My Wild Pet (Whispers from the Imperial Cage #2)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Briar

I’m led onto another spaceship by my new master. Immediately I feel that this ship is different. The air carries a faintly sterile scent, clean and familiar in a way that contrasts sharply with the acrid, oceanic tang of the previous alien ship. Visually, it’s more human-like too—or how humans imagine our spaceships would be in science fiction movies—a seamless blend of elegance and utility, where every surface gleams with purpose. Gone are the organic, pulsating walls and alien orange hieroglyphs of the octopus-like aliens. Here, everything is clean and dry, precise and calculated. The only real differences from anything humans would make is the lighting. It’s too dark, it feels like I’m in a bar. And it’s cold. Not cold enough to kill me, but cold enough to remind me I’m very naked.

Another grey-skinned man with jet black hair and large eyes approaches us. He and my master begin speaking in their strange, alien language. Both of them look so human—strong builds, symmetrical features, the only difference is their ash-grey skin.

Although, their language is nothing like anything I’ve ever heard before. Not that I’m a linguist, but I took a few years of Italian in college and this is nothing like that. Their words are complex, long and guttural like German, yet strangely melodic and tonal, almost like a song. It’s hypnotic, and for a moment, I try to listen, to pick out patterns or familiar sounds.

But after a few minutes, my brain gives up, overwhelmed by the alien rhythm, and I zone out entirely. My eyes wander over the ship’s interior again—technology way more advanced than I’ve ever seen is everywhere. I don’t even know what most of what I’m seeing does. No wonder they think humans should be pets.

And that realization terrifies me. I think about our own history—how humans treated each other when one group had a large technological edge over the other, and it was even worse if different skin tones were involved. Those situations on Earth never ended well. Now I’m the one outclassed, and I can’t help but wonder, What will become of me here?

I zone back in when the other grey man begins to part my labia. He runs his finger up and down my slit and I can’t help it; I become aroused. Surprising myself, I stand with my feet apart to give him more access. Maybe I’ve been drugged or maybe after what I’ve just been through I’ve subconsciously decided to completely give myself over to these grey human-like men because I would prefer them over the octopus aliens. For the moment, anyway. And what other options do I have? Go out the airlock? I don’t have the courage for that. Not yet.

Curiously, I watch my master’s face expression as the other man inspects me. He’s not looking at me with sexual desire. That’s good.

The man with the big eyes stops touching me and removes his fingers. I turn to him and watch as he sucks on them, sucking up proof of my arousal.

Then, the two grey men continue speaking calmly in their alien language. I don’t understand a word, but I think their tones shift from clipped and professional to something more intense.

My master gently cups my head in his hands. His touch is gentle but firm, and I tense, unsure of his intentions. He begins undoing the muzzle on my face while the other man approaches me with a round metallic device.

I don’t know what’s happening until it’s too late. The moment the device clasps around my neck, a searing wave of pain radiates through my body. It feels like a thousand needles stabbing me from the inside out, pulsing from the collar that now binds me. I scratch frantically at it, my nails hopelessly grazing the smooth metal.

The man with the big eyes says something to me. I don’t need to understand the words to feel the venom in his tone. His voice is cold and cruel. Then the pain comes, worse than what I felt from Big and Tiny’s punches. It shoots through me like fire, leaving me trembling uncontrollably in my master’s arms even after it subsides.

My master speaks then, his voice softer than Kaelin’s, but no less commanding. “Kaelin,” he says, pointing to the other man. Then, gesturing to himself, he says, “Aefre.” His green eyes lock onto mine, and for a brief moment, I think he’s trying to establish something—trust, maybe? Then he asks me my name.

My throat is dry, and it takes several tries to swallow enough to even form the words. My fingers curl around the hated collar as I say hoarsely, “Briar.”

Aefre and Kaelin exchange a few words in their alien language. Then Aefre points at me. “Ash,” he says firmly.

My blood runs cold. Oh, hell no. I point to myself defiantly. “Briar,” I say louder.

Aefre calmly raises his hand, the pink glow of his ring catching my eye. Before I can react, he presses it. Pain crashes through me like a storm, overwhelming every nerve in my body. My limbs jerk uncontrollably, and I can’t even scream. It’s like being electrocuted; every fiber of my being consumed by agony.

When the punishment finally stops, I’m left gasping for air and my body shaking from the punishment I just endured.

Aefre points to me again.

I swallow my pride and force the word out through clenched teeth. “Ash.”

Inside, I make a vow. When I get out of here—and I will get out of here—I’ll be Briar again. My name is the only thing I have left from my parents.

But Aefre isn’t done. He hovers his finger over his glowing ring once more. I barely have time to panic before he touches it again. But this time, instead of pain, a wave of intense warmth floods my body. It’s pleasure so strong and sudden, that it leaves me breathless and confused. My muscles relax involuntarily, and I fight the urge to smile. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Aefre pats me on the head like I’m an obedient dog. My humiliation is complete when he attaches a leash to my collar and hands it to Kaelin.

Is he selling me to Kaelin? No. No, I can’t go with him . Kaelin’s cold demeanor terrifies me. Aefre, for all his control, feels less cruel. I pull against the leash as Kaelin tries to lead me away.

I manage to break free and sprint back toward Aefre. Without hesitation, I throw myself at his booted feet, wrapping my arms around his legs.

“Don’t sell me,” I beg. “Please, don’t sell me to him. I want to stay with you.”

Aefre pries me off of him with the help of Kaelin. Then Kaelin throws me over his shoulder my ass high in the air.

I protest. And for that he smacks my ass a few times as we’re walking away from Aefre. My butt cheeks sting but it still doesn’t’ stop me from yelling, “No!”

Kaelin smacks me again.

“Aefre!” I say, my hands outstretched as if I might catch him again. But I can’t see him anymore as the doors have hissed closed.

Once it’s clear that I have to stay with Kaelin, I stop struggling. Whatever is going to happen to me, I don’t want to make it any worse.

Kaelin carries me into a room and the delicious smell of food hits me first. My stomach growls. Spotting chairs and a table, I resist when he directs me to sit on the cold metal floor instead. I glance at the chairs, but my hunger proves stronger than my dignity. Resigned, I settle onto the floor.

Kaelin produces a bowl filled with what looks like rice and meat, and the sight and smell of something so delicious and familiar overwhelm me.

But he holds it out of reach, speaking in that harsh, alien tongue.

All I want is the food.

I watch him closely, trying to guess what he wants me to do. Should I bark? Meow? The thought sparks a flash of sarcasm, and I say, “Feed me!” Wrong move.

He swats my backside, hard enough to make me gasp. Apparently, English isn’t allowed with Kaelin either, which I find strange because wouldn’t English be my “pet” language? Like a cat meows.

Kaelin repeats a single word over and over, expecting me to parrot him.

I try to shape the alien syllables, but hunger makes it difficult to concentrate. After what feels like a hundred attempts, he nods in satisfaction and hands me the bowl. I grab it with both hands and then begin shoveling the food into my mouth as though it might vanish at any second.

Then—without warning—Kaelin snatches the bowl away.

My protest dies in my throat when he sets it on the floor and forces my wrists behind my back.

The bowl is right there. I hesitate. Am I going to eat like an animal? Hunger crushes my pride, and I lower my face to the dish, each mouthful a searing reminder of my humiliation.

When I finish, my throat feels like sandpaper. I gesture for water, so Kaelin hauls me over to a gigantic hamster-style water dispenser in the corner. My frustration spikes as he holds the metal spout up to my lips, clearly expecting me to lap at it. Again, thirst wins out over dignity. With my arms pinned behind me, I swallow the trickle of water. Each gulp carves a deeper sense of shame.

Just when I think I’ve reached my limit, Kaelin reaches for the muzzle.

I shake my head, whispering a frantic, “No, no, no,” but he’s by far bigger and stronger. The strap clamps around my face, painfully tight. All I manage is a muffled grunt, echoing in my own ears—a sharp reminder of how powerless I truly am.

As Kaelin adjusts the straps, my thoughts drift bitterly to what Rebecca told me. She said I bit off Big’s dick. Clean off. The aliens had to pry it from my mouth. So, it’s no wonder these aliens are worried.

I glance at Kaelin, heart hammering as I wonder what his next move is. Another cell with more humans? Or is this going to be my life—muzzled, bossed around, and forced to eat off the floor like some kind of animal? The image of Rebecca mouthing the word ‘pet’ comes to my mind again. Oh poor, Rebecca. But only time will tell which one of us made the best decision. Door number one or door number two.

Kaelin tugs on my leash and leads me into what can only be described as a high-tech spa. The walls are smooth and metallic, lit by soft, shifting lights that fade from cool blues to warm whites. The air is warm and a little humid, carrying a scent that’s half floral and half medical—like some alien version of lavender. Two young, grey-skinned male attendants drift by, their silver uniforms blending in so perfectly they almost look like part of the walls.

I swallow hard, suddenly aware of all the slime and muck still clinging to me. You’d think I’d be relieved at the thought of finally getting clean, but I’m too on edge to enjoy the luxury.

Then I spot her, another human woman, older but looking surprisingly fit. She’s being washed by the attendants under a large shower. Our eyes lock, sharing a silent understanding of what we’ve both been through. I nod in greeting, the muzzle keeping me from speaking.

The other human woman just continues to stare at me and then purposely turns away while the two attendants touch her all over her body as they wash her. It’s the most bizarre thing.

In some ways, it’s quite pornographic as there’s no question of the men purposely caressing her most sensitive areas with their fingers under the water, but at the same time, Why?

Then, as if it’s part of the cleaning process, the young attendants bring her to a clitoral orgasm in front of Kaelin and me. One rubs her clit in small rhythmic circles while the other pulls on her nipples and kneads her breasts. I look up at Kaelin, he seems unmoved. My gaze shifts back to the attendants. They too have the demeanor of people just doing their jobs. What kind of place is this?

I watch as the older woman thrashes with erotic enjoyment under the water. The only sounds are her moaning and the water running. Her orgasm goes on for at least a minute while the attendants work her body. When she’s got no more left to give, they rinse her and dry her. While she just stands there, like a good pet.

After the woman is dried, she’s dressed in a small leotard number that exposes her underarms, breasts, and her vulva to her anus. They also do her hair in a strange way with a silver bow. Then they attach her leash to her collar and hand it over to Kaelin. She immediately sits at his feet and doesn’t even look at me.

Not even a friendly dog-to-dog sniff or a bark of recognition. Disappointing, I think . I am going to be so lonely if this is my only human companion.

I try to get the woman’s attention, but Kaelin yanks on my collar and says something unintelligible. Clearly, he doesn’t want me interacting with the older woman. Then he hands me over to the attendants and the last I see of Kaelin is him leading the old woman out of the room.

The attendants take me in their arms, as if I’m a scared puppy, and remove my leash and muzzle. It’s clear from their manner and actions they don’t look at me like I’m a person despite our common appearances. The only difference is I don’t have grey skin.

One of the attendants gently takes my arm, his touch firm but not rough, while the other adjusts the stream of water pouring down from a hovering, oval-shaped showerhead. The water is warm, almost too warm, and smells faintly of the same lavender-metallic blend in the air.

Their movements are quick and efficient. One pours a thick, glowing soap into his hands and begins lathering it over my skin, the soap warming instantly as it touches me. The other focuses on my hair, untangling the strands and working another type of liquid through it that tingles. I try to hold onto some shred of dignity, trying to cross my arms over my chest, but the male attendants gently guide my arms away.

There’s no malice in their actions, but there’s no kindness either—just routine. I glance at their faces, trying to gauge if they feel anything about what they’re doing, but they’re unreadable, their focus unwavering.

When they finish washing me, they blast me with a stream of warm air, like standing in a desert breeze. I’m relieved that they didn’t make me orgasm like the other woman. I don’t think I could have taken that kind of humiliation today.

When I’m dry, the attendants dress me in alien garments clearly designed to highlight every inch of a female human body. And despite being clothed, I’ve never felt more exposed. My breasts, my most private areas, even my underarms—everything is on display.

Next, the attendants guide me onto a chair that molds itself around my body, holding me in place. I feel completely helpless but I think, Maybe they’re going to wax me . So I don’t freak out when they grab smooth, silver instruments as they talk casually in their own language. But when I catch a glimpse of amusement on their faces, I begin to worry.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

They ignore me and continue talking like I’m not even here.

Then one of them starts running the silver tool between my legs. It’s warm, absurdly smooth, and I flinch on instinct. The attendant pauses, glances at me, and then goes right back to work. Meanwhile, the other attendant uses a similar device on my underarms. I assume they’re removing the hair in those places

After a few minutes, I notice a reflective surface across the room—and scream. In the reflection, I watch as my pubic hair grows thicker and longer, as if fed by some invisible energy, taking on an unnaturally groomed shape. Then its color shifts from subtle pink to a vibrant, almost neon gradient. It’s so deliberate, so artificial, like an alien version of a salon dye job. The hair under my arms is made to grow long and unnatural too. So when I put my arms down you will still be able to see tufts of pink hair.

As if that weren’t enough, when the attendants finish, they add a big pink bow on my head and a smaller one in my newly “styled” region between my legs. I’ve so much hair there now you can’t even see a hint of a mound or labia. And with the stupid bows, I look like a poodle fresh from a dog salon.

I’m also given little pink booties that are little more than textured socks. Clearly, I’m an indoor pet. I guess that’s a silver lining.

The attendants step back when they’re done, giving me one last inspection.

I glance at my reflection in a mirror-like surface along one wall. The person staring back at me is now a polished, pink, human pet. And the only reason this isn’t my worst nightmare is only because I never thought of it before.

Once groomed, I’m put in a cage with a little blanket. I watch from between the bars wondering what’s going to happen next.

But nothing happens. The attendants talk to each other in their strange alien language and I’m completely forgotten.

However, it’s not long before the melodic sound of the alien language puts me to sleep and I curl up with the little blanket in my cage.

I’m woken up by the door to the shower room opening with a hiss followed by someone yelling, shattering the sterile silence. Two young male attendants wrestle a human man inside—a near-giant of toned muscle, clad only in metallic briefs that leave little to the imagination. He’s soaked in sweat, fighting like a cornered beast, and all I can do is stare in disbelief. Who is he ?

They try to force him under the shower, but he’s too strong, thrashing and twisting with raw power. Then his eyes, a stunning molten amber, lock onto mine. The look in them goes beyond fury—there’s pain there, maybe grief. Whatever it is, it gives me goosebumps.

He shouts something in rapid-fire French. Unfortunately, my French ends at ‘bonjour’ and ‘oui,’ neither of which he seems to be saying. Sensing my chance to finally speak—my muzzle’s off—I call out, “Bonjour, Frenchman! I have no idea what you’re saying!”

He freezes for a heartbeat. His jaw tightens, and I half-expect some powerful declaration. Instead, he just spits, “American,” in a thick French accent before hurling himself back into the struggle with the attendants. He almost overpowers them, but one whips out a taser-like device and jams it into his side. His whole body seizes, all resistance draining away in an instant. Those intense eyes lower, and he’s dragged under the water. They strip away what little he’s wearing as they start to bathe him.

I want to look away, but I can’t. Soap bubbles spread over his golden skin, flowing down a body that looks like it was sculpted from living marble. He’s breathtaking—like some ancient statue of a European barbarian brought to life—his wavy hair dripping water down broad shoulders, a full, rich brown beard and chest hair as if an artist had painted the perfect man. Yet all that beauty is caged by total humiliation.

The attendants work with cool detachment, scrubbing him as though he’s just another chore. It makes me wonder at the variety of humans kept here: the older woman I saw earlier, and now this gorgeous, wild-eyed man. He’s nothing like the beaten-down souls I was once caged with—he’s pure rebellion, refusing to yield.

I’m torn between fear and a strange rush of hope.