“Look at me.”
Oh, shit. He was going to be forced to see it coming. Holding back a whimper, Frey made his eyes open and stared at a spot in the middle of his master’s chest.
“Do you wish to keep those clothes?” Strangely, there was no anger in the question. Either his master hadn’t taken offense at Frey’s outburst, or he preferred to serve his revenge cold. Regardless, Frey found the courage to tell the truth.
“Yes, master. If it’s not too much trouble.”
The alien blew out a breath. “Wrap them up, please, for us to take,” he said over Frey’s head. “And I want two pieces of ribbon the same color as this fabric, both about the length of the boy’s arm.”
“Yes, sire. As you say.”
Frey allowed the breath he’d been holding to escape slowly. Apparently, this was his lucky day. He wasn’t going to get his ears boxed or his face slapped, at least not here, not yet. He had no idea what his master intended to do with the ribbon he’d just ordered. It didn’t matter. He’d learned early on that anticipating trouble in the future was futile, given that there was plenty going on in the present. When the clerk returned, he held a vacuum-sealed clear bag in which Frey’s old uniform showed through. He held it out, and Frey took it from him without being told. Obviously his master wouldn’t be carrying packages around.
The clerk also held out a tight bow of shiny blue ribbon that the master snatched before Frey could manage to. Moments later, after some kind of payment took place, Frey was once more leashed and being led back onto the main corridor. Frey didn’t like being out and about on these stations. Arpell had brought him to a handful while he’d done his hateful business. Each time, Frey had felt vulnerable. There were too manyTravians, and they were all so big and menacing. Even the random females he saw looked as if they could snap Frey in two with one hand.
And no one showed him any expression other than one of contempt or lewd interest. He was nothing among these creatures except a novelty at best and fuck toy at worst. Sometimes the homesickness for a human colony hurt far more than being raped and beaten did. He could take himself out of the physical pain if he concentrated hard enough. The psychic pain of being lost in a hostile alien environment with little hope of escaping it never really left him. He slanted his gaze sideways at the master’s other pet, Preen. The creature ambled along with its rocking gait, as if it didn’t have a care in the world. Obviously the master treated this one well, or the pet would be more cowed and wary, like Frey. Yet, that clearly was not the case. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? And Frey couldn’t be sure, but he thought the master and Preen were communicating in some fashion using hand signals. It looked as if they were chatting. Like friends, almost. That couldn’t be right, could it?
He mused over the strange nature of the pairing of the aliens, not realizing where his master took him until they’d walked deep inside what Frey had come to think of as a cantina. He wasn’t sure why that word in particular stuck in his head, except these watering holes reminded him of old western vids where the good, the bad and the ugly always met to drink and fight. It wasn’t even clear to him that Travians drank anything alcoholic. Some of it looked alarming and smelled horrible, yet he’d never noticed that Arpell or anyone else underwent a personality change by drinking any of it. Of course, Arpell had been a son of a bitch pretty much twenty-four-seven. Whether he became a nasty drunk wouldn’t have been noticeable and beside the point anyway.
Although Travians ate on the floor, when it came to simply sitting, drinking and socializing, they often used bench seats and tables. Why they made the distinction, he couldn’t fathom, but his master headed for an empty bench in a darker corner and sat down heavily. Preen scampered up next to the male without any obvious invitation and settled down with a quick flash of its teeth. Frey could almost believe the creature had grinned. Whatever. Frey certainly wasn’t going to follow suit. He knew better than to take liberties or make assumptions, and, indeed, his master gestured toward the floor between his long legs.
With only a moment’s hesitation, Frey knelt down in front of his master. He tried not to let it upset him. He’d been forced to give blow jobs to Arpell and his cronies many times in similar places. It really wasn’t a big deal, and it beat the hell out of being bent over a table or bench and being fucked in front of everyone. He told himself he was getting off lucky, as he tossed his package under the bench. His master turned his attention away from Frey long enough to order up a drink in the attached processor. When the male twisted back to face Frey, Frey reached with only slightly trembling hands for his master’s fly. Having taken this male’s dick already, he knew it would be hard to swallow down. He tried not to worry about that, however. Step one was to free the thing and start to make his master happy.
Frey never got the chance. With deft and fairly gentle moves, the Travian stopped Frey’s progress and turned him around so that he faced away. Surprised and perplexed, Frey could only stare at the opposite wall and wonder what was going on. Even though his master being behind him implied fucking, the logistics seemed to make that impossible. He jumped in further surprise as the Travian took hold of Frey’s hair. Expecting something like a painful yank of the strands, Frey’s confusion deepened when his master began using his fingers like a comb.
At first he was stiff and on guard, but eventually, with the rhythm of his hair being carded and smoothed, coupled with the relative warmth of his new clothing and a full stomach, Frey allowed his muscles to unknot. His eyelids drooped with fatigue, and his shoulders slumped. He’d never felt rested since his capture. His master’s hold didn’t allow him to shrink too far, however. After a dozen or so strokes, the Travian started plaiting Frey’s hair. Now the point of the ribbon became apparent. Frey had already observed that even the slovenly Arpell had braided his hair away from his face in fairly elaborate ways. But while his old master hadn’t paid much attention to Frey’s personal appearance, this new master was different. Not only did he care enough to outfit Frey in better clothing—provocative as it might be—he also obviously wanted Frey to mimic Travian standards of beauty.
It struck Frey as almost comical that such a hyper-masculine being would be both concerned about making Frey ‘pretty’ and also adept at working ribbon into strands of hair. Although he couldn’t see much out of the corner of his eye, what he did see was a blur of long, strong fingers and flashes of blue and white-blond weaving in and out. Once again, the rhythm lulled Frey, and he couldn’t help himself after a while. Against his intention, he leaned into the unyielding hardness of his master’s thigh. There was a moment’s pause in the activity when he did so, perhaps his master weighing whether he would allow such intimacy. Then the braiding began again without any rebuke.
Frey almost fell asleep, his mind drifting to happier times with his mother on Five. Those memories were what kept him sane during the long, tedious and often tense days living among aliens. This time it was easier than most for him to call up those images, because his mother had often brushed and even played with his hair when he’d been a small boy. Maybe she’d longed for a daughter to dress up. He’d always worn his hair a littleshaggy, just to give her the pleasure of fussing over it. Even with her gone, he’d continued to do so, to feel closer to her. That the Travians preferred him to keep it that way didn’t diminish the fact that he liked it, too.
The unexpected and soothing attention by his new master proved a nice interlude to his otherwise frightening existence. For a while, he felt bizarrely enveloped in a safe zone, as if nothing could touch him, kneeling there between the powerful legs of a being that should have scared him more than it did at the moment. The buzz of the cantina and its strange inhabitants bled away until Frey’s universe collapsed to the gentle tugging of his hair, the occasional pauses while his master sipped at his drink and Preen’s soft chuffing, as if the creature chafed with boredom. Frey didn’t care. He wasn’t in pain, and that was not insignificant. Being afraid, hungry and cold was exhausting. He welcomed the reprieve, even though he assumed it would be short-lived.
The peace of Frey’s unusual sanctuary shattered with the sudden approach of a being with heavy footsteps. Startled, Frey instinctively sat up straighter and eyed the lizard-like creature clomping up to the bench opposite where the Travian sat. Frey had seen this species before. Upright, four-limbed and tailless, the being nevertheless possessed scaly features that were visible everywhere the long robe it wore didn’t cover. The thing could have easily come out of the makeup department for a low budget sci-fi vid. Arpell had dealt with this species before, making obviously shady deals involving arms, as near as Frey could tell. The only good thing was that none of the creatures had shown any interest in making use of Frey’s body. The sight of the yellow eyes and rows of sharp teeth still made Frey’s blood run cold. It often seemed as if humans were among the smallest, weakest species in the whole universe.
His master halted his plaiting, having finished one side of Frey’s head. He placed a large, warm palm on Frey’s shoulder, as if in reassurance—except that couldn’t be right. What would the Travian care if the approach of this interloper bothered a mere pet? It was probably meant as a warning to behave. No problem there. Frey had no intention of getting anywhere near those unshod clawed feet that stood a few meters from Frey’s knees.
With a swish of his robes, the creature sat down heavily on the bench against the wall. “I trust you don’t mind the company,” the creature said in a gravelly voice.
Frey’s master said nothing in response at first. He simply started in on braiding the other side of Frey’s head. “I occupy only one seat, as you can see. I hold no claim on the one you’ve taken.” Even with the tinny cadence created by the translator in Frey’s head, he could hear the Travian’s dismissive tone.
The lizard man inclined his head before ordering a drink from his processor. He slurped up some before speaking again. “As you say, but, in my dealings with Travians, I find your species can be quite proprietary in ways I don’t understand.”
Silenced reigned, Frey’s master making no attempt at small talk with the stranger. He just kept working the second piece of ribbon into Frey’s hair. If the Travian felt any awkwardness in the situation, he didn’t convey it in any way.
The other alien tried again in a more direct way this time. “Such an interesting pet you have there. Unusual coloring. You won it off Arpell, I believe.”
Sudden terror flushed through Frey at the creature’s attention.Oh, God. Maybe the creature was interested in him after all. Whatever such a being would do to him would surely kill him—and horribly at that. The Travian stilled his weaving fingers and once more placed his heavy palm on Frey’s shoulders. This time, Frey could feel the possessiveness in the gesture, and the suddenrelief it gave him made his head spin. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning on his master’s thigh again.
The Travian squeezed Frey’s shoulder then restarting the braiding. “Yes.” If the lizard man had hoped for more of a response, he was left disappointed.
He still didn’t give up. Whatever agenda he had in coming over, he was determined to see it through. “I am called K-Zet.” A moment passed in which there was no response. The creature sucked some more of his drink before trying yet again. “May I ask the name of the clever Travian that outplayed Arpell?”
Frey’s master tied off the second ribbon and ran his hand down the back of Frey’s head then finally answered. “I am Rone.”
Even with his gaze turned downward, Frey could see the sudden flash of interest lighting up the alien’s face. “Indeed? Such an eminent member of Travian society. What brings you to our humble station?”
Frey didn’t understand what about his new master’s name was so impressive. But, he had a name now. He rolled it around his mental tongue and found he liked the sound of it. Simple, yet strong—much like the male himself, from what Frey had seen so far. He could feel Rone shift, leaning back, bringing Frey with him so that Frey ended up nestling Rone’s crotch. It was a disconcerting place to rest. The Travian’s heavy cock and large balls pushed against even the thick fabric of his tunic and pants. They pressed the back of Frey’s neck in an alarming fashion.
