Katherine’s make-up was perfect again, but no blush could bring color to her pale face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. No one asked her what happened, but it was enough to guarantee that her eyes remained resolutely dry.
So, off we flew – twenty beautiful women, in sleek gowns and made up like princesses. If it wasn’t for the identical looks of terror and hopelessness on all twenty of our faces, passers-by in the flight lanes might think we were just going to a bachelorette party, or out for a night on the town.
The other thing that spoiled the mood was the burly bodyguard, Gerard.
Gerard was one of Peter Paradooli’s personal henchmen – six-feet-five of pure muscle, and he moved as quickly as a cat.
I knew how dangerous Gerard could be first-hand. I’d once seen a man insult Peter to his face, as a guest in Peter’s own manor. I know shouldn’t have watched – I was supposed to be cleaning – but when I heard the impudence in the man’s voice, I couldn’t avert my eyes.
The moment the insult left the guest’s mouth, it took just a single nod from Peter to signal Gerard. The burly bodyguard grabbed the offender by his hair, and dragged him kicking and screaming out of the front door.
That was humiliating, sure – but what I didn’t see probably told the whole story.
We never saw that man again, if that means anything.
So, with Gerard having already set that example, I know that if any one of us were foolish enough to try anything, he’d have no mercy.
The flying limousine shudders as it banks right. I cling to the seat, glancing over at Peter’s bodyguard as he peers at us suspiciously.
He’s a big bastard – but as tall as Gerard is, I know he’ll stand like a child compared to the three Aurelians waiting for us at the auction. Their all-male species are seven-feet-tall, at a minimum, and they don’t share wiry physiques of taller humans. No, beneath their power armor or dress clothes, Aurelians are big. One of those bastards could easily weigh upwards of five-hundred-pounds; and it’s almost all muscle. There’s barely an ounce of fat on their chiseled bodies.
I remember once hearing a lewd joke about the sex-crazed Aurelians. One of Peter’s more crass servants boasted of having been with an Aurelian before – laughing: “They weigh more than five-hundred-pounds, and at least fifty of it is cock.”
I bite my lip as a shudder of lust goes down my spine. I wish I could blame it on the pleasure dress, but the thoughts flickering through my head are not there for the first time.
No, I’ve read about the Aurelians before – and even as an inexperienced virgin, I wonder what it would be like to be owned by not one, but three of those huge, dominant aliens.
There’d be nothing you could do if you were the plaything of an Aurelian triad. If they wanted to take you, they’d do so – as easily as if you were a sex toy made available for their amusement.
I mean, in some ways that’s exactly what human women are to them. The worst part is that countless women are happy to be treated like that; flocking eagerly to join the vast harems that Aurelians were famous for.
But, if you thought that was bad, Gods help you if you were Bonded to those alien bastards.
The Bond was so rare it was practically considered mythical until recently – when Queen Jasmine was found to be Bonded to the triad of the Aurelian Emperor. Now she served as proof that the Bond was real.
Infinitesimally rare and unlikely…
…but real.
The transport ship slows and hovers, and the shuddering turbulence snaps me from my thoughts.
The vessel starts to descend. I want to scream, but I know I have to control myself, because Danielle is practically hyperventilating next to me.
For her sake, I have to pretend that I think things are going to be okay.
I reach over and brush a stray hair out of Danielle’s face. Her beautiful curls were perfect when that bitch of a beautician had finished with her, but now I see the sheen of sweat on Danielle’s face – cold and clammy from the sheer terror. It’s ruined Danielle’s hair, and it’s only my urge to remain strong for her sake that keeps me from suffering the same fate.
I look Danielle right in her deep, brown eyes and murmur: “Danielle… Look at me.”
Her eyes turn towards me.
I whisper, keeping my voice down so Gerard won’t shut us up: “Danielle… Remember when you shattered that marble figurine?”
She nods slowly. A year ago, she and I barely spoke. She was just another cleaning maid like me – and kept me at arm’s length, out of suspicion or perhaps jealousy.
In any event, Danielle had been cleaning a priceless figurine by hand when some dust got in her nose. She’d sneezed so hard that she’d knocked the figurine to the floor with her duster, where it had shattered into two pieces.
That alone would have been a sentence. Not of death, perhaps – Peter wasn’t quite that cruel – but one arguably worse. One like the fate we were facing now. Peter would have tried to recoup the cost of that near-irreplaceable figurine by shipping Danielle to an off-world brothel. Her punishment for being clumsy would be to be used and abused by countless men for the end of her days.
Danielle recalled the event. At the time, staring at the shattered figurine, she’d broken down; frozen and unable to move.
I’d picked up the pieces for her, and carefully balanced them back together. I’d placed the figurine back on the shelf and told her to hold the pieces in place. Thank the Gods – not to mention my reassuring tone – Danielle was able to snap back to her senses long enough to do it.
In the meantime, I’d rushed down to the supply closet, found sealant and glue,
