Sold to the Alien Outlaws Read online

  Sold to the Alien Outlaws

  Corin Cain

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Raka

  2. Lezena

  3. Raekon

  4. Lezena

  5. Lezena

  6. Lezena

  7. Leon

  8. Lezena

  9. Raekon

  10. Lezena

  11. Raka

  12. Lezena

  13. Leon

  14. Lezena

  15. Lezena

  16. Raekon

  17. Lezena

  Foreword

  Welcome to the Aurelian Empire, where the dominant, powerful alien warriors come in threes!

  This steamy reverse harem alien romance is for adult audiences, and is heavy on the action and adventure! Includes spanking and submission.

  - CC

  1

  Raka

  The thruster responds perfectly to my delicate touch. As the ship responds to my commands, I can’t help but think about what the older, more seasoned Aurelian warriors have told me – that piloting a Reaver is like making love to a woman – and admit that there’s some truth to it.

  Soft, gentle touches should always build up to a full-on burn – whether you’re talking about the screaming passion of a human female, or the relentless speed of an expertly-piloted Reaver. But that’s not all there is to it, or the only approach. Soft, gentle touches are for those Aurelians who have already sated their desires. Some of us, like me, need to reach that intensity a little quicker.

  Quicker. Speed. The concept of time. It all seems such a joke to me now.

  Those older Aurelians could afford to wait. What else did they have in their lives?

  I, too, was supposed to be spending the next few years claiming and training the beginnings of my harem. I should have already had a willing, human wench whimpering across my knee by now. I’d be turning her bottom red with my eager palm; coaxing her to beg for the delicious pain to stop, just so she can eagerly pleasure me.

  That’s what was supposed to happen. Females of the human species are truly, blissfully submissive…

  …but only to a man who can offer them protection in this brutal universe.

  Which is why, instead of tasting the pleasures of the flesh for the next decade and beyond, I’ll be returning to battle, instead.

  Back to the constant threat of death. The constant wariness. The constant unease.

  Instead of feeling the satisfaction of being so fully, deeply inside a woman – joining our bodies and perhaps even our minds together – I will be alone.

  Out there, in the coldness of space.

  The coldness of war.

  Through the cockpit glass, I watch hundreds of Reavers taking off from the planet Territus, the capital planet of this solar system. Each of our three-man ships is piloted by an Aurelian triad, and each one was supposed to be charged with protecting the humans of this solar system.

  My triad had arrived here last week. We’ve already served ninety of the hundred years of active military service all Aurelians must pledge to the Aurelian Empire. The last decade or so was supposed to have been served out in the peaceful sector of Territus, where we could have relaxed and unwound after nine decades of blood and violence, and begun to grow the harem of human women that almost all Aurelian warriors enjoy after their years of service have been completed.

  I push back the thoughts of all the blood and violence the three of us have already endured. Our reward for all those years of battle – as it was for all Aurelians after serving their due – was supposed to have been the sweet, fertile flesh of a bevy of human females.

  Human women – those wanton wenches who so naturally crave service to huge, hulking Aurelian men. Perhaps their natural submission to our kind comes merely from their diminutive physical stature – they’re so tiny and helpless compared to us. Personally, I suspect it’s something deeper, though – something hard-wired into the DNA of human females, just as the desire for blood, conquest and honor is hard-wired into the nature of Aurelians.

  Growing up in Colossus, I have long ached to earn the right to claim my specimens of this sensual species. Even as I boy, I was jealous of the vast harems the adult Aurelians I knew had assembled. They had dozens, or sometimes even hundreds of human women to pick and choose from. Even as I boy, I’d ached to claim just one woman as my own.

  My fist clenches. Such instincts are natural in Aurelians – but not the way I felt them. There was a darkness to me – a darkness in my soul I’ve always had trouble holding back. To me, it wasn’t always just about the pleasures of the flesh. I didn’t just crave carnal satisfaction…

  No, the things I wanted to do to a woman…

  The whimpers of pleasure. The whimpers of pain…

  I growl before I realize it, my imagination filled with the impossible vision of the woman of my dreams. Our dreams.

  My triad have discussed it many times, over countess bottles of powerful local liquor, sampled from each of the sectors and systems we’d cleansed of the Scorp menace. It’s the softness of the human females we crave – so different from the hard lines and sculpted muscle of our own people.

  Yes, the softness – that’s what excites me most. We Aurelians are a warrior species – born all male, and bred for war and battle. Our physiques are lean and powerful; muscle and sinew and stone-like flesh.

  But human women? They are the opposite of that – crafted for pleasure, not conquest. For as long as I can remember I’ve longed to run my hand over the flowing curves of a well-formed human woman. To grab handfuls of her flesh as I claim her very being. To rest my head on an ample bosom, and kiss every perfect inch of a fertile, plump, unclaimed female as she trembles before me; eagerly awaiting me to make her my mate…

  My cock surges to attention at the very thought, and I bare my teeth in frustration.

  I need this. I crave it.

  My hand itches, as if missing the touch of something I’ve as yet always gone without.

  There’s something about the soft, plump bottoms of the females of the human species that hypnotizes me. While some warriors might just seem to satisfy the aching in their full balls, I crave more than that. I ache to teach a human female how to serve my every need – to worship me with her mind and submissive soul, as well as her sensual body.

  Fuck! And by rights, I should have been enjoying this pleasure already!

  We should have already begun forming our fledgling harems, during those final years of service on Territus. If it hadn’t been for that damned Independence Clause, we’d be there right now; succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh, and the aching sweetness of submission.

  Instead, we’re back on the battlefield. Anti-Aurelian sentiment has grown sharply across the Empire in recent decades, and the entire sector of Territus had suddenly declared sovereignty and independence from the Aurelian Empire just as we were poised to begin our decade stationed there – the human government of that sector demanding we take our ships, soldiers and ‘protection’ and leave.

  I turn my thoughts from outward to inward – surveying my own mind to check on the condition of the two Aurelian battle-brothers I share a connection with.

  I can feel them in my mind. Raekon is a hard, cold line of focus through our Bond. Leon’s presence is warmer and more welcoming; but there’s steel beneath his illusion of softness.

  I feel them both in my mind through the Bond – a powerful, telepathic link that all Aurelian warriors share with our two most-honored battle-brothers. The three members of our warrior triad are Bonded not by birth, but the shared deeds of combat and comradeship; and the strength of our Bond is stronger because of it.

  I glance across the cockpit of the Reaver
towards the first of my battle-brothers.

  Raekon sits there with his huge, muscular back to me – his long, black hair flowing down past his muscular shoulders like an inky waterfall. He wears his hair against regulation – longer than the protocols allow it. The punishment for breaking such regulations is a whipping – and every month Raekon takes it; preferring the sting of the whip to the shear of a scissor blade.

  The Aurelian Army may have harsh punishments – the crack of that whip and the bloody welts it leaves on your skin are no joke – but once punishment is served, the Captains of our regiment don’t give a damn. If you don’t polish your armor or trim your hair, they’ll beat you for it – but once you’ve taken your licks, they’ll leave you alone until the next month’s personal inspection.

  There’s an honor to that – they recognize that men like Raekon aren’t letting their hair grow long through laziness or defiance, but through independence. The cost they pay for such independence is the punishment they’ll inevitably receive. Yet once that price has been paid, as it is every month, they’ll be allowed to keep whatever infraction earned them the kiss of the Captain’s whip in the first place.

  Until the next time, that is.

  Because of the nature of our Bond, I know Raekon better than any of his commanding officers ever will. He doesn’t grow his hair merely in spite of the inevitable punishment, but because of it. There’s a darkness to Raekon’s soul that blackens each time he takes the pain; as if he’s eager to accept what he deserves. I asked him once why growing his hair was so important to him, and my battle-brother merely shrugged; just saying that it’s good to have something to stand for, and even better to learn to fight the pain that taking such a stand would inevitably bring.

  It’s good for a human woman to learn pain, in a similar fashion. It’s good for her to be reduced to a vulnerable, whimpering state of absolute need; so that she finds the strength in being confronted with her weakness.

  That thought blooms in my mind before I can force it back, and I feel instant anger at myself.

  I want these dark, brutal things more strongly than I should. To me, it’s not about pleasure – but control. I crave to grip a human female by her long, silky hair and force her wet mouth on my surging cock. I want to punish her, all while my battle-brothers watch with eager eyes and straining cocks.

  But fate has meant to haven’t had that pleasure. Not yet.

  It’s not fair! Unlike the Aurelian warriors who’ve already been stationed on Territus for decades, my battle brothers and I had hardly stepped from the front lines of our people’s brutal war against the Scorp. We didn’t have the opportunity they did to enjoy the pleasure of the human women of Territus – and the moment we were poised to, their governments spurned our people, and demanded we leave their worlds.

  To me, the cruelty of being denied such pleasures is the intensity in which we crave them. My battle-brothers and I? We haven’t yet lost our battle focus, as the Aurelians already stationed on Territus have done. The tension of combat is still fresh in our minds; and the memory of war still coiled in our muscles.

  Just looking at Raekon’s tense stance is proof of that. He’s hunched over the controls of the Reaver Orb-Gun as if he expects to use it at any second; despite us being light years away from the nearest Scorp.

  Raekon is a born warrior, in the peak of mental and physical condition. He’s as skilled with an Orb-Gun as he is with his Orb-Flail – Raekon’s signature melee weapon.

  His chosen weapon might be less conventional than my long Orb-Sword, or Leon’s Orb-Spear, but I’ve seen hundreds of Scorp fall to Raekon’s swing and know how deadly that hand-crafted weapon can be.

  Raekon is consumed by the focus of battle when he goes to war – as are all of us. Would I feel that same focus during lovemaking? Would every moment I lay with a human female feel as if time had slowed down? Would every detail of her curvaceous, soft body be etched in exquisite detail in my mind?

  “Another sector declaring independence. It’s a fucking epidemic,” growls Raekon, speaking out loud and suddenly snapping me from my thoughts.

  We could have spoken telepathically, through our shared Bond. Instead, Raekon has chosen to voice his distaste out loud – as if hearing the words ringing in the air, as opposed to echoing in our mind, makes his thoughts more real.

  I listen to Raekon’s frustration as I pilot our Reaver steadily upward – away from the sand of Territus and atmosphere of this desert planet.

  I run my tongue against my lips. While he was the first to speak, I am every bit as frustrated as Raekon. I, too, was so close to tasting my first female – feeling her body tremble and shudder as I made her mine…

  “The humans have the right to independence,” responds Leon gently – the third of our triad choosing to speak out loud as well.

  Gentle. Everything Leon does and says is soft and gentle - until he gets into battle, that is. Then there’s no trace of the warm-hearted Aurelian. During the heat of battle, Leon uses his hand-crafted Orb-Spear to gut Scorp like fresh-caught fish, and his aura turns from a soft pool of blues and greens within my mind to a raging, black whirlpool of violence.

  I turn my eyes from Raekon to my other battle-brother. Leon’s eyes are slate-grey, just like those of all of us, and they meet mine with steady calm.

  Those eyes – the same color, for every Aurelian. I wonder if the rumors are true, and that out there in the universe are Aurelians with green eyes instead. I’ve heard stories of a sub-species of Aurelian that claim to use the venom of Scorp to alter their nature; and the deadly poison changes their eyes to green just as it triggers other changes in their bodies.

  Why would any rational Aurelian subject themselves to such pain and danger? To willingly allow the venom of our most-hated enemy beneath their skin?

  Well, I know the answer to that – it’s as much part of the rumors as the green eyes are supposed to be. It’s claimed that the venom of a Scorp, if properly administered, will allow those Aurelians to mate with a human woman – any human woman.

  That is a privilege denied to most Aurelians. We can assemble huge harems of human females, and fuck them like breeding bitches from sun-up until the dark of night… But for Aurelians males, the only way to sire offspring is to impregnate a single, special female – a so-called ‘Fated Mate’ who shares a compatible DNA with our triad, and ours alone. A human female capable of Bonding with us in the same way Raekon and Leon are Bonded within my mind.

  In the vastness of the universe, teeming with such diversity of life, the chances of an Aurelian triad meeting such a woman is astronomical. In fact, just a couple of examples have been recorded in the last thousand years or more of Aurelian history.

  “Fuck their independence.” Raekon’s angry voice interrupts my thoughts. “Humanity can’t take care of itself. You heard the legends of First Contact. When humanity first took to the stars, they were nearly destroyed by the Toads and Scorp they encountered; who preyed on them like livestock. If it wasn’t for the Aurelians stepping in to protect the humans, their species might never have survived at all. Humanity owes its very existence to us.”

  That much is true – but begs further questions. Questions our priests and teachers don’t answer when we’re children.

  I often wonder how Aurelians reproduced in the earliest days of our Empire – before we made initial contact with humans. Our all-male species can be cloned during the final moments of death – but one Aurelian dying of old age begets only a single son; and both the soon-to-die and the about-to-be-born must be present together in special birthing tanks for the process to take place.

  That’s an impractical requirement, at best. As a warrior race, the majority of Aurelians will find death out in the dark caves of Scorp infestations, where we’ll die with no scientists or birthing tanks to preserve our DNA. It’s why our great empire is slowly dying out – because only the Bond between an Aurelian triad and an elusive, nay mythical ‘fated mate’ would allow us to reprodu
ce naturally, and in the numbers we need to preserve our species.

  “The humans might owe us their survival – but we could say the same. If it wasn’t for the Bond – for fated mates – our species would have been dead the same as theirs.”

  I say this absent-mindedly, as I angle the Reaver to the right with practiced movements of the controls; letting another ship pass through at high speed.

  “You’ve heard the tales as much as I, Raka. The Bond is not the only way to reproduce. It can’t be – not given how rare it is to find a fated mate. You’ve heard how the Scorp Blood tribe…”

  “The Scorp Blood tribe is just a rumor!” Leon’s voice is sharper and harder than normal as he interrupts us. We both turn to look at him.

  Where Raekon has shoulder-length hair, Leon has his buzzed into a tight crop, even shorter than regulation calls for – the same regulations that Raekon so willfully ignores.

  While our haircuts differ, to a great extent we look to be the brothers that we’ve become through battle. Even in the safety of our Reaver, we’re each decked out in lightweight armor; and its as much a uniform as the marble whiteness of our skin and our towering, muscular physiques.

  Leon’s suit is due for a replacement. Chunks of armor are missing from the shoulder pads, where a Scorp nearly took his head off during our last engagement. The claws had cut through his armor and nicked his neck, stopping just short of the femoral artery. Instead of bleeding out, Leon was left with just a wicked scar; and he wore it proudly, to remind him of how close to oblivion he’d been. I’ve got the same mark on my neck, a strange coincidence, or perhaps because of a weak point in our armor - and I feel all the closer to him knowing we were both inches away from the same death.