Not fast enough.
“What is it?”
Frey forced his eyes open. He didn’t dare look at his master’s face, of course. He stared instead at the creature’s massive chest. “Sorry, master.” His apology came out in a strangled whisper. Another cramp chose to strike him at that moment, too, and he flinched with the pain.
His master raised himself up on one arm. “What is the matter with you?”
For a few frantic seconds, Frey weighed his options. Complaining always earned him a beating, but so did lying. He went with the truth. “I’m sorry, master. I’m”—he swallowed back the bile threatening to erupt—“I’m hungry.”
With alarming abruptness, the Travian sat up. Frey cringed when he saw him raise a hand and move it forward. Frey remained in his froggy position because he hadn’t been given permission to move. He knew he was vulnerable to all manner of torture. He whimpered and closed his eyes as the hand got closer. He flinched and shook, as well, when that hand touched his exposed side. Fingers, feather-light, fluttered down Frey’s ribcage.
No blow came, nor an admonishment. Instead, his master left the bed and returned moments later. Frey didn’t dare openhis eyes, but he could smell something, something delicious, actually. His stomach cramped a third time in response, making him curl up.
That hand returned, resting on his shoulder. “Easy now. Sit up.”
His master pulled Frey up to a sitting position, manipulating Frey’s smaller body like a doll. Frey didn’t mind, so long as there was no pain. Pride had flown out of the airlock the first time he’d been beaten and raped. He opened his eyes gingerly and saw that the master had brought a container of water and a plate of something that looked like bread and maybe a soy type of protein. He had no idea. Anything, no matter how horrible-looking, smelling or tasting, that Arpell had allowed him to consume had been good enough. As desperate as he was to grab everything and shove it into his mouth, he knew better. He sat cross-legged with his head down, waiting for orders.
His master picked up the water and held it up to Frey’s lips. “Drink.”
Frey didn’t hesitate, he opened his mouth and lifted his hands to hold the container himself, but his master pushed his hands down. Understanding the silent command, if not the reasoning behind it, Frey clenched his fingers together and drank greedily. The water was blessedly cool, a rare treat. It slid down his dry throat and into his empty belly. A cramp tore through his middle again, and he choked a bit in response. The container instantly disappeared from his mouth, making Frey whine. He bit his tongue to stop the noise and bitterly cursed his own stupidity. It hadn’t been enough to quench his thirst, which was worse now that he’d had a taste.
“Easy,” his master admonished. “I’ll give you more soon. You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too much so fast.”
Frey looked up at him, blinking, before remembering to lower his gaze again. The alien was right, of course. Why he would careeluded Frey’s food-starved brain. It didn’t matter. Next, the alien held out a piece of the bread in his large, blunt fingers, wrapped around a bit of the other stuff. They hovered near Frey’s lips in an unspoken order. Frey obeyed, opening up sufficiently wide for the morsel to be slipped into his mouth. His eyelids dropped involuntarily and a moan escaped. He couldn’t help himself. It tasted that good.
His master regarded him intently, that weird Travian smile on his face—the one that looked more like a grimace of pain than happiness. Arpell had looked at him like that often, although with that creature the expression held menace. This one looked more like curiosity. Another bite followed the first one, then more water. His master alternated the drinking and the feeding with slow, measured movements. He kept his gaze on Frey the whole while, probably to make sure Frey didn’t boot all of it back up. No need to worry. Frey had suppressed his gag reflex already. Not only had it been necessary in order to swallow alien dick, but the one time he’d thrown up with Arpell, the asshole had forced him to eat it again.
Finally, his stomach felt comfortably full. His master seemed to know that even without Frey saying so. The alien disposed of the remnants of the meal then returned to the bed. Frey instinctively started to move back into position, assuming his master would fuck him again. With his needs met, Frey was only too happy to oblige.
“No. On your side.”
Frey instantly complied, rolling over to give his back to his master. He always felt especially vulnerable this way, even though it was no worse than being on his stomach or on his knees. The alien wrapped his arm around Frey’s waist while slowly feeding his newly erect cock inside Frey’s pliant ass. Jesus, these creatures were quick to arousal, going from zero to sixty in a millisecond. Frey didn’t care. With his stomach fulland his body hydrated, he felt sleepy. The warmth of the body pressed against him helped, as well. As his master rocked into him, Frey closed his eyes and dropped off.
Chapter Two
Ronewokeinthesame position he’d fallen asleep in, buried deep inside his pet’s ass, hard and almost desperate for relief. He started thrusting even before he fully awakened. The slender body in his embrace yielded beautifully to him. After a mere moment of stiffening, a sudden awareness perhaps of what was happening, the human relaxed and remained accommodating while Rone took his pleasure. It had been a while since Rone had found release in another’s body—not since the marathon of fucking he’d pursued with his house brother’s pet, Mac, in a futile and mindless effort to chase away his grief. He’d ultimately failed in his quest and had only managed to make Mac sick and miserable. He wasn’t proud of his actions then and wasn’t particularly proud of them now. He only knew that he had to mark the boy as his and that his initial intent to dono more than what duty required had fled from the moment he’d first breached this new pet.
Mother, the human proved tight, yet welcoming—cool on the outside but hot on the inside. Rone must have come a dozen times during the sleep cycle, waking periodically to drill fast and hard for another climax before falling back into slumber once more. Each time, the boy had awakened—of course he had—but while Mac had always resisted Rone on some level, this one surrendered completely. Rone hooked one leg across the boy’s body to anchor him more firmly against his pelvis so he could slam his cock balls-deep into the wet heat. He groaned as his latest orgasm ripped through him. All of his pent-up need shot out of his body, and still he thought he could stay buried as he was for a long time.
He lay panting heavily as his heart raced and his breath labored. The human quivered a bit, making no sound, although Rone could detect an agitation in the boy. Rone splayed his hand over his pet’s abdomen. There was so little flesh on the boy that he was concave, his hip bones jutting out. The fucker Arpell obviously hadn’t fed the human enough. That had been evident the way the boy had attacked the water and meager food Rone had provided. No matter. Rone would fatten him up a bit. What he did with him after that was a problem he wasn’t ready to solve. He had more important things on his mind.
The quivering increased. “What is the matter?” he asked more harshly than he intended.
The body in his arms shimmied from head to toe. Rone recognized it came from fear. He also figured he knew what the problem was, so he carefully disengaged his dick from its warm, comfortable place then released the boy. “Go. Relieve yourself and wash.”
His pet only hesitated for a second before springing from the sleeping platform. “Yes, master.”
The human headed straight for the en suite that came with what served as luxury accommodation on this station. Obviously, the human had lived with Arpell, and possibly with other Travians, long enough to know his way around. Rone wondered how the boy had ended up being a pet. As far as he knew, the only sanctioned human pets were the miscreant boys on the disputed planet—boys like Mac. If this boy was one of those, how would Arpell have gotten his hands on him? The other pets were on Narith’s ship, except for one he knew that was on Outer Ring Station Twelve. He should probably ask the boy at some point, although the answer didn’t matter. Rone had a mission to complete, and he wouldn’t be leaving this station until he’d done so.
With that internal reminder of why he was there, he rolled off the sleeping platform and headed over to the processor. He called up a simple breakfast for three and wasn’t surprised when both Preen and the human entered the chamber just as Rone laid the food and drink out in the dining area. Preen, as usual, wore nothing. The companion had laughed off the idea of clothing, and its fur covered up whatever there was to see. Rone wasn’t sure exactly what that would be, as Preen had also laughed at the idea of having a gender. Preen’s species was neither male nor female. It reproduced by parthenogenesis, although Preen had yet to bother to do that. It seemed very content to stick by his side and help him with his mission.
The human’s nudity was a different matter. Naked and flushed pink from his bathing, the boy proved very enticing, enough that Rone’s dick started to rise, despite his recent climax. But his pet stood hunched in on himself, obviously uncomfortable being on display, although not trying to hide the soft sex hanging placidly between his legs. Arpell had likely beaten any such inclination out of him. Rone bet the human was also cold. The boy’s cock had shrunk and his balls were snug against his body.
Not that the pet had gotten hard at any time while in Rone’s embrace. That knowledge bothered him, for some reason. He hadn’t worried about bringing Mac any pleasure as he’d used the boy’s body. Of course, back then, he’d used sex as a petty weapon against his house brother, a stupid game born of dishonorable jealousy. The pet’s feelings hadn’t even registered in his mind as a consideration. Later, in his grief, he still hadn’t cared about anyone except himself. Nothing to be done about it now, and castigating himself accomplished nothing. Still, he could make this new boy’s life somewhat better.
Rone stood up and gestured toward the pathetic pile of clothing the boy had placed on the table. “Dress, then eat.”
He didn’t wait for a response, simply strode past the two pets and into the bathing chamber. He ignored the speculative look Preen gave him. That creature was getting too much glee out of the unexpected situation. Bathing quickly, Rone returned to the main chamber and threw on his clothing. The simple black leather tunic and pants suited him. Gone was the stiff formality of a uniform or even the breezy comfort of home wear. This new look helped him remember that he was no longer the son of a high-born family in the highest caste, a male destined for a good match and a stellar career. He was simply a soldier working to protect his species’ way of life.
