

  She craned her neck to peer around the little chamber. “Is there, um, a towel?”

  He smirked and hit a control on the side of the cylinder. The door slid shut once more.

  “No, wait!” She banged against it. “Please! I don’t want anothe
r bath.”

  His deep chuckle echoed against the gemstone walls of the tube.

  But, this time, the tube did not fill with water, it filled with warm air, blowing from every direction, drying her body. After a few moments, when her skin had dried, it stopped. Her hair still hung in wet ringlets, but it no longer dripped. The door slid open again.

  Zander had gone. Disappointment flickered through her. Wait...was that true? That she missed Zander’s mocking presence? Or even his stern one?

  She found a large stone comb on the counter. It hadn’t been there before, so Zander must’ve put it there for her. He certainly didn’t need a comb with his short hair. She pulled it through her hair and, after investigating the hidden controls on the outer wall, reentered the “quick-wash tube” for a second dry, this time for her hair. She discovered there were also controls for “oil,” which sprayed a fine mist of oil over her body. She managed to pull her hair up off her back just in time to avoid getting it sprayed. “Shine” lightly dusted her with the glimmering powder she’d worn on her first day there. Thank the one true star—she’d been afraid Daneth or some other being had washed her before she awoke at Zander’s pod, but more likely they’d put her in some form of washtube. Although how did she not drown? She discovered different scents were available—the spicy scent of Zander, and also the lighter, citrusy fragrance she’d smelled on her hair the first day.

  She emerged with her long hair dry, a glow on her skin, and smelling fresh and clean. She’d feel incredible if the cuffs on her neck, wrists and ankles didn’t rub now that they were wet.

  Zander swiveled in his seat when she emerged. Remembering his edict from the day before, she went and knelt at his feet. His usually stern gaze softened and he dropped a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair. “Yes, if you stay at my feet, you will not be seen while I conduct business.” He tweaked a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “And then you may remain naked, the way I like you.”

  A shiver of excitement ran through her.

  “Forgive me, master.” Obviously, it hadn’t been her fault she’d been seen—she’d been bound to his bed—but she wanted to experiment with acting slave-like. She liked his amused smile far better than his glower. If winning his approval was truly as easy as feigning subservience, it was worth playing his game.

  Or did she actually wish to please him? Surely not.

  She did like the way his glittering eyes roved over her.

  He hooked a finger through the ring at her collar. His thumb touched the leather. “You washed with these on.”

  “I cannot remove them, my lord.” Because you hold the controls.

  “Next time, ask me to take them off first. Release wrist cuffs. Release ankle cuffs. Release collar.” All five dropped to the floor.

  She rubbed the raw skin at her neck.

  He wrapped his huge hand around her throat. She caught her breath. One squeeze from that powerful fist would end her life.

  “Delicate human skin,” he muttered.

  Her stomach rumbled, and he released her neck and frowned. “Again?”

  She bowed her head, biting back the reminder it had been half a planet’s rotation already since she’d eaten. She would be a good slave today. Avoid getting spanked. Learn her way around here.

  “Clothe yourself.” He jerked his head toward the sleeping platform. While she’d been in the washroom, some being had straightened the covers and left a neat pile of clothing on the end.

  She started to stand but saw censure in his expression. She froze. What did he want? Oh. “Yes, my lord.” She spoke with her head lowered.

  He turned back to his holograms, effectively dismissing her.

  Arrogant male.

  She stood, her knees cracking from kneeling, and made her way to the sleeping platform. A fluffy pink sweater, knit of the finest natural material she’d ever seen sat on the top of the pile. She picked it up. Downy soft. She rubbed it on her cheeks. She’d never felt anything so soft—not even the fuzzy little seed pods from the rheebush she loved so well. It had the same slightly citrus smell as the soap from the washtube. She pulled it over her head. It touched her skin like a caress, hugged her body. For the bottom, there were panties, leggings, and a skirt that was really more like a cape—open in the front and covering the back to mid-thigh. They were also constructed of finely woven fabrics.

  Zander’s seating platform rotated and he examined her with a critical eye. A frown appeared between his brows.

  It shouldn’t bother her so much.

  “Come here.”

  She stepped forward to stand before him.

  He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, which stood out under the fabric. His touch hardened them, pushing them forward even more. One of them poked through the open weave.

  “No.” His voice was harsh. “This is not acceptable.”

  She covered her breasts with her hands, a flush of heat climbing her neck to her face.

  He flicked open a hologram and barked something in his own language to a servant. She hadn’t considered the Zandians spoke another language. Every being had been speaking Ocretion, the language of the planet they were on. The galaxy superpower who had overtaken Earth and stripped all her resources, including humans, one thousand solar cycles before.

  He pointed once more at his feet. “Kneel.”

  She dropped to her knees, and he went back to work. A few moments later, an older Zandian came in carrying a stack of clothing. He set it on the bed and fished a tiny undershirt out of the pile. “Will this do, my lord?”

  Zander spared a glance over his shoulder. “Yes.”

  “Will that be all, my lord?”

  “Yes. You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  The elderly Zandian bowed and backed out of the room.

  She started to move but realized she should wait for his direction. She raised her eyes, expectantly.

  He glanced down, his mouth open like he was about to bark something. He halted and stared. “I like that look on you.”

  She glanced down at the clothing.

  “Not the clothing. Your face.”

  A flush of heat warmed her cheeks and ears. What expression had she worn—supplication? Of course the arrogant bastard liked that. Her annoyance didn’t travel to her sex, however, which clenched at the thought. Holy star, why? Her pussy liked subservience? Or liked that he liked it? Or was it the way his eyes bore into her, shining a deep, hungry amethyst?

  Maybe she was crazy or perhaps it was some strange survival instinct finally kicking in, but she wanted his desire. Not only because it was better than his cold, impatient indifference.

  He reached down and grasped the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head and staring at her breasts like she hadn’t already been naked for him for the entire past planet rotation. His nostrils flared.

  Something on his hologram flashed and he blinked several times, shaking out of it. He jerked his head toward the clothing on the bed. “Dress yourself. No nipples showing. Gunt will take you to the kitchen to dine.” Dismissed, like the elderly servant.

  She stood and he handed her the pink sweater. The undershirt was constructed of the finest material—some kind of spider silk. It slid along her skin in glorious sensations—a creation of true beauty and function. The pink sweater fit back over the top. She wished Zander had a mirror or self-imager in his chamber. She felt so beautiful.

  “Gunt,” Zander called out.

  The door to his chamber slid open and the guard who stood there stepped in. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Escort Lamira to the kitchen.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Zander didn’t spare a glance for her, which shouldn’t have been so disappointing.

  When the door shut, Gunt took her elbow. An unpleasant jolt ran through her. It settled in the pit of her stomach. “So, he let you wear clothes today?” His lips curled in a sneer.

  Her chest tightened. “Yes.”

 
Obviously. What else did he want her to say? He was drawing her into a complaint against Zander, she supposed. She’d have to watch out for him.

  He led her down the colorful hallway. Expensive rugs caressed her bare feet. “What’s it like being the prince’s sex slave?”

  Two disparate things happened. One, her pussy moistened and clenched at hearing herself called Zander’s sex slave. Two, her fingers curled into a fist because she wanted to punch the sleazy Zandian guard.

  She chose not to answer.

  “That bad, huh? I figured when I saw your bare ass shredded yesterday. He’s a harsh master. Where’d you come from?”

  Was this considered polite conversation? She didn’t care for the guard or his questions.

  She paused to show she wasn’t interested in the conversation, but long enough to imply she had completely snubbed him. “I worked on an agrifarm.” She didn’t know if Zander’s guards were allowed to beat her, too, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Thankfully, they’d arrived at the kitchen.

  The chef, Barr, laid out three dishes of food on the counter.

  “Good morning, Master Barr,” she said brightly. If she was going to be staying here, it was time she started cultivating some friends. Especially the ones who fed her.

  Gunt, her guard, scowled.

  Barr’s skin turned more violet, and his horns twisted. His eyes traveled down to her breasts, even though she wore clothing today. “Lovely sweater, my lady, er, Lamira.”

  “Thank you.” Her stomach rumbled. “Is this food for me?”

  “Yes, my l—” He stopped himself short. “Yes. Either a citrus-flavored breakfast pudding, shredded leg of maca, or—”

  “The pudding sounds amazing.” She didn’t think her stomach could handle the meat plates first thing in the morning.

  Barr pushed the bowl to her.

  She picked up the gleaming spoon, which must be made of some precious metal because it felt smooth and heavy in her hand. She took a bite.