The fingers find my clitoris with a frighteningly knowing touch. They stop. Pinch. My hips buck and I let out a gasp, which gives the game away entirely. A hand grasps my shoulder and pulls me over onto my back.
A wail of pain accompanies the sudden movement, jabs and aches flaring to life. I fell from the stars. I am broken.
“Shhhhh…” He looks at me with wide dark eyes. There is no white. No iris. No pupil. No way to tell where he is looking, but for the creeping horror that pools in my belly when he stares directly at me.
“Shhhh ni shaka, M’uklahk.”
“Please, don’t hurt me…” I whisper the words, not expecting to be understood. I have never seen a creature so alien before. I am accustomed to the Vargons, but not the one I am looking at now.
He is red. The same color of the rock dust that covers everything. He is lined with many muscles over his torso, arms, shoulders; every part of him seems to comprise a new muscular plane. His shoulders are broad, very broad, like a bull. His hips are narrow in comparison, but still twice the width of my own fragile form. There is thick black hair growing out of his head. It flows over his shoulders in a curtain interspersed by two ridges emerging from the tops of his shoulders. He breathes deep and speaks through a fanged mouth.
“You… are safe.”
Standard speech, coming from the mouth of a beast. I must look as shocked as I feel, because he lets out a snort of amusement.
He turns to the others who wait grunting behind him. These beasts breathe aggressively.
“Human,” he says. “M’uklahk.”
“Please, help me.”
Three words escape me. Three hopeful, desperate, pathetic words.
He looks at me with those dark eyes and I do not know what to think. I don’t know how to interpret the emotions or intentions of anything this alien. The Vargons were simple enough, they were always going to hurt you if you didn’t follow their instructions, and sometimes, even if you did. This one looks far stronger, much more brutal. I quiver to the very core of me, feeling fire where he has touched, a lingering trace of heat that burns on in the absence of his touch.
The place between my legs, the one I touch only in secret is humming with heat and new excitement, but fear is the major driving force now, consuming my body with tension.
“Who are you?”
“I…” Who am I? That is a question that barely computes. We are not given identities on the farm. We are not individuals. We are products being grown for sale. “I am… meat.” That is what I feel like—frightened, bruised, lost meat.
“Me-at…” He thinks for a second. “Hunzch,” he translates for the benefit of the several others.
They laugh as one, making me feel small.
“You are not meat. You are human.”
How does he know? He is unclothed, as primitive a beast as I have ever laid eyes on. He looks more animal than man.
“Humans are not good eating,” he clarifies, making me think that humans must have been here before, and ended up being consumed to their displeasure.
“Please,” I whimper, bringing my knees to my chest and my arms around my legs. “Don’t hurt me.”
I do not know how to defend myself. Even if I did know by what means a beast like this one might be defeated, I would not be able to lift a finger to him. Everything about his presence is pure intimidation.
He crouches down next to me, his body so much bigger because it is so much closer. I am overwhelmed instantly, becoming faint and dizzy. Heat emanates from him, and when he puts a hand on my arm to steady me, I feel as though bright sunlight is shining on that particular part of my skin.
This is a very alien creature. I should be used to other forms of life. The Vargons are very different from us, but they disgust me. They are slime-ridden and they have no legs. They undulate along the ground leaving a trail behind them. This creature’s legs are thick, powerful, and there is an organ between them that draws my attention instantly, a thick hard length of flesh pressed up against his lower body. It does not disgust me. It intrigues me.
I flinch at his touch, a sound somewhere between a whimper and an animalistic growl escaping my lips.
“Shhh.” He makes the sound as he tightens his grip on not one of my arms, but both of them, lifting me from the ground. My breeding takes over. I was created to not resist the will of authority, and he is as great an authority as I have ever encountered.
He lifts me up, up into the air and puts me over his shoulder to hold me, my hips pressed against the fulcrum of his hard body. One of his hands splays across my cheeks, two fingers on each side, one slipping right down the middle of the crevice where it presses firmly along another sensitive part of my body, rubbing my anus.