Page 47 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

And yet, that’s not what happened. Instead, whichever one of the three who left this dress here resisted the temptation – just as they’d done earlier.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved… or disappointed.

Then, my attention returns to the gorgeous dress. The fabric is whisper thin, and it shimmers and squirms as if craving flesh to cling to.

I’m not naive. I know this isn’t justanydress. I know exactly what it is – and it troubles me.

On their homeworld of Colossus, and all the other colonized worlds, Aurelians are famous for adorning their submissive women in gorgeous dresses made of fabric so sheer and clinging that it’s as if wearing nothing at all – but worse.

Right now, the dress I’m clearly expected to wear shifts and squirms – Ithink. It’s almost like the fabric is tricking my eyes. The dress is laid out, stationary on the bed, and it’s thin and sheer enough for me to see the blankets through it.

However, at the same time, there’s the illusion of movement – the shadows dancing amid the valleys and peaks of the golden fabric. I’m not sure if it’s a trick of the light, or some reflective substance woven into the material, or if my eyes are witnessing the truth, and the dress is actually moving on its own accord.

I couldn’t tell you for certain – but it’s very clear this gorgeous, golden gown was made with one purpose in mind – to tantalize the male gaze, by revealing and concealing the figure of whoever wears it in equally tantalizing turns.

I gulp and step over to the bed - running my fingers across the beautiful material. It feels as sleek as fur, as smooth as gold, and as sheer as the memory of a kiss.

I’m used to wearing rough, serviceable clothing – which often hasn’t been washed in weeks. Such is the life of a vigilante, and a fugitive.

This is alien to me – as alien as anything else that’s happened to me today. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m clean, fresh, and scrubbed. I can’t even remember the last time I felt likeawoman–rather than a runaway in an unwashed sack.

“Ohhhhhh.”

I’m surprised to realize it’s my own heady murmur echoing across the room – coaxed from my lips as I run my fingertips up and down the sheer fabric of the gown.

As I touch the dress, it touchesme.It’s as if the gown has a thousand soft fingers pressing up from beneath the material, gently and inexorably stimulating against my skin.

This is what Aurelians call apleasuredress, and in addition to its thrilling design and decadent purpose, I know the gown itself is worth many times more than I even paid for my ticket to planet X12.

Not that I ever got there – or even look likely to, now.

I guess you get what you pay for.

That thought sours as I remember that I was paid for, too. The Aurelians bought me at the Bullfrog auction with the same credits they’d spent on this dress

And, just like the pleasure gown itself, that means they believe my bodybelongsto them.

The light, yellow and gold fabric of this shimmering dress is worth countless more than even its own weight in gold. Only the highest order of the Aurelians – the Elites – can routinely clad their entire harems in such dresses. These dresses are made to show off their women – their prizes – and the material is designed to hug and caress the womanly curves of whoever wears it no less intensely.

The fabric is literally alive, touching and teasing all who wear it, as if someone is constantly stroking and playing with the wearer’s body.

Suddenly, I let the dress fall from my fingers.

Outside the door to the bedroom, I can hear the Aurelians arguing. Well,oneof them is – and his deep voice rumbles through the door loudly enough to alert me.

I can’t make out the Aurelians words, but I can sense his tone.

Just like before, that ensures I can’t get a read on any of them.

One moment, those three, towering warriors are buying me at an auction. Then, I’m taken to their quarters and they stare at me – slate-grey eyes burning with a need that’s so naked and intense it makes me anticipate being thrown to the floor andtaken– bred like a mare… Likeproperty.

But if this trio truly are Rogue Aurelians – then, why am I still unclaimed?

I look at myself in the full-length mirror. It’s made for an Aurelian, so the reflection looms above me. The last beads of water are still dripping down the curves of my naked body. It makes me wonder if their hesitation in claiming me isn’t as mysterious as I’d suspected.

Perhaps, Aurelians just like their women to be freshly washed before they fuck them – especially after splashing around in the filthy water of this Toad ship, and being painted with the disgusting slime dripping from the creature’s spindly, webbed fingers.

Who could blame them?

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