by Lee Savino
“All done,” he mutters, abruptly getting out of the water and leaving me there, confused. I watch him, unsure of what to do, holding my vulnerable and erotically charged position, really confused about why we're not having sex. Picking up a large sheet of fabric that looks like a towel, he rubs himself down and then turns back to me. "Come here, my Tribute."
Wet towel, ick. But when he wraps me in it, it doesn't feel wet and the fabric soaks up every drop of water. He rubs another over my head and my hair is mostly dry by the time he’s done.
“Go to the foot of the bed and wait, hands on your head,” he orders, and I obey, though I’m getting tired of these inspections. He leaves for a moment and returns with a jar of goopy cream. Dipping his fingers into the stuff, he rubs it in, and it disappears into my skin, leaving a silky sheen. I suck in my stomach as his hand glides over my chest. Typically male, he’s extra thorough around my nipples, spending triple the time around my breasts as anywhere else. When his hands swoop lower, he pushes my legs apart further and kneels. I can’t hide my excited quiver as he dips his head to inspect my pussy.
Bogdan
The need to touch my Tribute is strong.
It is my duty, and I must learn her responses, her alien body, but deep down I also know that I am enjoying myself. I can feel my body urging me to bury myself inside of her, to fill her with my seed, to complete the bond. And when I am touching her, when I am distracted by her sweet scent and soft skin, the guilt stays away. It will rise again when we are done, but for now I am unburdened.
She moans as I stroke the soft petals of her body, wetness coating my fingertips. The tantalizing scent of her draws me inward, pulling me closer. My tongue flicks out.
The manuals said pleasure with mouths and tongues was possible and her moan, as my tongue slides up her center, confirms it. She tastes even better than she smells and I realize my chest is vibrating too. I am moaning, sinking my tongue into her and lapping at her essence like I am starving. Indeed, it almost feels as though this manner of touch is far more intimate than using my fingers.
I groan, my seela writhing in almost desperation to get at her and suckle at the soft folds of flesh protecting her channel. Her pussy, as the manuals called it. The word is soft, just like her.
Ignoring my thrashing cock, I feast on her, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, my only focus on exploring her with my tongue. When I move my mouth up to her second opening, licking at the crinkled hole, she gasps and tries to jerk away.
I slap the rounded curve of her bottom. "Hold still, my Tribute."
"Sorry... I just... wasn't expecting that." Her voice is breathy. Soft. Full of desire. She arches her back, offering her body up to me, her Master.
I drag my tongue over her sensitive crease again, pressing harder against the small opening, and she wriggles and gasps but doesn't move away. The whimpering is very pleasing to hear.
"Please..." She begs me sweetly. "Please, Master, fuck me."
She wants me to mount her. To fill her and seed her. To bond with her. Of course, she does, she is a Tribute. That is her purpose. But I feel my resentment stir anyway, even though I know she is only following her instincts.
Everything about my Tribute tempts me... she does not just tempt me to ignore my duty, she threatens the memory of her. With my Tribute's scent now imprinted on my brain, I realize that I can no longer remember her scent. Could I before my Tribute's arrival? I am not sure. I did not try to forget her, exactly, but I did not try to cling to the memories either. They were too painful.
Now it feels as though my Tribute's presence has begun to erase hers in the only place she still exists... my memory.
Everything inside of me rebels. Even my unruly seela quiet as I finally realize exactly what effect having a Tribute is having on me—it is everything I feared. My chest clenches and I pull away from her.
"Master?" She begins to lift her head. In a moment she will turn and look at me and I cannot have that. I do not want her to look at me. I do not want to see her liquid brown eyes, full of desire and temptation.
A mere thought makes the nanotech from the Bride Trainer flow over her skin, from her hips to all her most sensitive parts. I make them buzz, catching my breath as she cries out and drops her head again.
"Do not tell your Master what to do, Tribute," I say harshly, thickening the parts of the belt inside of her and she moans in response.
Relief eases my tension. I do not need to touch her to pleasure her. I will distract her with her training. She will climax and then she should need to sleep again. When she wakes, I will feed her and then train her until she needs to rest again. That is what the High Commander ordered, is it not?
And during this time, I will find a way to both do my duty to my Tribute and to preserve my memories of her... of my Harai.
Pareena
Freaking belt...
The Bride trainer is doing things for Bogdan that Frllil had never made it do. Things I'd never even guessed it could do.
The buzzing tech isn't just covering my pussy and ass, it’s pushing inside of them, stretching me and filling me far more than his fingers had. Not only that, but some of it is sliding up my stomach and moving to my breasts. It tickles the sensitive underside of the hanging globes before seeking out my nipples.
Who needs nipple clamps when you have kinky alien technology?
I cry out as the pinch reaches the point of pain, making pleasure throb through me, and the belt begins to buzz and hum inside of me. My ass feels almost uncomfortably full, my pussy doesn’t have a millimeter of nerves that isn't being stimulated, and now my nipples are pulsing in time with my swollen clit.
Collapsing, it feels like all the strength is being sucked out of my muscles. My orgasm wraps around me like a giant cocoon of ecstasy, smothering me in erotic bliss.
8
Pareena
I wake in a tangle of blankets, my legs spread far apart so that nothing touches the swollen, over sensitized flesh between them. Even with the Bride Trainer covering my pussy, I don't want to close my legs.
No one ever told me how painful multiple orgasms could eventually become. Begging hadn't stopped Bogdan. He'd kept playing with the belt, finding new horrifically deliciously creative ways to stimulate my body until I'd been mumbling and insensible.
I turned my head, which is about the only part of my body I feel strong enough to move right now. I scowl. He’s gone. Again. No big alien hottie lying next to me.
And he still hasn't actually done the deed.
As soon as my pussy recovers and I have the chance, I am going to jump him. Although, with Bogdan I might need a sneak attack approach. Surprise! I tripped and fell onto your dick! He might be mad at first, for taking control away from him... He seems very big on control.
Wait, I'm the one in control... this is my fantasy. Right? I keep forgetting because... well, because I don't feel very in control.
My stomach roars like a dragon. I'm starving again. It feels so nice to be hungry. Food would be even nicer, but I need Bogdan for that. At least, I think. All this advanced alien technology, surely there’s a fridge somewhere. Or a minibar.
Sitting up, I see the filmy gown I'd worn earlier still pooled on the floor. I put it back on and move to the door.
The lights are on low throughout the chambers. Tsenturion officers must rate extra nice quarters. Bogdan has a large living space in addition to a large sleeping and separate bathing chamber.
He’s kneeling in front of a wall section that has one of those removable panels. Their version of a closet? A small box, intricately carved out of something like mahogany wood, lies open before him. I can’t see what’s inside, but whatever it is, Bogdan stares at it like any moment it’ll jump at him like a snake. In the quiet the only sound is his harsh breathing.
My stomach chooses this moment to gurgle.
Bogdan slams down the lid and rises, spinning around. Yeesh, he’s fast. Gotta be those warrior reflexes. I back up when I catch
the expression on his face, my heart tripping. Even in the picture Frllil had shown me, he'd never looked like this... like he was ready to attack. Behind him, the panel closes with an audible click.
“What are you doing?” His voice is harsh. His helmet appears between one second and the next, obscuring his face and the glittering anger in his eyes. The scary spines that pop out from the shoulders of his Batman-like suit make me want to run. Which is a bad idea. For the first time I feel a little uneasy and unsure of my safety.
Then I remember that's silly... this is all happening in my head. It's not like he can actually hurt me. Except... everything feels so real. If he did try to really hurt me, would I feel that the same way I do the spankings and the orgasms? Would my own brain do that to me?
“I...” I swallow audibly. “I woke up and w-was hungry.” He is silent and I draw myself up, feeling very strange. I don't understand what his problem is, and I don't understand why my brain has created a problem, or a secret, or whatever. I should treat this like it's real, though right? Like everything else. “I didn’t mean to intrude or spy on you or whatever.” I flap my hand at the closet-thing behind him. “If it’s personal—”
Without a word, Bogdan spins on his heel and leaves. Not just the room—his entire quarters. He heads to the main doors without pausing. They slide open just in time from him lumber through. The last I see of his giant form is him striding down the empty hall. The doors slide shut.
Well, crap. Now what?
Bogdan
Looking at the few keepsakes I have left from Harai has thrown me off balance. This is why I rarely acknowledge their existence. Normally they stay tucked away in my keeping place and just knowing they are there, safe, is enough. Now my Tribute knows they are there as well.
She would not touch them, would she?
My forward momentum grinds to a halt. Spinning, I move over to one of the wall consoles and use it to pull up a visual of the interior of my cabin. She is there, not looking at the keeping place, just pacing back and forth before she moves to sit down, looking thoughtful. Perhaps waiting for me to return with food?
I should get food.
I meant to go and retrieve a meal for her, before she could wake up, but I must have been lost in my memories for longer than I realized. The carefully pressed night flower Harai gave me on our last visit, to symbolize our promises to each other, to find each other at the Mating Festival upon my return. The small suuki rock, which the superstitious believe keep the owner safe from harm that she gave me the first time we parted. The lock of her hair tied with a ribbon. It is even softer than my Tribute's skin, but touching it gives me no pleasure.
"Bogdan? Where is Pareena?" Tribute Dawn's question makes me jump. I was so preoccupied I did not even notice her presence.
She is staring at me, her brow furrowed and confusion in her blue eyes. The pale strands of her hair are pulled back in what she calls a 'ponytail,' leaving her face and neck exposed. Beside her, Arkdhem, who is often her companion when the High Commander is on duty, is also staring at me but his expression is blank.
"I... she is back in my room. I needed... a respite. I am unaccustomed to sharing close quarters for long periods of time."
"Oh, well that makes sense," Tribute Dawn says, smiling at me. "It's definitely a bit of an adjustment. Of course, it's an adjustment for her, too. I was hoping to meet her, but Gavrill told me not to bother you two these first few days. But since you're out here without her..." Her voice trails off and she looks at me hopefully.
The idea of sending Tribute Dawn to entertain my Tribute is appealing, especially because the High Commander will not be able to chide me when I've made his Tribute happy. It will give me time to recover my equilibrium and ensure that my Tribute is not left alone for too long. Arkdhem's presence is decidedly less welcome, but at least there will be a guard.
Despite my insults to him, I know full well that he would be willing to lay down his life for both Tributes. He is not the fighter that I am, but he is highly ranked for a reason.
"If you would like to visit my Tribute, I have no objection."
Tribute Dawn sighs. "Pareena, Bogdan, her name is Pareena."
"I know that." I frown at her. I do not understand why she thinks I have forgotten my Tribute's name already.
"So why don't you use her name?"
It is not the first time Tribute Dawn has said something incomprehensible to me. From the exasperation on her face, this means something to her.
"She is my Tribute." Why would I use her name? Her name means nothing to me. That she is my Tribute means everything.
"Right. Never mind." Tribute Dawn shakes her head. "Okay, well, I'm going to go visit Pareena."
"Thank you for taking the time to visit my Tribute." I try to smile at her. Not just because she is being kind, but because I don't want Arkdhem to know how much it chafes to send him to look after my Tribute, even indirectly.
As I walk on, Tribute Dawn mutters something under her breath. It sounds oddly like 'hopeless.'
Pareena
I could really use a therapist right now.
The irony is not lost on me. But truthfully, a lot of psychologists and therapists see one themselves. I did both before and after I became sick. We know and value the importance of mental health. Despite the fact that I know this is all in my head—at least, I think I know that, I'm starting to question whether or not I really know since I keep forgetting—I could really use someone to talk to.
I feel an emptiness in my chest that makes me ache and... I swear it's not just coming from me. Is it possible to feel someone else's emotions?
Except that Bogdan isn't someone else, he's a figment of my coma dream. A really, really, strong figment of subconscious imagination who sometimes acts like my greatest fantasy come to life and sometimes acts completely different from what I want.
There's a teeny, tiny part of me that almost wonders if maybe I'm not in a coma and this is actually all real. That's why I need a therapist. I think I might have delusional disorder, because this bizarre delusion is starting to seem more like reality. I know I'm not schizophrenic, or at least I wasn't, but is it possible something has happened to my brain chemistry while I've been comatose?
Or maybe I feel this way because to my brain, it feels like I've been on this alien fantasy ride for weeks now. Living in it. Immersed in it. And it doesn't change. The only time it changes is when I 'fall asleep' and then 'dream.' Except obviously that must just be me going deeper into my coma. Or my subconscious resting from weaving this elaborate new life.
My thoughts are going around and around, trying to remember everything I can from my old life and the details of delusional disorder, as well as everything I know about nearing death awareness and near-death experiences. Hallucinations are common.
But do they always go on this long?
There's not really anyone who can tell me that. And until, and unless, I wake up, there's no way to know how long I've actually been experiencing this. It reminds me of the old stories of the Fae, where people would be kidnapped or accidentally stumble into a faerie mound and time warped. They could spend a thousand years there, only to return and find that mere minutes had passed—or the reverse.
The knock on the door is a welcome distraction. I jump to my feet and then realize I have no idea how to open it. Bogdan just walked over to it, so I do the same, but nothing happens.
"Hello?" I call out.
"Hi!" The cheerily feminine, slightly muffled greeting nearly makes me tear up. It's Dawn. Just hearing her makes me realize exactly how much I've craved friendly female companionship over the past weeks. Frllil hadn't exactly been the kind of being I could gossip or talk with and Bogdan definitely wasn't.
This also seems like proof that this is all my subconsciousness' doing. I wished for someone to talk to and poof! Here she is. Sure, she's not a therapist, but hey, I can't have everything. Although, the fact that I can't actually get to her is a point against my proof...
"I'm sorry, but I can't seem to open the door," I call back apologetically. "Is there a button or something?"
The door slides open and I jump back, startled. Dawn beams at me, a looming Tsenturion warrior standing just behind her. She's very California girl from head to toe, other than the long gown she's wearing and the collar around her throat. Actually, in some places in California, the collar wouldn't be at all unusual. Long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes, and a bit of tan on her skin, which is impressive considering that she's on a spaceship.
Except that I'm imagining her, so I guess she can have a tan if I want. Trying to remember that this isn't real is starting to confuse me. Maybe I should just take Dumbledore's advice. I smile back at her. I'm just going to go with the flow and pretend it's all real so my brain can stop running around in circles about it.
It's real to me.
"Hi, I'm Pareena." I hold out my hand.
Dawn launches herself at me and I find myself laughing as she hugs me tightly. I hug her back and marvel at how good it feels to just hug someone. I can't remember the last time I did that either.
"Oh... I should have asked if you're a hugger," she says, almost directly in my ear, although she doesn't let go of me either. "Sorry... I just... I really needed this."
I laugh and both of our arms tighten before we break and step away. There are slight tears in her eyes.
"You have no idea how good it feels to not be the only human on board," she says, grinning broadly. "Especially when I'm outnumbered by mountains of testosterone." She gestures behind her. "This is Arkdhem. He's my... well, I guess he's my bodyguard but he's also my friend."
