Sold to the Alien Outlaws Page 7

  This girl has long, blonde hair that falls down to her waist. I feel a surge of envy as I see her – feeling as if I could never compete with such beauty.

  Surely, the Aurelians will chose her.

  This blond beauty walks to the center of the stage slowly, rolling her hips hypnotically, and I shudder as I realize she actually wants to be picked.

  “Slut,” says my father, with snide judgement.

  I feel a cold tendril of shame, knowing that part of me desires the same thing.

  I’m deeply ashamed of such thoughts – but it’s so easy for me to imagine being chosen by these towering Aurelians, especially from my place far away from the proceedings on stage.

  Sitting in the low-noble section, with Jenna’s hand on my shoulder and my father nearby, it’s easy and consequence-free to imagine I’m the one being taken back to their room in that luxurious hotel, with its huge window view of the towering aquarium.

  It’s easy and delicious to imagine the feeling of the Aurelians’ hands all over my body – all three of them at once, forcing me to submit to their powerful bodies.

  That’s why my father’s judgement about this blonde makes me feel so ashamed. Unlike the girl on stage, I have a choice. I’m not being forced to give up my life and freedom to become the whore of these Aurelian warriors…

  …and yet I’m imagining it anyway.

  My cheeks burn. There’s not a man or women in this theater who wouldn’t judge me as a slut if they knew the wicked things I was imagining.

  The blond woman paused in the center of the stage, and the eyes of every human in the room burn into her; as if we could set fire to her sleek, blue dress with the power of our fascination.

  The leader of the Aurelians, however, makes no move. He sits there like a marble statue, eyes like stone.

  “Strip her!” The Representative’s frustrated voice reverberates through the speakers.

  Almost collectively, the crowd leans forward in eagerness – and up on stage, the auction-master steps forward and rips the dress from the beautiful, blonde woman.

  She shrieks and tries vainly to cover herself with her bare hands, as every inch of her beautiful body is suddenly exposed. I gasp, and I feel a hot throb between my legs as I imagine what it must be like to be exposed to all those hundreds of leering strangers.

  Yet, the leader of the Aurelian triad still makes no move. It’s as though he’s staring off into nothingness, or in a deep, powerful trance.

  The woman cowers, trying to desperately cover her bare breasts. Her cheeks are burning in humiliation, but the Aurelians do nothing.

  In contrast, I feel a surge of resentment – and intense, bitter anger at the callous actions of the auction-master, and the Representative who cruelly yelled out that degrading order.

  I’m literally trembling as I imagine myself in that poor girl’s position – trying to understand how it must feel to be stripped bare in front of all those people; forced into humiliating expose for the casual pleasure of these powerful, dominant aliens.

  Protect her! Do something, dammit! Don’t just stand there like a statue!

  But the aliens do nothing. The two standing warriors continue to survey the crowd, and the leader of the triad continues to sit there like a statue.

  Once again, I feel the contradiction… That poor girl must be so ashamed and humiliated, and yet making that humiliation worse is the fact that she’s getting no reaction out of the very Aurelians for whom she was stripped naked.

  “Next!”

  The speakers reverberate with the sound of the Representative’s voice. His words are dry and frustrated now. He must have expected more of a spectacle. I have a feeling half the crowd gathered her today felt that same.

  That’s what’s so terrifying about it all. Slavery has been viewed as such an intrinsic evil for so long, but the moment the nobles experienced the taste of it, they suddenly developed an appetite for this grisly, forbidden trade.

  Down on the stage, the poor, naked girl is dragged from the spotlight, shivering and humiliated.

  One by one, the rest of the women are presented to the Aurelian triad. One by one, they’re each ignored by the towering aliens. The leader of the triad continues to sit without a single movement of his muscles – remaining so still for the entirety of the proceedings that you can’t even tell if he’s breathing or not.

  Meanwhile, his two battle-brothers stand to attention, scanning the crowd for any sign of danger.

  The audience themselves are growing more and more nervous, shifting in their seats as this anticlimactic event unfolds.

  Were these girls not good enough for you alien bastards? Were the daughters of our civilians and common folk not up to your impossible standards?

  Suddenly, the leader of the aliens flicks his hand and the crowd audibly gasps in shock.

  They’d been staring at the immobile alien – as still and pale as a statue - for so long that the moment he finally made even that slight gesture it was enough to jolt us all to attention.

  Down at the front of the stage, the leader of the alien triad motions his huge hand towards a nearby servant, who freezes in fright. The poor servant is a man in his thirties, trembling and shy, and he’s clearly reluctant as he slowly walks towards the triad of huge, alien warriors.

  The crowd watches him silently – wondering what’s going to happen next. Having witnessed the brutality of these aliens first hand – watching how effortlessly they slaughtered even the towering, terrifying Scorp – I feel a thrill of anxiety as I wonder if this poor servant is about to experience a violent end no less gruesome.

  But instead, the leader of the Aurelians gently leans forward, and whispers something into the servant’s ear. Like when the long-haired alien touched my chin with his huge, but gentle fingers, it’s disquieting to see such a huge, brutal man act with such gentleness.

  The servant nods as he receives the Aurelian’s instructions, and then runs off gratefully while everyone else watches and wonders what he’d heard.

  A moment later, the servant returns with a leash and collar.

  A gasp runs across the crowd. My heart goes cold.

  I’d thought the Aurelians had dismissed all their potential prizes. As it was…

  …the Representative finishes my thought out loud:

  “Ah! The Aurelians merely wanted to see all the wares on offer before they made their choice.”

  The pleasure in the Representative’s voice is palpable, and it disgusts me.

  So, they’re only choosing one poor woman, not many. Is that worse, or better?

  I’m ashamed to feel my nipples harden, and a hot throb between my thighs.

  Oh, Gods! That poor, pitiful creature! She’s going to be leashed in front of the entire crowd!

  What a horrible fate, I think to myself.

  So, why am I so envious of it?

  As my mind races, I look down to see the leader of the Aurelians finally stand – dangling that collar and leash in one of his enormous hands.

  Which of the women will he pick, I wonder? My bet is on that beautiful blonde – who still stands naked and shivering at the corner of the stage.

  And then the leader of the Aurelian triad answers that question.

  He turns, and points…

  …directly at me.

  My heart stops. I stare down at the alien’s huge finger – pointed towards me like the barrel of a gun. It’s unmistakable – not just a fevered thought. The Aurelian is really pointing at me!

  My world suddenly goes faint. I feel my knees weaken. Jenna’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I swear the firmness of her touch is all that manages to keep me standing.

  “We have to run, Lezena – now!”

  Jenna’s voice is hushed, but frantic. It snaps me from my daze.

  Turning around, I hear the shifting of guards behind me. I can still feel the heat of that huge Aurelian’s finger pointing directly at me. Every pair of eyes in this huge theater are now also staring at
me too, and I’ve never felt so exposed.

  My father stands, and I can see the shock and outrage on his round face. He looked up at the Representative, and bellows out: “Now, wait a damned minute! This is absurdity! We are nobles, who can’t…”

  “You are low-nobles!”

  The sound of the Representative’s voice echoes through the theater. It’s cold and scathing, and my father flops back down into his seat when he hears it, as if he’d been slapped.

  His face white as the magnitude of the words seep in.

  Not only has his daughter been chosen to be sold to these Aurelians – like you might donate a cow, or a prized sow to a neighbor or dignitary…

  …but also, the Representative has admonished my father with the truth about my father’s position as a low-noble; smacking him down when he slips up and accidentally refers to himself a noble.

  My father has been played. He’s sacrificed his morality and ethics in exchange for flattery and meaningless titles.

  “Bring her to the stage!”

  The leader of the Aurelians finally speaks, and if I wasn’t terrified and intimidated by the towering warrior before, I am now.

  His voice is insanely deep and booming, echoing through the theatre as if it’s amplified in the same manner as that of the Representative…

  …only we all know it isn’t.

  The Aurelian’s voice is one made for barking orders in the midst of a battlefield. For inspiring troops on the eve of battle. It’s the voice of a leader, or general – one born to give orders.

  For a moment there’s stunned silence in the theater. Finally – his voice markedly meeker than it was during the auction – the Representative stammers:

  “W-we must take a vote. Yes, a vote – as to whether or not the daughter of a low-noble can be offered alongside the common folk.” The Representative paused, looking down across the tiers of nobles, low-nobles and the city’s most prestigious citizens.

  “Raise your hands for yes!” The Representative peers down at the crowd, assessing the reaction of the nobles who make up the Consortium.

  Instantly the hands of almost all the nobles and high-nobles jolt upward – like a sea of waving palms. It seems that everybody is voting yes – everybody with the sole exception of the house of Kendrick Dulloth.

  The only dissenters are the rest of the low-nobles, who shift uncomfortably in their seats, understanding the precedent that was just set. My father served to demonstrate that the low-noble’s elevated position within the hierarchy of Tear only appears that way; as long as it benefits the nobles and high-nobles to allow it.

  In truth, we’re barely better off than the common citizens whose ranks my father struggled so hard to be elevated from – and when push comes to shove, the high-nobles are more than willing to toss us back amidst them if it suits their purpose.

  And today, it does – because while it was from the commoners of Tear that the girls being auctioned came from, I am now the one chosen to be sold to these renegade Aurelians.

  For a second, the shock and horror freezes me to the spot. Then reality kicks in, and I panic – standing to make a run for it.

  I don’t get to take even a single step. Before I’m even fully on my feet, a guard grabs me roughly by the arm and yanks me towards the stage.

  I kick and struggle, but it’s no use – the guard wrenches me out of the low-noble seating area, and I’m dragged towards the stage.

  My last sight is the face of my father – frozen to the spot, and horrified at what he’s witnessing.

  6

  Lezena

  The Representative’s voice echoes across the theater.

  “Truly, our Aurelian saviors have exquisite taste. May I present their choice – the Lady Lezena, of House Albright.”

  The guard’s grip on my arm is like iron. I’m standing on stage, blinded by the spotlight illuminating me. In some ways, I’m grateful. I know that beyond that blinding light are hundreds of pairs of eyes watching me… Studying me…

  I struggle against the guard’s grip, but he just tightens his fingers around my arm until it hurts. I realize there’s no use trying to get away. Even I escaped from this guard’s vice-like grip, there are a dozen more stationed at every door in and out of the theater.

  Not to mention the Aurelians themselves. I have no doubt they’d take action if their oh-so-precious prize decided she was going to try and make a run for it.

  As I tremble on stage, my arm crushed in the grip of that menacing guard, all three of the Aurelian warriors turn to face me. The two Aurelians who’d stood throughout the entire proceeding – the long-haired one, and his fine-featured battle-brother - finally take their places in the two over-sized thrones either side of their leader.

  And he just sits there – studying me with those slate-grey, imperious eyes; idly running that collar and leash up and down his leg.

  The three Aurelians are calm, in control…

  …and yet beneath their marble exterior, I can almost feel the heat smoldering. They’re eager for me.

  I tremble at the realization. Nobody’s ever looked at me that way before. It’s not the lustful look of a man like Kendrick, or the leering eyes of men like my father’s less salubrious business associates.

  Those men just wanted to sample my body – like children reaching for candy treats.

  No, these Aurelians look at me as if they want to devour all of me – body, heart and soul.

  Behind me huddle the mass of women who’d been dragged on stage as an offering to the Aurelians. Amidst them are beauties of all manner – from the curvaceous blonde to a slender, elegant girl with the figure of a dancer – or a tan-skinned beauty with wild, smoky eyes.

  I’m still in shock that from all these women, the Aurelians chose me.

  And I do not appear to be alone in my surprise. The girls themselves are all looking at me in equal shock – apparently asking themselves the same question.

  On the other side of the stage, the hundreds of stunned onlookers share their confusion. From high above, the high-nobles peer down imperiously; perhaps thinking that it is only fitting a woman from a low-noble family be sold like this – to prevent the other low-nobles getting too full of themselves and the illusion of their elevated status.

  Amidst the general populace, however, the reaction is very different. The crowds of traders, storekeepers, businessmen and bar-owners are all gleeful at the sight of a supposed noblewoman being sold like common chattel – like one of them! It was from the ranks of these people that the girls and women offered to the Aurelians had been chosen…

  …but it was from the ranks of nobility that the three aliens had taken their pick.

  I can tell that the common folk are delighting in this, as if it’s a justified comeuppance for the daughter of a low-noble who’d been risen so abruptly from the mass of commoners. They’ll be speaking about this over their dinner table for the next year, if not longer.

  Once again, I try to tug my arm free from the guard’s iron grip – but it’s useless. The auction-master steps up beside me, and sees me struggle.

  “Oi!” He hisses, his voice not loud enough to be heard by the crowd. “If you try to run, you silly bitch, it’s just going to make it worse for you.”

  He enjoys the opportunity to call a low-noble by the filthy epitaph. My blood runs cold as I see the icy determination in the auction-master’s eyes. Slavery might have been banned on Tear for generations – ever since the yolk of the Aurelian Empire was first laid on our shoulders – but now this cruel trade has recommenced, this auction-master seems to have fully embraced the heartless mentality needed to conduct it.

  The auction-master gives the guard a nod, and he releases my arm. It hurts – aching as the blood rushes into my crushed flesh.

  I’m free now, and I realize I could try and sprint to the side of the stage – to make a desperate attempt to escape…

  …but the guards are watching me from all around – stationed at every doorway a
nd exit. I know within minutes I’d be grabbed and dragged back on stage, while the masses watched the spectacle with excitement.

  They’d love that, wouldn’t they? I can already imagine the narrative. The commoners would look at the haughty noblewoman trying to escape, and scoff: “The haughty bitch thinks she’s too good to be sold to those aliens, even after they were trying to sell our daughters!”

  And high above, the high-nobles would peer down their noses at me and snort: “See? We should never have elevated that family to low-noble. She’s a coward, and selfish – not willing to make a simple sacrifice for the good of our people.”

  Whether they’re high-born or low-brow, nobody will have sympathy for me if I try to escape; although they’ll all enjoy watching me humiliate myself by trying.

  I set my jaw.

  If nothing else, I won’t give these bastards the satisfaction of a show.

  Satisfied that I’m not going to try and run, the auction-master steps back from me. Suddenly, I’m all alone on the stage. It’s just me, and the blinding spotlight, and the eyes of hundreds of spectators beyond.

  I can’t see them – but there are three onlookers I can see.

  The Aurelians, sitting on their over-sized thrones at the edge of the stage. The leader of the triad – the towering, slate-eyes warrior I’ve heard addressed as Raka – breathes in sharply as he’s finally able to look at me.

  Just me – no guards, or auction-masters, or other girls to distract him.

  I tremble at the heat of his gaze. Raka’s eyes grow wide as he stares at me, drinking in my figure. His lips slowly pull back – revealing his teeth in a beastly, hungry, needful snarl.

  Beside him, the long-haired Aurelian – who I had heard being called Raekon – seems to grow larger in his chair. His thick, muscular neck twitches as he looks at me; as if the sight of me is engorging his muscles with blood...

  I wonder grimly what other part of his body is being similarly engorged.

  The third Aurelian, Leon, is watching me with equal focus. His fine, regal features are distorted by the hunger in his eyes; like a ravenous beast wearing a mask of civility.