J McKenna - Slave Planet

Thankfully, there was silence from Greta.

Spike pulled out and stood up. He said a few more words to her, then adjusted his loincloth and went to the water bucket for a drink. Beth was incapable of movement. She lay there, spread wide open, spent. She could feel his fluids leaking from her. My god! I’ve just been fucked by an alien!

When she was finally able to regain control of her limbs, she rolled over and sat up. More fluids gushed from her. She looked down, amazed. The men on this planet come a gallon, she observed. No, she said to herself. Let’s be more scientific. Maybe it’s just a quarter-cup. Still, it’s a lot compared to mere Earth men.

Groggily, she got to her feet. Spike was saying something to her, pointing. She looked and saw a fireplace in the corner, same as at Lumpy’s house. He mimed putting food in his mouth. He wants me to cook after this experience? God, some male characteristics are universal, she mused.

Beth dragged herself to the fire. The coals were still glowing from a previous meal, so it was easy for her to add some kindling to rekindle a flame. She added wood. Looking around, she wondered what kind of food they had on this planet. Beth was a good cook—but the food here might not be edible for an Earthling. At a minimum, it might taste bad.

She opened a cabinet near the fireplace and rooted around. There was a half loaf of a dark bread. She sniffed it. It smelled vaguely like rye bread. A bowl contained some wilting vegetables, including what could pass for mushrooms. And wrapped in burlap there was a steak of some sort that smelled like it had been left too long in the sun. Beth wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, boy,” she whispered, “roast beast.”

Kate Dyson was hot and thirsty. She had underestimated the amount of water she would need to walk thirty-five kilometers in this heat. It must be 110 degrees here. Trapped out on the plain, she was beginning to wonder if she would be able to make it.

She paused and slathered on more sunscreen. Her coveralls had proved to be far too hot for this environment, yet she hated to abandon them. Now she had them draped over her head like a turban, shielding her face from the unrelenting sun. Kate was dressed in her tee-shirt, bright pink panties and boots. She had taken off her bra a few miles back and buried it in the sand. Wouldn’t want the natives to stumble across it. Might use it as a slingshot, she giggled. She knew the heat was beginning to affect her judgment.

She checked her scanner. She was still twenty-five klicks from the second pod, twenty-seven from the village. Kate shook her canteen. Just a few swallows left. There was no way she could walk all that way without water.

Kate studied the landscape, then held up the scanner to confirm her intuition. To her left the mountain ridge rose up five and a half kilometers away. The scanner told her there were water sources beyond the treeline. It would mean a detour that would add at least ten or twelve klicks to her trek. Yet she knew if she went straight on, she’d probably die before she reached her crew.

“That would do no good,” she told herself. Sighing, Kate turned and headed east, toward the ridge.

Allyson stood as tall as her 5-6 frame would allow and tried to stare down the man who had purchased her. That was hard when she was getting a crick in her neck from looking up at him. He reminded her of that hotshot Chinese basketball player she’d been reading about on Earth, Chi Ming. He was seven feet tall as well.

“I’m not from this planet!” She shouted, trying to force him to understand. “Nor am I one of your bimbos! You must let me go!”

Almost casually, he backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. Ally lay there, dizzy, frustrated and angry. He said what she believed was the Devonite equivalent of a curse and spoke some angry words to the three women.

They were in a hotel of some sort, Ally believed. It was a large two-story log house, with several rooms. The man seemed to have purchased her to be a maid or a clerk. It wasn’t clear what he was telling her. Ally could not fathom this language. And this man—Ming would do for a name, she thought—had no patience with women. He yelled at the three women who could understand him, so what chance did Ally have?

Ming strode away, muttering. The three native women gathered around Ally. One of them, a tall woman with a beak nose, cursed at her and kicked Ally in the side. A second one spoke a few harsh words to the first and pointed to the prostrate girl, then to the retreating back of their master. The third bent down and helped Ally up, talking soothing words to her. The first woman stalked off, trailed by the second.

The third woman had a round face, weathered with age. Her breasts hung down to her stomach. Ally tried to listen to the lilting language as she spoke, but could make no sense of it. “I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “Please, help me. I want to know what you are saying.”

Sighing, the woman led Ally to a courtyard and handed her a broom. It looked like something out of the “Wizard of Oz”—spindly branches tied to a stick. The woman pushed Ally into the yard and indicated that she should sweep. Crying, she stepped out into the hot sun and began moving the broom back and forth.

“I’m a fucking commander of a starship,” she muttered. “Second in command to the captain! And here I am on this godforsaken planet, sweeping up dirt like a charwoman!”

Jorja was brought to the home of the father. Apparently, the young man lived there as well. It was an adobe hut with two rooms. A partially finished, smaller hut was right next door. The young man pushed her inside. The father and son began talking. Their voices seemed almost conspiratorial. They kept looking at her as if sizing her up.

The woman immediately went to the kitchen and started cooking. Once she stopped and came over with a drink of water for Jorja. The men paid her no attention. Jorja drank gratefully and thanked the woman as best she could.

The son—or Junior, as Jorja had begun to call him—came over and began talking to her, speaking slowly as if that would make her understand better. She just shook her head. “Look, asshole, I don’t understand you. And if I was untied, I’d kick your butt again.”

Her animosity came through. He stared at her for a moment, then turned back to his father, again speaking in that strange language.

What the hell were they plotting?

Greta woke up the next morning feeling much better, she told the doctor. Beth was unable to attend to the commander because Spike had chained Beth up overnight on the bedding with him. He had fucked her again before they fell asleep—making love would be the wrong words for the animalistic coupling they enthusiastically performed. Her body had easily accommodated him this time. The feeling of his cock deep within her defied description. No sooner did he erupt within her and pull out then she wanted him again. She wanted to fall asleep with his hard cock grasped within her cunt. She had never felt that way with anyone before.

Beth was still embarrassed to be within earshot of her commander. And she was a little ashamed that she enjoyed it so much. For an older man, he sure did have stamina. And there was something about being chained up, naked, at the mercy of this love-making machine that secretly thrilled her.

I should probably have my head examined!

Now, in the gray light of dawn, Spike snored next to her. Greta had been left chained to the couch. To Beth, this meant that Spike had claimed her for his own. What he intended to do with Greta was a mystery. Beth was pleased to see that he had no interest in this slender, beautiful woman who made men drool back on Earth. They like Reubenesque women on this planet, yippee!