As the evening’s highlight is propelled onstage, the remaining males lean forward as one, myself included.
So, this is a Hoo-man. She’s smaller than I anticipated—a lot smaller. Pale pink skin, two arms, two legs, two breasts. But the cloud of tousled hair around her head is a glittering gold, her eyes are huge and innocent and, when her rich, honeyed perfume hits my nostrils, I bite back a roar as the rut grips me with no warning; no preamble.
Suddenly, my cock is rock solid and pounding, my skin prickles, and my pulse is thudding in my ears.
I’m no longer able to form a coherent thought. My entire being screams just one thing:
She will be mine.
FOUR
Emma
For what feels like an eternity,I’ve been guarded in the wings just offstage behind a rudimentary curtain, waiting for my turn as female after female was forced out to be ogled and sold like cattle at market. The weird alien creatures have me surrounded, and there’s no hope of escape. Besides, where would I go? It’s not like I could run outside and hop on a bus, or call an Uber.
For all I know, I’m on a spaceship. Or another planet.
And I still can’t believe I’m even entertaining that notion. My head hurts just thinking about it. When am I going to wake up? Pinching myself hasn’t helped, though, so for now all I can do is stand here and wait my turn, trying unsuccessfully to tamp down the panic which keeps threatening to burst out of me in a scream.
Am I really about to be sold as a sex slave?
To analien?
The people—sorry, creatures—bidding on the females are a loud, raucous bunch but I haven’t been able to get the tiniest glimpse of them from where I’m standing. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing. I can certainly smell them, though—a thick, heavy scent reminiscent of old socks and mothballs. My mouth is filled with a bitter taste.
Judging by the variety of shapes and sizes of females I’ve witnessed being shoved onstage, there’s no telling what the males will look like. The first slave who got sold had six breasts.
Who will purchase me? Maybe I’ll get lucky and snag someone with a conscience or a kind heart, who will take pity on me when he realizes I’m not actually meant to be here, and help me get home.
Please don’t let it be an Alpha.Anyone but the Ulfarri my captors were talking about, the sex-crazed brutes who wear out females at an alarming rate. All I wanted was a fun night out. Now I’m shivering in the rags of my clothes, praying I don’t get shagged to death.
My headache has receded but my skin is flushed, feverish. Chills grip me, alternating with fiery flashes of heat. My stomach is cramping. Whether I’m sick from the stench of the alien air, from fear, from the stuff the Ogsul shot me up with… it’s anyone’s guess.
Suddenly, my upper arm is gripped by one of the creatures guarding me, and my heart jumps into my throat as I’m propelled to the middle of the stage. Bright lights blind me and I blink rapidly, trying desperately to see the audience. I hear the announcer say something about a human, and my knees turn to water. I’m only still on my feet because one of my captors is still holding me up.
This is the worst nightmare I’ve ever had, or will ever have. And it’s beyond time to wake the fuck up.
Slowly, I’m able to make out shapes in the dark room beyond. The place is packed with dozens of alien creatures—some with feathers, some with snouts, some which look like they’re made of blades—and they’re shouting over one another, leaping up and down, gesticulating to the point where the host is struggling to keep up with the bidding. The place sounds like a barnyard. There's no earthly equivalent to the inhuman shrieks and groans.
It smells like a barnyard, too. The stench is making me gag. I double over, trying to cover my chest with my arms, but my bicep is still in a vice grip. I breathe through my mouth, feeling sick and feverish, and stare down at the stage, trying to pretend this isn’t happening.
But it is.
Beside me, the Ogsul auctioneer is shouting. He reaches over with a stubby arm and grips my chin, forcing my face up. Again, the stench hits me. I blink against it, wavering on my feet. I would fall but for the bruising shackle of my Ogsul captor’s hand.
The auctioneer points to a giant slug-like thing quivering up near the front of the stage. Have I just been sold to Jabba the Hut? The aliens crowding the stage cackle and shriek.
I duck my head but get no relief. The noise, the cacophony of alien colors and shapes, swirl into one. My skin is boiling hot. I pant for air, but a scent is rising from me now in waves, sickly sweet. I can’t breathe.
A deep, primal roar reverberates around the room, drowning out everything else. The sound is like thunder, sending lightning bolts of sensation flashing down my spine. I rear back, unable to flee because of the Ogsul gripping me. My stomach cramps again.
In the shadows at the back of the room, a storm is brewing. A feathered alien goes flying with a squawk. Both my captor and the auctioneer stare. Then another shape comes flying up on stage, and drops with a splat at the auctioneer’s feet. An awful alien head gapes at us, its mouth lolling open, green goo leaking from the severed neck.
The auctioneer screams and throws himself off stage. Beyond the bodies packed at the front, a huge, terrifying figure is making its way toward us, plowing through the other males like a tornado through a trailer park.
And a scent rises, thick and juicy and nothing like the stench before. It’s a clean rain in the desert. A billowing, thunderstorm smell washing over me, cutting through the stale, sweaty stench, and turning the air sweet. A sweetness that turns into a rich, almost chocolatey flavor that tingles on my tongue. The taste twists my fear into something new, something unexpected. Warmth coils in my core.
The scent is coming from the hooded warrior across the room. I squint, trying to see better despite my pounding heart, and then wish I hadn’t. He’s a giant shadow specter in a dark hood, his silver blade flashing in front of him like Death’s scythe. Creatures scramble out of his way. Too slow, and their bodies meet the deadly storm of steel. They’re sliced apart, limbs flying outwards, their howls of anguish and surrender rising above the general commotion.
