Rone gratefully handed the wad of clothing over.“Thanks.”
Frey stayed in the shower for as long as he dared. Despite the endless supply of hot water beating down onto his reddened skin, he still didn’t feel clean. Silly really, as were the tears he’d shed the moment he’d started the water. He hadn’t cried in a long time. Arpell had beaten that weakness out of him early on. Frey had learned to cry silently and, eventually, not at all. Giving into that kind of emotion hadn’t helped, and it had made him feel like a little kid. Not once during her long illness had his mother cried in his presence. She might have done so when he wasn’t around, but somehow he doubted it. She never felt sorry for herself and never stopped believing that things would work out for the best. The memory of her optimism and strength had helped him survive this ordeal so far. It would continue to do so. He just had to pull himself together.
There was no reason for him to break down now anyway. He’d been forced to do so much in the short time of his captivity, been made to service aliens of various brutal and frightening dispositions. Most of them possessed cocks too big to be comfortably accommodated by a human body, and none of them had cared a damn about that. Frey had learned to adapt, to endure and to let it all wash away from him, mentally and physically, any time he’d been given a chance to be by himself and bathe. Kuren, the fucker, hadn’t even been the worst he’d experienced. Sure, he’d used Frey’s mouth like a personal convenience and hadn’t seemed to care that Frey needed air to breathe. His cum had tasted foul, too.
But the physical abuse and the humiliation of being passed over like an object hadn’t been what had allowed the tears to escape his eyes after so long, leaving Frey feeling more raw than he’d ever felt before. It was that Rone had done the handing over. For some reason, that fact hurt him like a punch to the gut. This Travian had been so kind to him that he’d almost forgotten that, no matter what, he was Rone’s slave—a thing, not a person. Of course he’d shared his pretty toy with his new boss. What better way to cement an alliance than helping a guy get his rocks off? It was only a good business practice. Nothing to get worked up about, unless you were the thing being shared.
Frey rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, not sure if the moisture was more tears or the shower spray. God, he needed to pull himself together. He admonished himself for being so silly and weak. None of what had happened should be a surprise to him, and the fact that it was simply meant he’d been stupid enough to think that a few orgasms at his master’s hand had meant more than they had. How pathetic was it for him to believe that Rone had actually valued Frey’s participation in bed and wanted to share in the pleasure? He’d been fooling himself, weaving castles in the air that his situation was improving when all that had really happened was that his current master had been in the mood to play, for whatever reason. Frey should have remembered that Travians were cruel fuckers generally and that it only came down to what level.
Compared to Arpell’s eleven on the sadistic scale, Rone’s ranking had appeared lower than it actually was. Stupid didn’t even cover Frey’s reaction, nor did naïve. Frey had known that Rone had some agenda for being on the station, and now he knew exactly what. Rone wanted in on the kind of shady commerce Arpell had dealt in. It was just his luck that winning Frey had set in motion the attainment of that goal. Frey had no doubt Rone would be far more successful at it than the otheralien had been. What all of this meant for Frey’s future, he couldn’t fathom. He had to continue to focus on surviving each moment and not get too ahead of himself.
That meant getting out of the damn shower before his master came in looking for his errant pet. Moving over to the drying unit, Frey bucked up and sniffed back the last of his useless tears. He had nothing to wear, and Travians didn’t seem to believe in towels, so with some amount of trepidation, he returned to the main room. He moved his hands momentarily to cover his groin. He’d never gotten used to parading around naked in front of anyone, let alone the creature who got to use his body. He stilled the movement and returned his hands to hang by his sides, remembering Arpell’s harsh lessons for trying to hide what didn’t belong to him anymore. His cheeks might have blushed from embarrassment. Hard to say when his whole body was still pink from his scorching shower.
Rone knelt by the dining area, arranging dishes of food. He looked over his shoulder the moment Frey stepped into the room. The male’s heated gaze raked Frey from head to toe before he turned away again and finished laying out the meal. Then the large alien sat down with his legs crossed and facing Frey. He waved him over with one hand, while picking up something to eat with the other. The male’s gaze stayed focused on Frey as he made his journey across the room. The scrutiny unnerved Frey a bit, although it didn’t seem hostile or even prurient. Before Frey reached the dining area, however, Preen sidled up from somewhere and blocked Frey’s progress. It handed Frey his tunic and pants, all nice and neatly folded, smelling fresh.
Frey flashed the small creature a smile.“Thank you.”
Preen froze on the spot, its head cocked at an angle. Rone also paused in his eating, a mouthful of food poised in mid-air. They both stared at Frey, who was confused at first until it dawned on him what he’d done. A spike of fear shot through him.
He clutched his armful of clothing to his chest as if it were armor. “I-I’m sorry.” He made his apology to Rone before dropping his gaze to the floor and swallowing hard past the lump forming in his throat. “I, um, noticed that you two seem to communicate through hand signals, and I guess I thought that was the right way to show Preen my appreciation.” He glanced up at his master through his lashes.
Instead of being mad, the alien huffed out a quiet laugh. “Clever boy.” Rone popped the food into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “Get dressed and come eat.”
Frey didn’t wait to be told twice. He dragged on his obviously cleaned clothing with silent relief and went to kneel by Rone. Preen had already done so, sitting on Rone’s far side, stuffing bits of things quickly into its tiny mouth the way it always did. Frey surveyed the offerings and was surprised to see a greater array of choices than he usually did. Pretty much all of it was familiar to him now, and he knew that he liked the way each thing tasted and that they sat well on his stomach. It was as if his master had planned the meal to specifically please Frey. That was ridiculous, though—as if his master would care one whit what pleased his pet.
Frey reached out for the bread-like food he enjoyed and knew another moment of fear when his master stopped him by grabbing his wrist. Alarmed and confused, Frey snatched his hand back and stared furiously at the dining carpet, trying to work out where he’d gone wrong. His master had told him to come eat, hadn’t he? Fear turned to confusion in a heartbeat. Instead of some kind of admonishment, Rone placed a morsel of the very thing Frey had been reaching for in front of his lips. Those large, blunt fingers hovered patiently until Frey realized what his master intended. Slowly, Frey leaned forward, opened his mouth and sucked in the offering.
The burst of flavor made him realize how hungry he’d become. Still wary of what his master intended, he nevertheless chewed and swallowed the bite carefully. Another came into his line of vision immediately, and he didn’t hesitate this time to nip the food from his master’s fingers. By the time he had the third serving in his mouth, he felt bold enough to look at his master more directly. The Travian stared back at him intently. The scrutiny caused Frey to absolutely blush this time, no hot water causing the heat on his cheeks. What was this game? How could Rone so casually lend the use of Frey’s mouth out to someone else, then attentively feed that same mouth? It made no sense, and yet that’s what Rone did, over and over, just like he had that first time together. In between bites of food, Rone offered him a drink, a sweet juice that washed everything down nicely.
God, it was all so confusing. It was as if Rone were trying to make up for what had happened with Kuren, but that was ridiculous. No way a brutal Travian master cared one fig about his pet’s feelings, not even a master that wrung awesome orgasms out of that same pet. Frey was being fanciful again, allowing himself to see Rone in a better light than what existed in reality. He recognized it for what it was—a coping strategy. Stockholm Syndrome, he thought it was called, although he wasn’t sure he knew where the expression had come from—some long ago event back on Earth that probably paled in comparison to being the captive of a race that had very different norms than humans. In all his travels with Arpell, not one Travian had even questioned, as far as Frey knew, the legitimacy or morality of someone keeping a pet, let alone a living fuck toy.
Mentally shaking his head, he hardened his resolve to remember that Rone was not his friend or lover. He was his captor. Frey should never hope for anything more than the simple pleasures or lesser hurts that he was experiencing in the moment. Otherwise, it wouldn’t matter what the Travians didto him, he’d be the one to break himself through the constant disappointment. He wouldn’t let that happen.
And still the food kept coming.
Chapter Six
“Youareclearedfordocking bay fifteen.”
“Roger that.”
Frey watched Rone maneuver the small shuttle around the station and into the narrow space that must be the approved docking bay. The journey had been a relatively short one compared to others he’d made before with Arpell. This time, however, he’d experienced the whole thing from the viewpoint of the small bridge. Always before, he’d been kept down in the hold with the cargo, only being allowed into the main cabin to eat and service his master. Surprisingly, Rone hadn’t relegated him to that miserable space, instead keeping Frey with him the whole time. He slept and ate when Rone did and accompanied him whenever he returned to the bridge to check on the automated systems and the ship’s progress.
Frey hadn’t let that decision go to waste, watching Rone avidly, if surreptitiously, learning the way the Travian vessel worked. It might come in handy sometime, like when he had a chance to escape. And he had to believe that time would come or he’d go mad. Rone allowed him to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, too, giving Frey the perfect vantage point. The alien system wasn’t so very different from human ones. He supposed there were only so many ways bipedal mammals with hands and opposable thumbs could configure their world. Even in their short stint aboard the craft, Frey felt he’d learned enough that he could actually pilot and navigate something similar, given the chance.
As he paid attention in particular of how to dock the ship, he tried not to squirm. God, his hole ached like a bitch. He hadn’t felt this used since the early days of his captivity. During the time they’d waited for Kuren to give Rone his assignment and while on this shuttle, Rone had fucked Frey practically nonstop. And, when he wasn’t plowing Frey’s ass, he was fucking his face. Frey’s body was swimming in the Travian’s cum and obviously his scent, which was the whole point, of course. Rone had marked Frey to the nth degree, in expectation of taking him among other, different Travians. There would be no doubt to whom Frey belonged. The fact that Rone continued to pleasure Frey as much as Frey could handle didn’t diminish the extent to which Frey felt like a pawn, either.
“Docking complete. Prepare for inspection.”
Rone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This should be interesting.” The comment was directed to Preen, who perched on the far side of the instrument panel.
More and more, Frey had come to appreciate that whatever plans Rone had, his other ‘pet’ was in on them. They really acted more like partners than anything else. After pressing a space on the panel, Rone heaved himself out of his chair, then turned to leave the bridge.
“Come, Frey,” he said without looking back. He assumed his pet would obey and, of course, Frey did.
Preen jumped down and scampered in Rone’s wake without command or even invitation. Yeah, the small creature was definitely in on whatever the hell it was they were doing. Frey lagged behind, curious, but apprehensive too. He knew the drill. Travian soldiers would board, inspect the cargo and either ask uncomfortable questions or not. Any time these custom officers showed signs of suspicion, Arpell had always deflected or bribed them, really, by offering up whatever piece of Frey the other guy wanted. Regardless, it always ended up with Frey being even more miserable and Arpell being allowed to take his dubious cargo into the station. After what had happened with Kuren, Frey had to assume Rone would use the same ploy. His hole clenched in automatic fear. Frey could only hope that he’d get away with a blow job. Those were always easier to handle.
The rear hatch was already open, no doubt the purpose of Rone hitting that console button. Two imposing Travians swaggered in, armed to the teeth as usual. The taller of them eyed Rone.
