Page 50 of The Commander

“And when they don’t?”

He reached for her other knee. “If they don’t, it is dealt with.”

That answer came out of his mouth as crisply as if he’d told her what time of day it was. Had he killed children and thought nothing about it?

She wasn’t. Because something was wrong with her. She didn’t hate him therightway. Didn’t feel the right way.

Her father told her that the aliens stepped into the role left by the lack of a governing body. The people craved someone to be in charge. She should have taken his advice and stayed far from the alien towns. Found a place with low radiation, four walls and a roof and never left it.

She tried. She really did. But one night, while out hunting, she crossed a group of wankers around a fire, laughing. Drinking something alcoholic. They sounded happy. And she’d been tempted to join them.

That had scared her so much she decided to find a nice, quiet alien town. The fields and farm animals around Springfield were inviting. Despite the singles dorm, there were locked doors on the individual shower rooms and toilets. And the water was gloriously steamy hot. As long as no one was waiting in line, she could take as long as she wanted. Then she found out that there was cake on Saturdays. It wasn’t chocolate or vanilla, but still—cake.

The ointment spread on all her sore spots and gashes. Bastian sat back to look at her, an odd tilt to his lips. He was quiet so long she finally had to ask, “What’s that look?”

“I would like to sit you on this table, spread your legs, and have my food now.”

“Oh.” How did she answer that? How could she answer the way his words went right to her pussy?

He sniffed the air. The tilt to his lips widened.

She had the impulse to put her hand on his shoulder, draw closer, put her mouth on his neck and kiss him with an open mouth. Would he like that?

Would she like that?Her face went hot. She went hot everywhere. Why did she like how he smelled? Why didn’t he disgust her? Why couldn’t she get it into her head that his kind were the enemy? Just yesterday. Less. Hours ago.

“Finish your food, Kitten,” he said as he stood up. He brought her a jar from a cold storage, sitting it on the table next to her. Someone had handwrittenapple juicein black ink across the front.

Cara looked from the jar to the alien.

He opened it for her.

She took a sip from the jar. The cloudy yellow juice smelled like ripe fall apples and tasted the same. Not as good as cake. But wow. She couldn’t resist several swallows, washingaway the taste of the salty packaged food before she could answer.

“You said you were only in Dalewood a short time before being kicked out. Where were you before that?”

“Springfield.”

“What was your job there?”

“I had two choices, shoveling cow shit or loading unloading cow shit.”

He nodded, as if that sounded about right. Had he decided who would do what job? One of the things about the towns was that you got what you got. The mayor in Springfield said it was random but Cara never believed it.

With him standing she was face to face with smooth crotch. There were ridges over his abdominals, but they looked like extra rib bones, not muscles. There were round pads on his chest that mirrored pectorals without any nipples, but she knew from experience that rock hard was not just descriptive thinking.

He reminded her of a male doll she’d found once. She knew he had a cock, had felt it, seen the shape of it, had it erupt inside of her and made her orgasm, but she didn’t know where or how he’d managed to put it away. It was as if his skin were a suit.

“Lean forward a bit,” he guided her over her empty plate. “I just need to get this.” His fingers traced down her spine, between her shoulder blades, finding wounds she hadn’t realized were there, efficiently spreading the cold stuff over them.

He touched a sore spot mid-back, the pain a sharp zing before he soothed it with the ointment. “There. Perfect.”

Cara frowned. He sounded very satisfied.

“You have finished your food, little one. I’ll go find you something to wear. If you wish you can rest, too. Beddy bye, don’t let the bed bugs bite and all of that. I need to go to Correction and check on something.”

CHAPTER 16 - BASTIAN

Bastian left Kitten in the apartment with a tracker embedded just below her shoulder blades. Clothing and her shoes waited conveniently by the unlocked door. She was going to run, and he would chase her. The opportunity to play with his frisky little wild kitten was too much to ignore.

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