Page 69 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

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Tessa reluctantly pulls the pleasure dress back over her head with shaking hands. Her make-shift toga has now returned to what it was before – just a pile of jumbled sheets on the immense bed.

Squirming uncomfortably, Tessa turns to me and looks me up and down, as if I’m about to be marched out in front of the judges at a beauty contest.

Then, with a tsk, she moves to stand behind me – running her fingers through my hair and working out what knots and tangles she can.

“We’re going to be okay,” Tessa mumbles as she works. “The Aurelians will look out for us.”

She’s nervous, but she truly believes that.

I wish I could say the same.

“They don’t know what they’re doing,” I complain. “I think they’re fresh out of their hundred years of service. I think they’re in over their heads.”

I finish my rant by sinking my teeth into my lip. Did I say too much? Hope is all Tessa has right now. I wouldn’t want to ruin that for her.

As if indicating that I had, Tessa’s hands stop for a moment. Then, after she takes a ragged breath, they start again.

Dammit, I shouldn’t have said what I did. She needs every scrap of hope she can cling onto right now.

“Wehaveto trust them,” she insists.

I grit my teeth.

“Well, I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

I look around – catching sight of myself in the mirror.

“Well,” I tut. “We’re in these bloody pleasure dresses. What more do you think we need to look like slaves?”

The sensation of Tessa’s fingers in my hair, and the never-ending stimulation of the pleasure dress, remain dormant in my anger. I cling to the fury – holding onto it lest I get swept away by a tidal wave of despair.

Suitably adorned, Tessa and I leave the bedroom together, and find the three Aurelians standing in the center of the living room waiting for us.

Long, white togas are draped across their massive shoulders, hanging across their huge bodies. It’s an outfit so familiar to me – from all those statues of Greeks and Romans in similar attire – and yet also so stiffly formal and alien.

The demeanor of the Aurelians has similarly shifted. Even Lucius doesn’t have the promise of a mocking smile on his full lips any longer. He’s standing stiffly, with his shoulders back – a world away from the man who was joking and flirting over breakfast.

The other thing these outfits do is accentuate the sheer size of the three looming warriors. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how fuckinghugethey are. Each of them stands well over seven-feet in height – which is easily over two feet on me – but it’s their width and bulks that really makes me shiver. These three warriors aren’t just bigger than human males, but their very muscle tissue is said to be stronger and more powerful. Comparatively, inch-for-inch, they’re already far stronger than humans - and their lean, corded muscles have clearly evolved for just two core purposes: Fighting and fucking.

The Aurelians stand in alabaster white – exactly like those Old-Earth statues. Their skin was like marble, and the crisp, white linen of their togas matches their complexion perfectly. The only place in which these towering, white wraiths show a hint of contrast is at their waists; where the hilts of their Orb-Blades hang from corded, black belts.

There’s a rattle. Lucius and Marcel raise their wrists to reveal the degrading leashes we’d been attached to when the Toads had sold us.

But, if nothing else, it is the answer to my question back in the bedroom:

What else do we need to look the part of slaves?

Tessa straightens her spine – as if breathing in the courage to play this role. Then, she strides confidently past me – her hips rolling seductively. The sheer fabric of her pleasure dress clings obscenely to her feminine curves, showcasing her model-like figure. For a second, I even find a hot surge of jealousy firing through me; which burns hotter when she ducks her head to allowLuciusto leash her.

My lips can still conjure the taste of that man’s kiss – and as ridiculous as it seems, I feel anger that Tessa chosehimto submit herself to.

Yet, Lucius never takes his eyes from me – even as he collars her. The entire time he’s affixing that collar around Tessa’s slender throat, he stares at me with monstrous, slate-grey eyes that are as compelling to me as a forgotten moon.

Marcel clears his throat, snapping my attention from Lucius’s hypnotic stare. Marcel nods, and then spares me the humiliation of commanding me to step forward. I know I must accept the collar around my neck, and submit to the role of slave – but at least he won’t articulate what it is I must do. I step up to the towering leader of the Aurelians and find myself unable to meet his gaze. Like a slave would, I keep my head low and my gaze fixated on the floor. I can’t even look at him as Marcel reaches down to affix my collar. His fingers graze my throat as he secures the collar around my neck, and I shiver at the heat of their contact.

And then, with aclick, I’m linked to him. I’m his property – for all to see.

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