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)
“Good,” he says. “Back to work, then.” He lifts me up in his four hands and deposits me where he wants me to be. He makes short work of the straps, putting each of them across my body securely and snugly, checking that it’s not too tight and not pinching.
I am confused again. Maybe this is just work to him. He’s got a very workmanlike approach to such things. Even when he flipped my skirt up and lowered my underwear, there was something about it that felt businesslike.
I am in a combination of ongoing shock and arousal as the machine being operated by this handsome alien sets about mapping my responses. I know a calibration sequence when I feel it.
It tests my clit first, vibrating gently, and then more intensely until I buck and writhe uncontrollably. Then it stops immediately, and the same process happens in my ass. A slow vibration that intensifies over a period of about a minute, followed by a squirt of what I guess is lubrication, and a very slow thrusting motion.
“What?” I gasp.
“Settle, pet,” he murmurs. “This is for your own good. You will want the computer to know appropriate parameters when I put you in time out.”
“The hell is time out?”
I shouldn’t ask questions like that. They only lead to answers I don’t want to hear.
“When you misbehave, and it is already obvious that you will, you will be put into a sensory chamber. Your head will remain outside it, as will your legs and arms, but your torso will receive various stimulation. It is also possible for you to be bred in such a chamber.”
I stare at him. I’ve seen contraptions like that on websites back on Earth. Places I probably shouldn’t have been looking at except for I was curious and kind of bored and they made me aroused sometimes when they weren’t weirding me out.
What this guy is describing is essentially a full body stockade, or a…
“You’d put me in a fucking box?”
“A Fucking Box might be a better term for it,” he allows. “A little crude, but humans sometimes respond to direct communication better. Yes. If you keep acting out and getting caught for things you know better than to do, I will strap you inside an enclosure and fuck you until you’re an apologetic little human.”
I bite my lower lip and try not to look too turned on by that.
Arkon laughs. “By the gods!” he declares. “That wasn’t even a threat as far as you are concerned, was it? You want something like that to happen!”
“I do not,” I deny hotly.
Don’t know why I am bothering, really. He just basically did all of that without the enclosure and I responded to it as if I had been bred for it. I never thought of myself as being particularly submissive or sexual. Maybe I just never had the right alien to bring it out of me.
“You’re done for the day,” he says. “And you did very well, so you can be proud of yourself.”
His praise sends a feeling of pure joy through me. I am so pleased to have done well for him. It makes me feel happy in ways I never felt when I got good performance reports at work in the past. I guess I never got orgasms at work either.
I am getting so attached to my boss. That makes sense too; we’ve practically slept together at this point. Not quite though. Not entirely. My entire sensual region feels sensitive and slightly tender as I walk. I have been put through my paces and found to be suitable.
CHAPTER 3
Evie
I am exhausted. I have never been this tired after a day of work. I have also never been this sexually satisfied. I don’t even want to walk. My legs protest with every step as we walk through this big ass building that is frankly not seeming as impressive as it once did now that I have to drag myself through it when I’d rather not.
Arkon turns around once or twice, slows for me, then finally gets the hint and just picks me up. I grin to myself, then giggle at the notion that he probably looks like a guy making off with the office printer.
To most of these aliens, I really am merely part of the tooling. Drak made that clear with what he said, but the others make it obvious in the way their eyes run over me as if I am part of the furniture. You don’t bother making eye contact with the photocopier, or chatting with a waiting room chair. That’s the treatment I’m generally getting through my limited interactions.
I wonder why Arkon sees me so differently.
I’ll ask him when we’re alone, maybe. I want to know what he thinks, how he thinks. I want to know all about him.