by Corin Cain
I must fight for each of them. They are my Bond – my family. My life.
“Get dressed.”
I open my eyes, and it’s like I’m coming out of a trance. Twenty minutes have passed – but they felt like just an instant for me.
Now, though, I’m in the state of being that the artist feels as he paints his masterpiece, or the composer feels as he conducts his concerto. There is no more thought – only action.
As the others prepare, I slowly and deliberately change from my workout clothes to a crisp, white dress shirt, my tailored suit, and a handmade watch transported all the way from the old place known as “Switzerland” on Old-Earth.
Then, I take the leash from the bed.
I lick my lips, feeling my cock surge in my dress pants. I’ve never had these sadistic urges before – but I relish them because I know Allie melts at these same, dark desires.
Tonight will not be the time to test the limits of those desires – but it will offer a teasing taste of what might be countless pleasures to come.
But, at the same time, a twisted knot of anguish wrenches in my stomach.
If we lose Allie, I’ll never fuck another woman. No other woman – out of the billions of them in this seemingly limitless universe – could ever could compare to the pure bliss of seeding my one, true, Fated Mate.
As if reading my mind, Allie comes out of the other room – and I have to clamp my mouth shut to stop myself gaping like a buffoon.
Allie stands there wearing nothing but the blue silk of that pleasure dress – and she looks incredible.
The material is sheer enough to show off every curve of her gorgeous body, yet it’s opaque enough to teasingly conceal the most intimate parts of her.
The soft, silky fabric embraces her body – caressing and teasing her.
Right now, the dress isn’t even activated. It’s merely the touch of the material. I know that through the controls built into the leash, I could activate the fiendishly cunning technology of that dress… and, in doing so, arouse her beyond anything she’s experienced before.
“I’m going to collar you now.”
Allie nods – looking me in the eye with a deliciously defiant glare to her eyes as I clip the collar around her neck. She may be playing the part of the submissive little slave – and part of her might actually ache for that role – but, right, now she’s all fire and fury.
I clip the leash to my right wrist.
“Do you want to see how the pleasure dress works?”
Allie winces. “You mean, it’s not working right now? My fucking nipples are as hard as rocks.”
She’s right. They’re pressing against the sheer material like pert little buds. I ache to pinch and pull them.
But the poor little slut hasn’t seen anything yet.
I touch my wrist, pressing slightly to the right, and suddenly Allie moans out:
“Gods! Turn it off!”
I instantly turn the dress off. I know how powerful the waves of pleasure that just teased her body can be. I can’t wait to drive her nearly to the brink of madness with them…
…but only once we get her off this planet can we take time for carnal delights. For now, we have a mission.
Hadrian pulls himself up from the floor, his muscles pumped. He’s been doing pushups for the last twenty minutes. He gets dressed quickly, lazily, leaving his crisply tailored shirt unbuttoned enough to show his strong chest. His eyes are narrow, and his hands twitch – never far from the hilt of his Orb-Weapon.
That otherworldly weapon is waiting impatiently for blood. I know, because my Orb-Weapon is too. I know they’re just tools – mysterious tools, powered by an energy and science even Aurelians can’t claim to truly understand – but sometimes I swear they’re sentient… As if the shards of Orb that power them truly cry out for the taste of blood and battle.
“Goggles on,” orders Daccia, passing out three sets of thin, protective goggles that are barely more than sunglasses. They’re used to protect sensitive eyes from the glare of harsh sunlight, and they’ll hide our eyes, with the added bonus of providing a tactical advantage in dark areas.
“Our shuttle has arrived,” Daccia growls next, at the same instant our smart-watches blink to notify us that our transport shuttle is docking at the flight deck at the top of the hotel.
19
Allie
The collar around my neck isn’t tight enough to be uncomfortable – but that’s not what I hate about it.
It’s the fact that it’s a symbol of ownership. Of submission.
…of what I know Daccia, Hadrian, and Kitos want to do to me.
And the fabric of this pleasure dress? That’s a whole other problem. As I follow the Aurelians out of our hotel suite, the fabric teases and touches every inch of my bare skin, playing with my tender flesh and drawing out my need. I can’t believe that I’m being willingly leashed by an Aurelian; and I’ve garbed myself in this monstrously delicious outfit to boot.
Even worse, Kitos is acting like it’s entirely natural for me to be leashed to his wrist. Where he walks, I must follow – and I do…
…but I sense he takes a perverse pleasure in it. Almost as if this is where he thinks I belong.
Ah, fuck it. As long as Kitos is doing what I need him to do, I’ll go along with all this - and I won’t think too deeply about how right it feels to be collared to the powerful alien.
I know the Bond is lying dormant in the recesses of my mind – almost as if it’s mocking me. I’d long for any excuse to blame my feelings and behaviors on the power and influence of the Bond, but it’s as if – just to prove a point – the mysterious force is making me delight in this humiliation willingly. It’s almost like it wants me to accept that I’m wildly turned on by being leashed to Kitos – without any additional, supernatural interference.
I’m glad the Bond is lying in wait. I need my wits about me for this mission.
We walk the hallway to the elevator. Kitos talks as he strides.
“When we get there, keep your eyes down. In fact, keep them down even now. Everyone watching you will expect you to be a well-trained pleasure slave if we’re going to be taken seriously. Understand?”
“I understand.”
Kitos stops, turning to face me. I nearly bump into him. “From now on, you call me Master.”
I swallow hard. Kitos’ eyes suddenly flash green – as if he’s becoming more powerfully Bonded to me by the second.
“Yes… Master,” I say, getting into character. The words come out soft and low, and I instantly feel more submissive to him.
I’m starting to realize there are two sides to me. There’s the tough, defiant, and resilient woman I’ve had to become – first trying to protect my little sister, and then just trying to survive. As that woman, I’ve become hard and cold.
But then there’s the other woman inside of me – the one that only comes out on those oh-so-rare occasions in which I feel I’m safe. Like when I’m protected by these three towering, dominant Aurelian warriors, and not just hustling to survive.
I reach to my right arm, gently touching the tiny bulge which conceals that shock-emitting weapon I had implanted there – and then reactivated by Daccia. It reassures me. If any man touches me – and human, at least – they most likely won’t survive the encounter.
As if any man would dare touch me!
I’ll be walking into The Rhino – a place where any single woman would normally be ground up and spat out, sticky and used – and I have nothing to fear; because I’m in the company of these three dangerously intimidating behemoths. In this pleasure dress, I might look like their purchased whore – but being the assumed property of an Aurelian triad comes with its own set of privileges.
The elevator doors open to the landing bay at top of the hotel. Our Reaver rests there, amidst the civilian vessels, looking venomous, hulking, and ready to do battle.
However, tonight, our ride is a small, sleek black shuttle. There’s no driver –
as it is driven by an AI civilian transport computer.
The doors of the shuttle open as we approach it. Dacca takes the controls, preferring to pilot the vessel manually. The ship’s engines hum and we take off. We’re all silent as we look down at the bleak landscape below.
Part of me hopes Lilac isn’t on this world. Even the free people here are suffering – and I can’t imagine the use and abuse a slave would encounter here; especially a forced sex worker. The customers she’d have to service would be poor, with no reason to live, and what money she’d receive from them would be far beneath the disgust and indignity of her nonconsensual work…
But that sort of customer would be exactly the kind of man who’d take his frustrations out on a woman – to try and make themselves feel powerful again.
Fragile masculinity, I believe, is the greatest threat to women in this universe.
And from what I’ve seen? All masculinity is fragile.
“Arriving in one minute,” Daccia states coolly. I reach through the Bond to feel his aura more intensely.
He’s like ice. There’s no emotion coming from him. I can now see why Hadrian and Kitos follow Daccia as their leader. When it comes to it, he’s as emotionless as the marble his magnificent body appears to be carved from.
By contrast, Hadrian is a roaring ball of pent-up violence.
Kitos is stressed – a constant, anxious energy like a spring wound up too tightly.
Daccia, always, is like a glacier. If someone start firing at us right now, I can tell he’d keep his aura completely and utterly emotionless – ready to deal with the threat.
That’s who I want to be. That’s who I need to be.
My mind is all screwed up. I want to trust them. I wish I could. I want to believe it’s not just the promise of their natural-born, warrior sons that makes these three magnificent Aurelians want to keep me safe and protected...
...but it’s impossible to convince myself. The Aurelian species is just too wound up in their obsession with the Bond – of finding their one true mate. They’re so obsessively focused that they can’t – won’t – do anything except force me onto an impossible pedestal – rejoicing in me as a savior of their species.
And, once they get me alone, those three gorgeous bastards will turn me into a breeding slave – rutted, and seeded, and forced to bear them son, after son, after son.
Queen Jasmine has been ruling for over two-hundred years – and from what I’ve seen, she’s born her triad over two-dozen strong, powerful sons. Half the Aurelian population views her as a puppet breeding slave to her triad… and the other half think of her as a manipulative harpy – the real power behind the throne – and they can’t bear the idea of being ruled by a woman.
I shake my head, dragging myself from my gloomy thought. Instead, I look out of the window of the shuttle as we arrive.
I see The Rhino below us. The ten-story structure is just like it was in the hologram specifications. I remember exactly where the exits are – and visually identify each one I can, even as I hope it won’t come down to using any of them.
Daccia ordered me to run if trouble occurred – to take that service exit, deep underground. He said to go without them – but I have a feeling I wouldn’t need to. I’ve never had or needed a man to protect me before - but it sure as hell feels good to have these three Aurelians with me now, knowing through the Bond that they’d fight to their deaths to protect me.
Daccia pilots through open airlock on the top floor of The Rhino. The shuttle touches down so softly, I barely even notice our landing. Daccia truly is a masterful pilot – better even than the AI that would normally pilot the shuttle.
Now we’re landed, the doors open.
This tenth-story landing pad has a glass dome above us, so arrivals to the club can look out over the smog-clouded sky. I doubt many of the visitors stop to take in the view, however. The Rhino, from what the records could tell us, is primarily a place for men to buy sex. I know that kind of man well. Too well. I also know that men like that also like to gamble, drink, and partake in all sorts of illegal substances – and the Rhino caters to all of those tastes.
A short, greasy man with slicked-back hair greets us. He’s wearing four rings on his right hand, but none on his left. The right-hand rings are thick, strong bands of metal with raised designs and ridges on them.
That’s his ‘slapping hand’. Obbit had a similar technique for disciplining the girls as Spur’s joint.
I’d like to take that man’s ‘slapping’ hand from him before he leaves – rings still on those fat little fingers.
“Eyes down,” whispers Kitos as we disembark. I realize I’ve been staring – practically burning holes into the sleaze-ball approaching us. I don’t have the same, slim goggles hiding my gaze that the Aurelians are wearing. Instead, I avert my gaze, hating that in the role of a slave girl, I’m not supposed to even make eye-contact without the permission of my ‘master’.
“Aurelians,” the greasy man bows. “Welcome! Welcome to the Rhino. You may call me Giovanni. I heard you were coming here tonight. Mr. Torelli, the owner, will be happy to welcome you personally. He doesn’t see many of his kind this far out.”
My head suddenly snaps upwards – until I remember to force my gaze back down…
…but I felt my astonishment mirrored by the auras of Kitos and Hadrian.
Daccia’s aura, as always, remains ice.
His own kind!
That means the owner of The Rhino, Mr. Torelli, is an Aurelian!
As an Aurelian – clearly more travelled and experienced than the humans of this world – could he know where my sister is?
But before we can think about that, Giovanni reaches out his hands.
“One more small thing, before we enter the premises…”
The greasy-haired man shrugs apologetically – the unspoken statement of ‘I don’t make the rules.’
“…I’ll be needing to take those weapons from you.”
Daccia takes the lead. He simply ignores the request – as if the greasy-haired man demanding our weapons is so inferior to us that we don’t even acknowledge his existence.
If nothing else, that would keep up the character of a haughty, arrogant high-roller.
Ignoring the man’s splutters, we enter the elevator. He reluctantly presses the button, and the elevator descends two floors. Moments later, the elevator shudders to a halt – but the doors stay shut.
“I’ll happily welcome you to the main bar,” the same greasy-haired man interjects, with a little more determination this time. “If you’d like any of the girls, feel free to try them out. You’ll be billed afterward...”
Daccia stares forward. “We’re more interested in buying the girls.”
There’s a sudden smile on the greasy henchman’s face – one he grins before he can hide it.
“Ah!” His voice becomes more sycophantic. “Men of more sophisticated tastes. That can be arranged, too.”
Then that smile hardens.
“However, before we get out – I need your weapons.”
No please this time. No apology. He was obviously offended when Daccia ignored him the first time.
Kitos, Hadrian and Daccia exchange glances – and this time they pass over the hilts of their Orb-Weapons without pause.
It’s an interesting exchange. Daccia’s initial refusal was to show this man how little he thought of him… Then, the respectful acquiescence that followed was like giving a treat to a dog – giving him just enough acknowledgement not to be bitter about it.
But it was an inevitable move. Nobody would have allowed the Aurelians into the club with their Orb-Weapons. For a moment, I imagine how deadly those three warriors would be with those otherworldly weapons activated – and I can see why anybody would be scared of them.
Giovanni gratefully accepts the weapons – before pressing a button on the side of the elevator wall that opens a small compartment. Giovanni pushes the Orb-Weapons inside. They instantly ge
t sucked away into storage.
“…and then,” he holds up his hand, almost apologetically, “a quick scan.”
And glass-faced camera device extends from the elevator ceiling and scans over us.
My stomach drops. My upgrades – those implants in my arms – were promised to be undetectable except under the lens of a full medical scan…
…but I’ve never tested that promise, and given all the other defects in the black-market tech, I’m not entirely confident in it.
I turn my eyes down, my heart pounding in my chest. I hold my breathe in suspense.
The scan lasts just seconds, but it seems like years. Then, finally, the camera tucks itself back away into the roof, apparently detecting nothing, and the doors of the elevator open in front of us, revealing a degenerate’s paradise.
The noisy ring of slots machines and clanging jackpots hits us. Tables all around us are filled with men playing cards, and I instantly notice there’s not a single female customer here… but not a single man working behind any of the tables or bars.
More than that – all the woman who work here are topless. Whether they’re dealing poker, serving drinks, or just walking around as eye candy, all these gorgeous women are being constantly oogled…
…until we stepped in.
The sounds of slot machines being yanked slows. The cards pause for a moment from being pitched onto the felt. All around us, one-by-one, customers and staff of this club pause to stare at the three, huge Aurelian warriors who’ve just entered the establishment.
It’s a fair reaction. Aurelians aren’t a common sight this far beyond the borders of Aurelian territory – and the arrival of three of the seven-feet tall warriors instantly draws all the attention.
I feel so small compared to Daccia, Kitos and Hadrian. I stand between them as we step into the seedy glitz of this casino, and I feel like a superstar. In fact, I even feel a pang of pity as I see women of all different shapes, sizes and races around us – women I’d normally feel unattractive and bland in comparison to. When my triad looks at these exotic beauties, they might as well be looking at furniture for all the lust they throw in the direction of these nearly-naked women.
