Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
My stomach growls. I’m hungry.
I sit up and make noises in the general register of wanting to eat until the doctor comes back in.
“Sorry,” I say. “But I think if I don’t get something to eat very soon, I am going to eat this bed.”
“Ah, yes, of course. You probably want a hot dog,” she says.
“Uhm, sure?”
“That’s what humans eat. Hot dogs.” She says it as if she is very proud she knows this, and is also very much uncertain that it’s true.
“Okay,” I say.
“I have to take it out of the plastic wrapper and put it in the air fryer. We got an air fryer specially for you, because we know that’s what humans like to cook in.”
I am actually quite excited about the prospect of an air fryer cooked meal. It’s old tech, but it’s good. Air fryers pretty much overtook all other forms of cooking for a time in human history, to the extent that it’s recognized as a major epoch.
It doesn’t take very long to prepare me a meal.
The hot dog that’s presented to me is a sausage in a bun with a hint of something that might be mustard.
The bread has the texture of chicken, somehow. I think the bread might be meat. The sausage in the dog tastes like macerated cauliflower and cheese. None of this is bad, it’s just very odd.
Arkon returns when I am almost halfway through the meal. I’ve been eating slowly because the doctor is watching intently and it’s making me feel a little self-conscious.
“Good?” Arkon says.
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
Now two aliens are watching me eat a hot dog. It’s not the oddest thing that has happened today, but it feels like the most awkward.
“She seems well enough. If she starts showing any concerning signs, you can bring her back,” the doctor says. “But for now, I think we’ve gotten her more or less together.”
The best anyone can hope for, really.
“Can I get dressed again?” I ask the question with a great deal of hope. There’s something about the way clothes feel that really brings me back to myself.
“On that front, it would be better if you wore an appropriate uniform,” Arkon says. “I’ve brought one with me.”
He puts it on the bed, and both aliens withdraw to let me get changed. I’m impressed they allowed me that much privacy. I feel like the most observed creature in the universe right now, an ant under a microscope.
The uniform is a very short flippy skirt that only goes to my mid-thigh. There are boots that zip up to just below my knee. They’re silver and very comfortable. There’s a shirt, too with long sleeves that are a little puffy. The outfit reminds me of the ancient uniform of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, if I am to be honest.
“Cute,” I say, looking at myself. It’s better than most uniforms I’ve worn in my life. I think I narrowly prefer tactical field attire, but this is not that bad.
Arkon nods approvingly when he sees me. “Now anybody who looks at you will know who you belong to,” he says. “And that is a sword that will cut both ways. I want you to behave yourself for me.”
I look at him with a slight expression of surprise.
Then he puts one of his four hands on the back of my neck and bends down to murmur in my ear. “You came off the ship in a collar and leash. I can put both of them back on you if I need to.”
An excited shiver runs through me, even though I really wish it wouldn’t. I want so badly to appear competent and appropriate, but every interaction I’ve had with this handsome alien has revealed something very primal about me.
I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I thought so.”
I look up at him under my lashes. I don’t know what he intends to do with me. I don’t know if what happened on the shuttle here even really happened. I do know that I am starting to feel a very familiar tingle between my legs and there is some part of me that wants him to assuage it.
“Incredible,” the doctor murmurs.
“What?” I ask.
“The human pheromone response is indeed patently detectable to our kind,” she explains. “My research indicated that humans are not consciously aware of pheromone exchanges.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you are broadcasting receptivity to being mated,” she says, still in that academic register. A horrified blush passes over my face and then races down the rest of my body. They can tell when I am turned on. All of them. All the time. Oh, my fucking god.
“I think that’s enough revelation for the moment,” Arkon says.
* * *
Arkon
She was supposed to stay in employee accommodation, but I have no intention of letting this human out of my sight. She will be staying with me, I have decided. The bed booth set aside for her in the female employee dormitory can be allocated to another worker.