Chapter 1 #3
Frey started at the brisk command. No ‘please’ this time.
Before his mind even registered the order, his fingers had already started to comply.
He had precious little of his uniform left, only his pants and T-shirt.
Everything else had been ripped off him and tossed away.
It might not be much, but the worn material helped with the never-ending cold of Travian domains.
It gave him a modicum of privacy, as well.
He removed it quickly, then carefully folded it.
The cleaning treatment he’d given it before leaving for space still lingered enough to keep it from smelling.
That would change soon, not that Arpell had cared about something like a bad odor.
The guy had reeked, at least to Frey’s sensibilities.
The new master didn’t, however, so maybe he’d be inclined to let Frey bathe himself more, then also wash his clothing when the time came.
After placing his meager pile on the same table as the leashes and collars, Frey turned to his master and waited for the next command.
The Travian already stood naked himself—and aroused.
Frey kept his gaze firmly on the ground, not wanting to see the thing that would soon invade his body and make him hurt.
There was no avoiding it entirely, of course.
He caught enough of a glimpse to know that this new master was hung even bigger than the last. Not so surprising.
Everything else on the guy was bigger, so why not his cock, too?
Another shudder ran down his spine, and he ruthlessly beat it back.
He couldn’t let fear rule him now. He needed to stay sharp and obey, so he could eat.
God, he was so hungry his stomach had given up growling about it.
“Get on,” his new master said, pointing to the bed.
Again, Frey moved to comply quickly. His master sounded annoyed with him already.
How had he screwed up? Probably it didn’t matter what he did.
This master would find fault with him, regardless.
Nevertheless, he went straight to the bed and lay face down.
He pillowed his head on his folded arms, raised his ass, bent his knees and widened his legs.
He always thought he must look like a frog in this position, but Arpell had liked it.
He hoped this master would, too. It might be demeaning, yet it was far better than being forced to ride his rapist. He closed his eyes and kept his breathing steady.
The bed depressed with the heavy weight of the Travian joining him.
Frey tensed at the approach before making himself relax.
He could do this. He’d learned how to make his body go slack in order to accept the invasion with as little pain as possible.
If he was very good, his master might not do anything more than fuck him once.
No beating, no being made to dine on alien cock instead of real food.
That was his goal for the evening. Pathetic, but that was his life now and crying about it wouldn’t get him anywhere except in a worse situation.
A warm hand landed on his back, the touch startling in its lack of force.
It was almost a gentle caress as the palm slid down Frey’s bony spine.
Always thin, he’d become gaunt from lack of regular meals.
He wondered idly whether his master even found him appealing.
An inward snort brought him back to reality.
He was no longer the pretty boy that men, women and girls gave sideways looks. He was just two holes to be used.
That hand moved onto his ass while his master positioned himself between Frey’s opened legs.
The heat of Travian skin chased away the chill of the room.
That was something, at least—a small comfort to help offset the misery to come.
And there it was, the blunt, wet thing sliding up Frey’s cleft, then rubbing against his tiny hole—pressing, breaching, stretching.
Oh, God, the burn of it. How could something so big fit inside his small channel?
Each time a Travian fucked him, he marveled anew that the act didn’t simply tear him apart.
Sometimes he did bleed—never enough to kill him, only enough to make walking and sitting cause a special hurt.
He bit back the cry. Crying wasn’t allowed, not unless the master wanted him to, then he’d find a way to wrench the sound from Frey’s throat.
He made his lungs breathe in and out to the rhythm of the thrusting.
He made his muscles melt into the bed, become totally pliant to the invasion.
In his mind, he played out the best memories he had—the ones where he and his mom had first arrived on the fertile plains of New World Colony Five and finally had clean air to breathe and endless space to grow food, run and be free.
His mother had been so beautiful. Everyone had said so.
And she’d been happy and hopeful, even when she had gotten sick.
The doctors had shaken their heads and said that the only real hope for her had stayed back on Earth, a place they couldn’t return to.
Memories of her, the sound of her voice urging him to make something of his life, to take the gift of a new start and be whatever he wanted…
That’s what really kept him going in the face of this horror.
With a muted grunt, his master came. The hated sticky wetness spurted deep up inside Frey, marking him as the property of this new Travian.
Frey understood how it worked. Arpell had taunted him with it.
Everyone would smell his new master on him and know him for the thing—the nothing—he’d become.
The thick rod slid down Frey’s channel as his master pulled out.
Frey could feel every tug and pull of his delicate flesh as it emptied.
He turned his face into his arms and grimaced with revulsion. At least it was out for now.
The master heaved a breath and tossed himself onto his back next to Frey.
Silence reigned. The Travian didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t give Frey leave to go scrounge up food and water for himself.
Oh, God. He wasn’t going to be allowed to eat or drink still.
After the seemingly interminable amount of time that Travians marked as a day, Frey was still going to be denied.
It wasn’t fair! He’d been a good boy, no struggling and no whining.
He was supposed to be rewarded for that, wasn’t he?
Then he remembered that fairness wasn’t part of the devil’s bargain he’d struck by default in order to live.
His head already swam and his stomach clenched for the first time in a long time with the knowledge that, after being so patient, it was still going to be denied.
He quickly shoved his fist in his mouth to silence the groan.
Not fast enough.
“What is it?”
Frey forced his eyes open. He didn’t dare look at his master’s face, of course. He stared instead at the creature’s massive chest. “Sorry, master.” His apology came out in a strangled whisper. Another cramp chose to strike him at that moment, too, and he flinched with the pain.
His master raised himself up on one arm. “What is the matter with you?”
For a few frantic seconds, Frey weighed his options. Complaining always earned him a beating, but so did lying. He went with the truth. “I’m sorry, master. I’m”—he swallowed back the bile threatening to erupt—“I’m hungry.”
With alarming abruptness, the Travian sat up.
Frey cringed when he saw him raise a hand and move it forward.
Frey remained in his froggy position because he hadn’t been given permission to move.
He knew he was vulnerable to all manner of torture.
He whimpered and closed his eyes as the hand got closer.
He flinched and shook, as well, when that hand touched his exposed side.
Fingers, feather-light, fluttered down Frey’s ribcage.
No blow came, nor an admonishment. Instead, his master left the bed and returned moments later. Frey didn’t dare open his eyes, but he could smell something, something delicious, actually. His stomach cramped a third time in response, making him curl up.
That hand returned, resting on his shoulder. “Easy now. Sit up.”
His master pulled Frey up to a sitting position, manipulating Frey’s smaller body like a doll.
Frey didn’t mind, so long as there was no pain.
Pride had flown out of the airlock the first time he’d been beaten and raped.
He opened his eyes gingerly and saw that the master had brought a container of water and a plate of something that looked like bread and maybe a soy type of protein.
He had no idea. Anything, no matter how horrible-looking, smelling or tasting, that Arpell had allowed him to consume had been good enough.
As desperate as he was to grab everything and shove it into his mouth, he knew better.
He sat cross-legged with his head down, waiting for orders.
His master picked up the water and held it up to Frey’s lips. “Drink.”
Frey didn’t hesitate, he opened his mouth and lifted his hands to hold the container himself, but his master pushed his hands down.
Understanding the silent command, if not the reasoning behind it, Frey clenched his fingers together and drank greedily.
The water was blessedly cool, a rare treat.
It slid down his dry throat and into his empty belly.
A cramp tore through his middle again, and he choked a bit in response.
The container instantly disappeared from his mouth, making Frey whine.
He bit his tongue to stop the noise and bitterly cursed his own stupidity.
It hadn’t been enough to quench his thirst, which was worse now that he’d had a taste.
“Easy,” his master admonished. “I’ll give you more soon. You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too much so fast.”
Frey looked up at him, blinking, before remembering to lower his gaze again.
The alien was right, of course. Why he would care eluded Frey’s food-starved brain.
It didn’t matter. Next, the alien held out a piece of the bread in his large, blunt fingers, wrapped around a bit of the other stuff.
They hovered near Frey’s lips in an unspoken order.
Frey obeyed, opening up sufficiently wide for the morsel to be slipped into his mouth.
His eyelids dropped involuntarily and a moan escaped.
He couldn’t help himself. It tasted that good.
His master regarded him intently, that weird Travian smile on his face—the one that looked more like a grimace of pain than happiness.
Arpell had looked at him like that often, although with that creature the expression held menace.
This one looked more like curiosity. Another bite followed the first one, then more water.
His master alternated the drinking and the feeding with slow, measured movements.
He kept his gaze on Frey the whole while, probably to make sure Frey didn’t boot all of it back up.
No need to worry. Frey had suppressed his gag reflex already.
Not only had it been necessary in order to swallow alien dick, but the one time he’d thrown up with Arpell, the asshole had forced him to eat it again.
Finally, his stomach felt comfortably full.
His master seemed to know that even without Frey saying so.
The alien disposed of the remnants of the meal then returned to the bed.
Frey instinctively started to move back into position, assuming his master would fuck him again.
With his needs met, Frey was only too happy to oblige.
“No. On your side.”
Frey instantly complied, rolling over to give his back to his master.
He always felt especially vulnerable this way, even though it was no worse than being on his stomach or on his knees.
The alien wrapped his arm around Frey’s waist while slowly feeding his newly erect cock inside Frey’s pliant ass.
Jesus, these creatures were quick to arousal, going from zero to sixty in a millisecond.
Frey didn’t care. With his stomach full and his body hydrated, he felt sleepy.
The warmth of the body pressed against him helped, as well.
As his master rocked into him, Frey closed his eyes and dropped off.