by V. K. Ludwig
Sign Here for Horns
V. K. Ludwig
Ink Heart Publishing
Contents
If you want to see what’s underneath the apron…
1. Lilly
2. Jax
3. Lilly
4. Lilly
5. Jax
6. Lilly
7. Jax
8. Lilly
9. Lilly
10. Jax
11. Lilly
12. Jax
13. Lilly
14. Lilly
15. Jax
16. Jax
17. Lilly
18. Jax
19. Jax
20. Lilly
21. Jax
22. Lilly
She's too much risk to be alive, but too precious to be killed.
Also by V. K. Ludwig
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Never Cuff an Alien
Never Cuff an Alien
Copyright © 2020 by V. K. Ludwig
www.vkludwig.com
Cover Art: Sylvia Frost
Editing: Tami Stark
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Warning: This book contains explicit sexual content.
I would like to thank Devon for telling me I’m funny, Kristina for telling me I’m amazing, and Jessica for telling me I’m a good author. Without girls like you, I would have stopped writing at the first 1 star review. Oh… and Ruby Dixon for acknowledging this book exists.
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One
Lilly
Ninety-something boobsweating degrees outside, and I’m the lunatic tugging my wool scarf higher. As if discretion is a thing when you’re one of five women on this overbaked planet.
Beside me, Steph grins at every ribbed stomach we pass as if she’s ovulating or something. “Did you see the cock of that guy?”
I shouldn’t have asked her to come. “Can’t say I did.”
Never in my life did I expect to end up like this. Thirty-one. Divorced. Buying myself a man. Well, not a man, exactly. A male, but women can’t be picky on Agari II.
“Human males are hard to come by,” the Kokonian says, his sly smile presenting fangs framed by green scales. “But fear not, woman, Keg’rik has something for every customer.”
A shiver runs down my spine, scarf and all.
Ugh! Customer.
Can’t fall lower than that.
We follow the guy, the air thick with sweat and what I imagine adrenaline smells like. Brightly lit cages form corridors, the invisible forcefields resonating with a deep, electric hum.
“Is there a species you prefer, woman?”
Not the shitback kind. “Any will do, as long as he can perform like I need him to.”
Steph twirls blonde curls into a bun and fans the back of her neck. “Filthy.”
“Shut up.” I swat her shoulder, but she dodges it, and males turn to stare at us. “Seriously, I feel terrible about this already, and you’re only making it worse.”
Steph treats me to a little elbow dig. “Oh, come on, it’s not like you’ll whip him.”
She’s right, of course, and yet that shiver refuses to go away. There’s just something so inherently wrong about this, but what’s a girl supposed to do? I take care of myself as best as I can, but some things just… require a man. Or male. Whatever.
Keg’rik comes to a halt in front of one of the cages, claw pointing at the giant standing wide-legged at the edge. “This is what you need, woman. A Kalythian warrior.”
Steph lets out a squeal. “Oh. My. God. I would totally choose that one.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.” Spine stiff, I step onto the raised platform, and the forcefield yields to my every step.
That guy is a wall of strength and muscle, his barrel chest expanding wide with each exhale as he stares down at me, musters me from glowing green eyes.
“He’s perfect,” Steph rasps. “I’m sure that guy can plow.” Her gaze slips lower, between tree-trunk thighs. “And drive that massive post in.”
“It’s not that big.” Just a pain in the ass to do when your post driver quit on you two moon cycles ago.
But yeah, that guy is perfect, and yet that shiver keeps spreading. I’m against slavery, but what other choice do I have? Feminism is great and all, until you have 200 acres of barren, rocky fields, and tools that make the Amish look technologically advanced.
I glance back at Keg’rik. “Does he speak the common tongue?”
“No, woman. But it doesn’t matter. All slaves receive a language chip before they leave the premises.”
“How old?”
“In Earth equivalent?” Keg’rik taps a finger against his chin. “Approximately forty-two.”
Just about the age where they start complaining about back pain. “Where did he come from?”
“The first time, associates of mine captured him on the outskirts of Visani during the War of the Three Suns.”
Steph lifts a brow. “The first time?”
“He escaped once. Twice, actually, but I assure you he is easy to control as long as you don’t remove his shock collar.”
Now that shiver sends a carpet of goosebumps across my body. The last thing I need is a guy who runs off. Had that once. Won’t happen again. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.
“Do you have something less, um, prone to running?”
“They aren’t slaves by choice, woman.”
“Yeah, I get that. But I intend to treat him well. Don’t you have a male who is… I don’t know… desperate enough to stay with someone who treats him fairly?”
“Desperate?” Keg’rik rakes his claws over the back of his scaled head, then taps the air. “I have a Vandalar male who will make you a willing slave.”
“I really like this one,” Steph says with a shrug. “The moment he tries to run, the collar will shock and disable him anyway. I’ve seen it when Izzy moved incoming slaves around, and one tried to skip.”
I gesture Keg’rik to wait a moment. “How much are you asking for him?”
“3,000 Imperial Credits.”
My chuckle comes slow and dies quickly. Runaway or not, I can’t afford him. That’s about as much as I’m behind in mortgage payments.
“That Vandalar male,” I say. “Is he priced the same?”
“Much, much cheaper.”
“Oh. Okay. Lead the way then.”
I follow behind Keg’rik, who guides us into yet another corridor, the lights flickering overhead. Males of all species stand naked and exposed, not much adorning their cages but a cot, a bucket with water, and another for what I try hard not to picture.
“The Vandalar resting on his cot will run.” Keg’rik steps up to a cage and waves one of two males closer. “The one with the braided hair will make you an obedient slave, willing to please in any way. He’s got excellent muscle tone. A set of strong horns. His tail is int
act.”
“He’s got a tail?” Steph steps up to the cage. “Oh my, that thing has a claw at the tip.”
I climb onto the platform, and the Vandalar approaches me, holding my gaze with dark purple irises. He squares his broad shoulders and stands tall, lifting his tail slightly as if he desperately wants to pass my inspection.
“I kinda want to drag my tongue over those abs,” Steph says, jutting her chin toward the alien. “What are those markings on his skin?”
“Vandalar females consider scarification highly desirable in their males,” Keg’rik explains. “They cut or brand their skin in decorative patterns in order to appeal to females.”
In this guy’s case, floral patterns cover chest and arms. Pale skin forms branches and vines, coming together as blossoms and something similar to a peacock pattern. He carries his hair braided between two onyx horns, which curl back from the top of his head.
He bows slightly, and his lips move, though the forcefield makes it impossible for me to hear. Probably wouldn’t understand him either, so I only answer him with a shrug.
“I am an honest slave trader.” Keg’rik folds his arms in front of his chest. “He has a minor defect, but I’ve reduced his price greatly.”
I turn toward him, exchanging a quick glance of suspicion with Steph. “What defect?”
“It has no bearing on what you want him for. Merely a small, physical malformation that is highly despised by the females on his home planet.”
“Dude,” Steph says. “What defect?”
Keg’rik’s hands form a steeple in front of his chest. “His penis. For Vandalar standards, his penis isn’t functioning properly.”
I swing around toward the cage.
I flinch.
Heat wraps so tightly around me, it takes less than a second for a pearl of sweat to run down my spine. This guy’s cock is clearly functioning just fine… because he’s jerking off right in front of us.
Two
Jax
“She’s looking again!”
I pump hard flesh into my fist, angling my cock a bit higher to distract from that cushion-like protrusion at the base. Since I have no clue what pleases her kind, I alternate slow strokes with violent thrusts. I’m trained to mate her either way… and everything in-between.
“What do you think she is?” I ask. “Taloran? Human?”
Varac groans behind me on his cot. “Does it matter? Just another female to slave under so she can kick you to the pits over a burned meal.”
His mentality isn’t helping. “Maybe she’s different than Vandalar females.”
She stands with her mouth covered behind fabric, long brown hair, and eyes an even deeper green than that of feon leaves. No horns. No tail. That’s alright, I’m not prejudiced.
“I’ve never seen a female step in front of our cage before.” And that fact floods my veins with panic. “Do you think she’s looking for a saikh?”
“Don’t care.”
“She has to be.” I thrust my chest out, flex my muscles, and let my deep voice rumble. “I will please you, female. My mating growl is deep and highly arousing.”
“She can’t hear you.” Varac noisily tosses himself around. “And you’re trying too hard. Stop making yourself look so damn desperate.”
I am desperate. “I’ve been stuck in here for moon cycles, and the company sucks.”
“Vek you…”
“I will please you, female,” I shout again and stroke myself harder. She blinks once. Twice. “I can mate you for hours.”
Running the clasp up toward the head, I let a drop of seed form at the slitted hole, which I spread with my thumb.
She points at me.
Or more like throws her hand in my direction.
My spine tingles. “I think she favors me.”
She likes it, and I let another translucent pearl form. I’ve got many deficiencies, but the amount of seed I can produce isn’t one of them.
Now she throws both hands to her head. This is going fantas—
She turns and walks away.
All blood sucks from my veins.
How did I vek this up so fast?
Whatever confidence I had left disappears around the corner right along with the female, leaving me behind numb and defeated. What’s a Vandalar saikh without a female? Veking nothing. A joke.
My tail drops to the ground, claw clinking against the stone floor. Perhaps I should’ve held it higher? Did my cock appall her? Horns not sharp enough?
“I don’t hear you jerking off anymore,” Varac snarls. “If you finished, you better clean it up, because I sure as vek won’t.”
“She left,” I rasp, voice hoarse with disappointment. “Vek! It’s my cock.”
“Your cock is fine.”
An easy thing for him to say.
Three Vandalar females considered me as their saikh. Even tested me. All three hated my matings. As gossip about my insufficient cock spread, there was no fourth one to give me a chance. Slavery it was.
Something pushes into my periphery.
“She’s back!”
Excitement courses through me, but I can’t let that distract me. I stand up straight, suck in a lungful of depleted air, and start stroking myself hard again.
She shakes her head and glances over her shoulder, back to the blonde female she arrived with. Her friend? Their lips move, and, after a million eternities, her friend shrugs.
The female turns toward the slaver and points down the corridor, to which he responds by rubbing his scaled fingers together.
My chest lightens. “She’s negotiating my price!”
It’s now or never, Jax.
No doubt, the slaver is offering me cheap already, but even that price needs to be justified. I stroke my head only. Short, intense thrusts, bringing me to the edge of release.
I hold it there, using the breathing techniques taught at the saikhmenti. The moment she turns, I pound into my fist, a tingle racing from my ballsack straight up my shaft. With a groan, ropes of seed jerk from my cock, head pulsing. They paint the stone floor in white strings. An amount any mentor would approve of.
But the female dives her face into her palms, her blushed cheeks a telltale of her disappointment. Waves of shame ripple through me. Perhaps her kind is used to more? Vek! I shouldn’t have pleasured myself yesterday.
I turn away, breathing down that desperation at my core that is growing denser with each rejection. Five sun cycles of studying the female body like scripture. What for? No female wants me.
“Ei cain’d b’lieve ‘m doin this.”
My ears prick.
I spin around, heart pounding something ragged in my chest. Did the slaver deactivate the forcefield?
The female stands with her arms crossed in front of her chest, frowns lining her forehead. “Why ‘m ei gettn da slaive who jizzd on da floar?”
Her friend throws her hands up. “Cuz y’ar broak.”
“Right,” my female sighs.
My female.
The world falls away from around me, because why else did the slaver open my cage? She is going to purchase me. And no matter how many males she has, I will become the best of them.
“You,” the slaver says, his Vandal carrying a slight accent. “Step down from the platform.”
I do so with trembling legs. “Is she my new mistress?”
“The female with the dark hair, yes.” He snaps the collar shut around my neck, the metal cold against my skin. “She already transferred the credits. Next, you will receive a language chip with the common tongue, as well as her native tongue.”
“Native tongue? What species is she? Taloran?”
“Human,” he says. “She is a woman. Her tongue is called English.”
“May I address her?” I take his grunt as a yes and turn toward my female. “You won’t regret this, woman. I’ve learned thousands of techniques to make you scream in pleasure. My hands, my tongue… it’s all yours. I won’t disappoint.”
; Of course, she has no idea what I say.
That’s okay.
Tonight, I will prove myself worthy as her saikh, and tend to her primal urges like no male has ever done before. I will use my tongue to edge her to orgasm while I study her body’s reactions.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “What’d ei say?”
The slaver sighs deeply, but smiles. “Hei said hei will werk hard.”
“Oah.” My females gives a nod of approval. “Good.”
“Yes,” I say and nod back. “In a few hours, you will scream my name.”
The slaver hands me a small pile of folded clothes. White pants with a tail hole and a matching shirt, which I slip into. My body vibrates with energy, and I can’t help but smile at her—such an exotic beauty.
Bringing a chip gun to my head, the slaver aligns the barrel with my temple. “Hold still.”
Click.
I flinch, a million nerve ends tingling across my scalp. The sensation chases deep into my brain, and I clench my eyes shut. A brief ringing tortures my ears, but it quickly fades away, making room for a, “Can you understand me?”
The moment my eyes open, they connect with hers. “Yes, mistress.”
She frowns. “Yeah, um, we’re not doing that mistress thing, okay? Just call me Lilly.”
“Lilly,” I almost moan. “My name is Jax, but you can call me anything you’d like.”
She lets out a huff and shakes her head, lazily waving toward the other end of the corridor. “Just do me a favor and don’t run. I really don’t want you to get shocked.”
