The water engulfs my body, and I instantly feel a deep sense of calm.
Sharp picks up some foaming liquid and starts washing me with it, rubbing his lightly scaled palm over my body, following all my curves. I find my eyes halfway closing as he massages and cleans me.
I am being taken very good care of.
There’s a temptation to just let it happen. This is so nice, being fed, being snuggled, being washed, being fucked. It’s a dream come true, I suppose.
Each of these aliens has a slightly different approach to me, but all of them are working super hard to take care of me. I’ve never been looked after like this. I don’t think most people have been.
I close my eyes and let him wash me, until he is all the way inside me, his finger stroking in and out of my pussy with gentle strokes. Then my eyes fly open and my hand goes to his wrist.
“I intend to clean all of you,” he says. “You were well used last night.”
“It’s self-cleaning,” I say, or rather, moan. “I don’t need you to… mmmphhh fuckk.”
“What did you say?”
His finger is running around my clit in slow circles, and I am arching my back and trying to move toward it even more.
“You have this little pleasure bud that can be stimulated repeatedly,” Sharp tells me. “You can be made to orgasm over and over again. I think we will find that useful in managing you.”
He proves the point by making me come, water splashing out over the sides of the tub and being absorbed into little grates in the floor as he works his fingers in and around my pussy until I contort with need.
When I am finished orgasming, he pulls me out of the bath, towels me off, and puts the dress on me. It fits pretty well, actually. It comes down to mid-thigh and clings to my curves. There are boots, too. They’re the boots I came to space with, but they work. Simple black knee-high boots are really universal.
“Cute,” Sharp says. “Today, you’ll come to the market with us. We need to restock some supplies before we depart the station.”
“Oh? Where will we be going after this?”
“We’re going to be looking to get some bounties handled,” Sharp says.
“Oh, we’re bounty hunters?”
“We are mercenaries,” he says, swatting my ass lightly. “You are our pet.”
We all end up back in the main lobby of the ship. It’s probably not called a lobby. Boss, Kronos, and Sharp are discussing what they need to get for the ship and for their missions. I listen in, but every time I seem to be too interested, they stop talking and remind me that I’m their pet.
“Do I also get a gun?”
“Pets don’t have weapons. We’re confiscating yours. You can rely on us.”
“Oh,” I say. “I can rely on you?”
“Of course.”
Of course fucking nothing. I met these creatures yesterday and they expect me to give them their full and total trust today? Madness by any name.
I am starting to think I’ve made a huge mistake. Not being murdered by my boss is one advantage of being in alien territory, but being owned by aliens seems like it’s going to be, I don’t know, actually maybe kind of boring? I’m not very interested in being told how to breathe. I don’t want to be dressed. I have been independent for a long time, as independent as anyone could be on a dystopian planet full of floating islands.
They take me out with them to the station’s market, where stalls and small buildings are inhabited by aliens of various kindsselling wares also of various natures. It’s quite a busy, bustling place, and there is always an alien hand on me from one of the three of them.
I do not give them any trouble. I am far too interested in seeing what is happening, and what they are buying. Food and ammunition seems to be the order of the day. They have both carted back to the ship by runners.
They are all dressed in a way that screams, “I will kill you, and then my friend will kill you.”
Sharp is wearing a long black cloak with an interior lining that matches my dress. He looks tall and intimidating and bad fucking ass. I feel little tingles of excitement every time I look at him. Kronos is wearing a sort of… what do they all those things. Gambeson? It’s like a soft armor with chain over it. It also looks hot. His hair flows in an impressive golden mane, and he draws eyes wherever he goes from male, female and other alien genders. Boss, well, he’s boss. A pair of shiny leather-ish pants that probably aren’t actually leather given his history, unless they’re made from Harvester hide, and he’s good to go. I am ushered between them, kept in the triangle space they naturally make when they walk.
They buy me treats here and there. I get some candy, because sugar is loved by almost everyone everywhere, I discover. Except the aliens who experience it as a powerful toxin.
