Page 47 of The Commander

Never.

“What have you done to me?” she asked as he carried her out of the shower.

“Pleasured you,” he answered simply.

It was more than that. Much more than that. There’d been no drug. No injection. Maybe his scent? Was there venom in his saliva? His cum was pink. Was that some kind of pussy poison?

He grabbed a towel for her, a huge fluffy sheet of fabric. Cara sniffed it, surprised that it smelled to her like the old magazine’s advertisements for clean wash. Just like she imagined it should.

She’d never thought to smell laundry soap that didn’t have a natural base of lard.

But this was either old salvage, or new, clean, alien factory made. He was an alien overlord.

A commander. Of course, he would have all the good stuff.

After the Cyclops storms started to clear up and became more random, the rest of mankind who’d managed to survive all the mess came limping out of their hiding holes to find pockets of their previous world preserved. Dad was a kid then. All those pockets, as far as Dad had understood it, were cut off from other pockets. Until the aliens came.

The invaders had an endless supply of their own workers. Cara never understood why they needed or wanted humans. She and Dad had watched from afar while towns were cleared, cleaned, and rebuilt as needed with electricity and running water in weeks by a huge, busy array of strange looking beings.

The aliens rebuilt the industrial age, so that humanity had a cozy place to live. They kept control over things like communication, energy, data storage, and transportation. All of that stuff had been knocked out with the Cyclops, anyway.

Holding the cleaned, remade towns out as a treat, the aliens invited the people to live in them. And oh, hey, what would they do all day? How would they earn that comfort, food, simple health care, a cure for the cancer that had killed Dad? The aliens had jobs for them. And taxes. So familiar. Easy. It was just like life used to be, the old timers said.

Was she gonna do the easy life now? Only instead of working, she’d let an alien fuck her. Was he planning to add her to a harem somewhere, a brothel? Turn her into a broodmare? What was the plan?

Bastian took the towel from her. “You’re tired, yes? Sore? And a hungry Kitten. Your blood sugar is low, I think.” He told her as he rubbed the bath sheet over her back and head.

“Damn wankers ruined my catch,” she muttered.

She had been so hungry. Now, she was past that point. Her stomach felt dry and shriveled, and every joint in her body ached. Eating was the last thing she could think of doing. She didn’t want anything from an invader.

The alien picked her up and took her into the kitchen, pulled a silver package from the cupboard, sliced it open, and poured the contents into a bowl. Meal provisions.

Turkey, mashed potatoes and green peas mixed with gravy. The smell of it was an assault to her senses. Avoiding that factory made crap was one of the blessings of Dad’s teachings.

She much preferred the clean, perfumed scent of the towel. Cara had expected something different in an alien’s cupboard. He wasn’t a being that looked like he ate the daily distribution of corn based mashed potatoes and gravy.

“You don’t like this? I have beef too. The chicken is all gone.” He must have seen her wrinkle her nose.

“It’s fine. I’m not hungry anyway,” If he put that stuff in front of her cold, she’d toss her guts up all over the table.

Packaged meals were standard during and after the corporate wars. There was a fortified grain hot/cold cereal for breakfast and nutrition bars for snacks. One day, some black suit decided people were too fat and standardized all the food. The only way to get variety was to grow it in your own garden and hunt it in the free lands.

The aliens rebuilt those factories when they arrived so that humans could feed themselves efficiently. When they observed this planet from space, were they up there thinking,“Humm, those people must like their food this way.”Cara could have offered better things to rebuild. She’d never tasted real chocolate, but she’d heard of it.

“I wasn’t asking, Kitten. You need nourishment,” Bastian said.

“Can’t I just go back to sleep?”

“After you eat.”

“Can I have clothes first?”

He sighed as if she were stressing him out more than he could take. Why was he feeling put out? Had someone captured him, chased him naked through a school and then drugged him with something that turned him into a sex maniac?

Cara couldn’t let herself focus on him, smell him, absorb more of his presence, so she kept her eyes on the floor, griping to herself, acting like a helpless little puppy.

If she looked at him with all his strangeness, this weird wrong alien would be right in her face. Inescapable. She might be able to deal if he was just a bald, muscled giant. She’d seen a guy like that before, next to the laundry soap ads.

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