CHAPTER 1
“You know you are owned, don’t you. There is no escape.”
I have the sense of being small. But not young. The figures surrounding me make me seem diminutive in comparison because they are impossibly large. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who they are. But I know that they want me. Every bit of me. I can feel their possessive energy focused on me.
Someone grabs a thick handful of my hair and holds me in place. I feel a harsh slap across my ass.
“Naughty pet,” a deep voice intones. “Such a naughty little human mate. What are we going to do with you?”
This is a dream. I know it is because real life couldn’t possibly be this hot. Real life is straws you have to drink from quickly before they go soggy in a soy protein shake, and letters from the building manager about the hours you’re keeping, and an itch on the bottom of your foot that never seems to have any reason to be there. Real life is a series of tasks that stay the same day afterday. What’s happening to me now is un-fucking-real in every way.
A massive, scaled hand wraps lightly around my throat, and holds me firmly while another big red hand slides down my stomach, making for the apex of my thighs. My legs spread instinctively. In this dream, I know I am supposed to give myself to them.
“Filthy little animal…”
“Good girl…”
Two strange voices mesh with one another.
I catch little flashes of alien masters… there are scales… a horn… a battleax. Nothing is entirely clear because my brain won’t render the whole scene at once. It’s putting all its effort into the way my hips are grinding against the hand between my legs, the thick finger pushing into my molten interior.
“So wet for us,” the voice comes again. “Such a hungry, desperate little pet.”
I try to move, try to grind my hips down. I want satisfaction. I am so desperately aroused I know the only way out of this is to find release.
A face swims into view. The alien beast has the appearance and bearing of a wild god. Golden hair flows from his head in a brilliant mane. He has bright stellar blue eyes, and the hard, symmetrical features of a creature chiseled from stone. He is hard… in every way.
My eyes run down the length of his body.
“Down, girl,” he says, pressing me down on my knees. The hands help him put me where he wants me. I am not given a choice. Between the three big alien entities, I am as helpless as the animal they call me. I am like a rabbit in a snare, caught so completely all I can do is stare wide-eyed as a collar is latched closed around my throat and the wildness is stolen from me in that universal act of domination and domestication.
“She’s waking up, I think. Her pulse just spiked.”
A voice that doesn’t belong to this place or these creatures breaks through the dream. A shaft of light pierces the sacred darkness we have been trysting in.
“No!” I whine, feeling as though I am about to lose something I will never be able to get back. The sexy fear of being kidnapped by aliens is replaced by a very raw fear of something much worse, of being cut off…
But the light is getting brighter, and the dream is fading, and no amount of holding onto it can stop the rising of my consciousness.
“We’re coming for you.”
That’s the last thing I hear before I wake up.
I open my eyes.
I have the warm, cozy feeling of emerging from a long sleep and a very satisfying dream. It is gone instantly, the way the best dreams are, but I feel the chemical remnants of it.
There’s a bird singing out the window. White curtains flutter in the wind. A kindly man wearing a white coat and stethoscope is looking down at me with an air of gentle expectation. He has wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, and a vibe of being very dependable, reliable, and safe.
“You’re awake,” he says.
I forgive the obvious statement, because he seems nice, and because I feel so good. Sometimes it feels like I can never get enough sleep, like the long, restorative rests of childhood were also some dream I’ll never get back. But this feels amazing, like I’ve been asleep for a very long time. Or like I’ve had the best nap ever and woken up without being groggy. I’m so rested.
This must be what people mean when they say women are supposed to get ten hours of sleep a night. I feel like I’ve slept a decade. Or a century. I feel like Sleeping Beauty. I want to burrow back into the pillow, close my eyes, and find the dream again. It was good, I think.
But the doctor won’t let me. He has more silly obvious things to say, and even sillier things to ask.
“What’s your name, darling?”
