Afina pulled a piece of fabric from her tunic and dabbed at it a few times with her finger. It glowed blue when she touched it. A moment later the walls of the chamber pulsed with the same color. “Noted,” she said. “Pleasant news. An extremely fertile lineage. They breed remarkably well with Ryvokia seed.”
She looked Sonya up and down, as if waiting for her reaction. Sonya met her stare when her eyes—dark and probing, like Rychor’s—met her own. But it wasn’t easy. She seemed to be turning Sonya’s mind inside-out, and the sensation was palpable.
Sonya articulated a thought very clearly in her mind: why were they speaking in her language now? They obviously wanted her to understand them. They had to be playing mind games with her.
Well, she thought, as loudly as possible, in case they actually could hear her.That’s not going to work onme.
Afina seemed to rise in stature, making her look even more imperious as she spoke to Rychor with her eyes on Sonya.
“Has she been examined?” she asked.
“She has,” Rychor said. He extended his hand, palm up, and Afina dropped her own palm into the cradle of his fingers. Sonya watched, openly transfixed, her nakedness and collar temporarily forgotten. She was almost positive that she saw a blue glow flare just before their hands made contact.
They paused like this for a moment. Then Afina gave a curt nod, spun, and started walking towards a small opening in the far wall of the chamber.
Rychor gave the leash a gentle tug as he followed Afina.
Sonya fell into line behind them. Their high status and the pressure of the leash, and all that it signified, humiliated her further. But her own body reacting to the humiliation made her even more ashamed. Her thighs glided against each other through the moisture dripping from between her legs. The ache that had plagued her the day before returned, throbbing in pulses.
She was led into a smaller chamber with a platform similar to the one she’d slept on. Her eyes moved around, trying to take in the technology. She became aware of Afina watching her and quickly shifted her eyes to the ground.
There was a curt—or at least it seemed to her—exchange of words between the two of them in the melodious language they shared. Sonya’s face grew hot and her frustration bubbled up: why had they chosen to speak her language on the way here, and why had they switched to theirs now?
Afina delivered a series of remarks, and Rychor said nothing in response. Then Afina reached for Sonya’s chin and lifted it. Sonya tried to keep her eyes on the floor, but eventually raised them to meet the female’s stare.
Afina’s eyes darted, like Rychor’s, side to side, seeming to scan Sonya’s thoughts as she did. Then Afina looked over at Rychor and said something in what seemed like an admonishing voice, and he bowed as he answered.
“You are very curious,” Afina said, swiveling her head to look at Sonya again. She stepped close to her. “And very willful. These are not submissive qualities. Tell me, do you submit to your male humans?”
Sonya blushed and looked to Rychor, who gave her a sympathetic gaze in return but did not try to assist her. When she failed to speak, he tugged gently at the collar. “Answer,” he said.
“I… I… I don’t… want to… that’s very personal information,” she stammered, and immediately wished she could take her answer back. It wasn’t like these aliens had a lie detector on her. She should have just said “yes,” and been done with it.
The truth was that she hadn’t done much of anything worth noting with “her” male humans, who numbered two in total and had been bungling, clumsy adventures. Why she cared if kidnapping aliens on a distant planet knew this, she couldn’t say.
She wanted them to know about her fantasies even less.
Afina tipped her head back, as though she would get a better look at her by doing so. She said something in her language, and gave a warning look to Rychor.
“You do not?” Afina asked, tipping her head in curiosity. “This is a strange species,” she mused, running her tongue along the ridge of her very human-like teeth. She fired a series of commands at Rychor and left, stalking from the room.
Rychor waited until she left, and then tugged at the leash, leading Sonya to the platform.
“What did she say?” Sonya asked, when Rychor lifted her onto the platform.
“I am to elicit your submission, which we are certain stimulates you sexually. Afina remarked that your species is very strange. Once you are…” He pressed a finger to his neck, and looked thoughtful for a moment, as though information was flooding his brain and he was scanning it. “Once you demonstrate optimal submission, you will be mounted and inseminated by your breeder.”
Sonya’s mouth fell open. On the one hand, this seemed like the ticket to getting out of there as quickly as possible. It also appealed to her dark, fantastical thoughts of attraction to Rychor, who was strange: strangely colored, too enormous to be real,an alien species,and just… all aroundstrange. But his moments of unexpected tenderness, and the latent strength bulging in his muscles, and the human-like features of his face that she was growing accustomed to, even liking… well, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think he was hot. Dripping with sweat, he was burly male, fierce gladiator, danger oozing from every pore, hot.
On the other hand… having an alien baby did not seem optimal. It seemed fucking crazy. Her mind spun with all of the terrifying physical and psychological projections she could fit into thirty seconds of thoughts.
She cleared her throat. Rychor seemed like a very rational guy, almost comically so. She decided to take the same tack with him, because she was like that herself, with regard to literallyany othersubject. “How do I… how do you determine that, uh… I have demonstrated optimal submission?”
Even the words were hard to say. A flash of red-hot heat lit up the skin on her cheeks.Whydid this happen to her? Just thinking the word “submission” had the effect of turning her insides to liquid, while making her mind rebel against the idea, as reflexively as if someone had tapped her on the knee and made her leg kick.
Rychor looked down at her imperiously. “You willobey. And stop asking questions.”
There was that word again. Obey. A common enough word, but leaving Rychor’s mouth in his commanding voice, his eyes simmering over his lips, it changed into an electric caress, a stroke along the insides of her most intimate parts.
