Page 21 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

Either they’re fresh from the military, or they must have done business on this ship before.

The only reason I can imagine that three such gorgeous specimens of this notoriously vain species would chop off their flowing locks is if they expected to deal with the constant humidity of a Toad mothership for any length of time.

The towering creatures seem so incongruent with this dank, fetid environment. Their broad chins, high cheekbones and Romanesque noses exude refined tastes and classic masculinity – an effortless sense of dominance.

Yet I know the truth. Behind that refined mask is nothing but brutality. All Aurelians serve through a hundred years of military service for the Aurelian Empire before they’re allowed to join their people’s society – and only the strongest ever make it out.

That much is enough to show caution around any Aurelian Warriors – but these three are a step beyond even that. After a century of service – when they could have been lounging in the lavish estates awarded to them upon entering Aurelian society – they chose instead to be here on aToadship.

How they got here is a mystery, but these three stand on this vessel as if they own it – not just the ship, but all the goods and cargo aboard her, too; including myself and the other human captives.

Even though they appear to be here by invitation, the lead Toad raises his electro-rod instinctively the moment his bulbous, glistening eyes fall upon the three Aurelians.

He keeps the weapon raised – the serrated, carbo-steel tip pointed towards the three, towering warriors. There’s clearly no love lost between these two species – and no measure of trust between them, either.

The irony is that the razor-sharp weapon – even with those thousands of volts that crackle through its tip – would be about as effective as a pool noodle if the Aurelians decided to confront these three Toads. All the warriors would have to do is reach for their Orb-Blades, hanging at their waist. The Toads are big, warty and strong – but these Aurelians are well over seven-feet-tall, built from slabs of powerful muscle, and that’s even before they activate the humming, blue-black blades of their lethal Orb-powered weaponry.

A hush falls as the two groups of aliens eye each other warily. It’s a heavy silence – one that weighs down on all of us. I feel my stomach churning as I wait for one of the aliens to make a move.

Like predatory wolves, the Aurelians test the air. Their nostrils flare as they breathe in the heady, humid air.

For me, the stench of this fetid ship is stomach-churning, but it’s like the Aurelians don’t even acknowledge the myriad of foul odors permeating the air. Instead, a look of confusion passes across all three of their marble-white faces, and their slate-grey eyes turn glassy and dazed.

It’s as if they isolated one scent among the hundreds of smells: The scent of us prisoners.

“Marcel! Gub-na goora!”

The leader of the Toads gurgles an angry statement in his native tongue, waving his gangly, slimy arms. I don’t need to understand his guttural language to translate. The Toad just warned the Aurelians to get the fuck out of their way – although probably with just enough deference to avoid losing his head to one of the warrior’s Orb-Blades. I’ve heard rumors of how proud Aurelians can be – and how lethal their response to disrespect is.

Of all those guttural words, one word stands apart. ‘Marcel’ doesn’t sound like it’s in the language of the Toads – so I go ahead and assume it’s the name of the too-perfect specimen of masculinity who stands as leader of this alien triad – a towering, marble-skinned angel who’s handsome face is a veneer – one I know masks his rotten, slave-trading core.

How cruel the Gods are – to give these wicked devils such angelic faces; so that we mere mortals are left utterly confused by them.

The tension remains between the Aurelians and Toads, and each species keeps their eyes locked on the other. I’m pleased, because I’m standing there with my shirt torn open, and there’s nothing I can do to hide my bare breasts.

What will happen when one of those marble-skinned Aurelians turn and drink in the sight of them? I’ve heard that Aurelians can descend in the mating frenzy at the mere sight of a human female’s flesh – and, once they do, nothing can stop them from taking what they want from her – seeding her deeply in the frenzied hope that she, at last, is their Fated Mate.

I shudder. If the sight of a naked body arouses them, then they might turn their slate-grey eyes in my direction and justsnap. Those towering bastards could wade through the ankle-deep water and throw me against the wall – tearing the remainder of my clothes from my body, and fucking me right here and now, in front of all the rest of the captive women, and the Toads who guard them.

My mouth is suddenly dry – which is a contrast to my panties. I shiver, and I’m ashamed to catch myself glancing down at the thick bulges tenting out the front of the Aurelian’s tight workout pants.

I gulp. There’s no mistaking the thick, forearm-long shafts hardening beneath the tight fabric. The material is already stretched out obscenely by the silhouettes of the Aurelian’s flaccid cocks – and I can’t even imagine how they’d contain those huge cocks when they were fully hard.

Gods – even flaccid, each of those Aurelians is packing something bigger than any human male is endowed with, and I don’t want to imagine how terrifying these Aurelians would be if they lost themselves to the mating rage.

I shiver as I imagine it. Those refined, noble features would turn bestial as they ravaged me. Their sensuous lips would stretch into a wolfish snarl - exposing their bright, white teeth like hungry predators. I somehow justknowthey’d growl and snarl as they lost themselves – and took me with them.

My pulse is racing. Compared to the three, towering creatures, I’d be like a little toy – unable to do anything to prevent them from fucking me hard and fast in the madness of their primal lust.

Finally, my fears come true – and the leader of the Aurelians turns his slate-grey eyes towards us. I catch his eyes lingering on my bare breasts, and it’s like electricity crackles between us.

“That’s a good crop you’ve got there,” the leader of the Aurelians – Marcel – calmly states. He’s utterly ignoring the Toad’s demand for him to get out of the way. In fact, his triad stands three abreast – almost as if they’re deliberately blocking the hallway.

I sense that there’s more going on here than just a tense exchange. It’s like there’s a power-play in progress; a battle of wills between the repulsive Toads and the haughty, arrogant Aurelians.

Marcel licks his lips as he surveys us – his slate-grey eyes staring right through me. I find it interesting that he’s speaking in the Common tongue, instead of the Toad’s language – once again, almost like it’s a challenge to the rival species.

That – and I think Marcel wants us prisoners to understand him. He wants the twelve of us terrified, chained women toknowhe considers us like livestock. To him, we’re animals to be bought and traded; nothing more.

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