Page 44 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

Myscent.

I shudder as I allow my imagination to follow that thread – to imagine beingBondedto the three dominant aliens.

For a second, a pulse of arousal flows through me – but then it chills beneath the deluge of hot water. I literally pray to the Gods that I’mnotlinked to the three Aurelians – these three in particular.

As gorgeous as they are, the fuckers areworkingwith Toads. These luxurious living quarters? They’re symbolic of the place of honor the Aurelians hold aboard this slave ship. Even the Captain of this mothership, when his voice roared through the speaker in the auction chamber, sided withthemover another of his own kind.

But that could explain Marcel’s behavior, and the way the three of them stared so hungrily at me as if Tessa wasn’t even in the room.

The Bond.

The fucking Bond!

It seems like every Aurelian has developed a renewed obsession with the Bond, ever since Queen Jasmine took the throne. She ushered in a new era of mating and breeding for the Aurelians when she was found to be Bonded to Emperor Raegan’s triad – the first such Bond to be forged in countless centuries.

And the irony? Jasmine was nothing before that happened – just some scavenger on a distant, alien planet. She was sold to three Aurelian gladiators – warriors who later challenged the ruling Emperor and took control of the Aurelian Empire through brutality and violence.

Queen Jasmine may wear the crown, but she’s nothing but a useful puppet to the Aurelian Empire. That’s all women can ever be to these beasts. I’m shocked she even managed to gain political influence, and pass laws promoting the fair treatment of humans – especially the women who join Aurelian harems.

But her political achievements don’t make up for the real value Jasmine has – or the fact that she spends most of her days beingusedby her triad. Sometimes, their rough mating is even broadcast on holo-vid, so the entire universe can watch her being bred.

It’s when she’s pregnant that you see the truth though – the real and only purpose human females have to the Empire. Jasmine’s tits swell up, filled with milk for the next massive, alien babe she has growing inside of her. Her body contorts and adapts in a way that seemingly defies biology – and demonstrates that she’s truly little more than breeding stock for a species desperate for survival.

Jasmine has born almost twenty Aurelian sons since she took to the throne – and she’s destined to birth countless more in the remainder of her massively-extended lifetime.

I can never be like her. I can’tletmyself be like her.

I shake my head, returning to the moment. Steam has now filled the shower until I can barely see my hands.

“Cool down,” I command, and this time the AI listens. After a few seconds delay, the temperature lowers until the water is simply hot, not scalding.

The filth of the Toads is finally washing off me. I’ve been lathering myself with a bar of black soap, which seems to be the only toiletry in the cubicle. It has a pleasant, but masculine scent – but I don’t care. I use the soap to scrub my face and body until my skin is red and tingling, and yet I still feel like I’ll never feel truly cleansed of the filthy Toad hands that squeezed and groped me.

As I wash, my mind wanders – and I find myself wondering which of the three Aurelians sleeps in this ensuite bedroom. One of those towering gorgeous creatures has stood right where I’m standing now – and my mind clouds with a vision of him rubbing this very bar of soap over his beautiful, marble-white muscles. An illicit shiver ripples down my spine.

Don’t you dare think of them!

But I can’t help it. Marcel and his battle-brothers might be assholes. They might be working with Toad slavers. They might be Rogue Aurelians – hunted by Law Enforcement for turning their broad backs on the law of their Empire…

…but the three of them are still perfect specimens of Aurelian masculinity.

I remember the way my body responded when Ikneltin front of Marcel. I remember how vividly dark desires welled up inside of me – desires I never knew existed within me, but that are now undeniable.

That’s the other problem with the Bond. I don’t know if this rumor is true or not, but I’ve heard people whisper that there’s a dark influence the Bond elicits in a Fated Mate – one of those astronomically rare women who can bear the sons of a specific Aurelian triad.

The rumor is that the Bond lures out whatever dark desires you had buried deep down inside – and once it does so, it becomes impossible to push them back down.

They’re the deep, dark thoughts you only catch a glimpse of when you’re at your most open and vulnerable – like when you’re on the brink of falling asleep. They’re the deliciously forbidden images that flash in your mind as you climax in orgasm. They’re the you that you’ve been conditioned to repress.

Each woman’s darkest desire is unique, and I’m shocked at mine.

I discovered a pulse-pounding thrill in the feeling of submission, and in being controlled. When I was leashed to Marcel, it turned me on in a way I don’twantto understand.

If I somehow was Bonded to these three men, those dark desires would grow so powerfully inside of me that they’d take over my mind completely – and then I’d become a slave to the Aurelians in a way no amount of credits could ever have paid for.

Again, I snap myself from my thoughts – and realize I’ve scrubbed the same spot on my leg over and over again, until the skin is bright red.

I don’t stop, though. I want to take a layer of skin off if I have to – that tainted layer which bore the slimy handprints of those disgusting Toad guards.

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