Page 2 of Her Alien Guardian

I had heard the soft clink of a belt buckle, the rustle of fabric, and then I had felt the heat of Jorg’s body as he stepped closer. His rough hand had trailed down my spine, sending shivers through my body despite the lingering pain. When he had reached the curve of my bottom, he paused, squeezing firmly.

“You need to learn your place,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Perhaps this will drive the lesson home.”

There was a brief moment of coolness as he moved away, followed by the distinctive snap of a cap being opened. My breath had caught in my throat as I realized what was coming. Part of me wanted to protest, to beg for mercy, but I had known it would only make things worse. So I had remained silent, trembling slightly as I heard the wet sound of Jorg coating his fingers with lubricant.

When his slick digit had pressed against my most intimate place, I couldn’t help but gasp. He had circled slowly, almost teasingly, before pushing inside. The stretch had burned, mybody instinctively trying to resist the intrusion. Jorg’s other hand had gripped my hip, holding me steady as he worked his finger deeper.

“This is what you get, girl. Take it,” he had commanded, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He had known how difficult it was, how powerless I felt in that moment.

Gradually, my body had begun to yield to his insistent probing. One finger had become two, stretching and preparing me for what was to come. I had bitten my lip, trying to stifle the small sounds of discomfort and unwanted pleasure that threatened to escape.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, Jorg had withdrawn his fingers. A pause had ensued, filled only by the sound of our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the ship’s engines. Then I had felt the blunt pressure of something much larger pressing against my entrance.

“Remember this,” Jorg had growled. “Remember your place.”

The pressure had felt intense, painful despite the preparation. I had gripped the edges of the bench, my knuckles turning white as I fought to remain still. Jorg hadn’t rushed. He had obviously wanted me to think about that shameful pressure.

Then the battle stations alert had started to sound.

The comfort room, where the ship’s three deck officers used me, lay just off the ward room—the officers’ lounge and mess. On the other side of the ward room lay the bridge. The comfort room had no viewport, of course; the ship’s concubine must never risk distraction when pleasuring her starfleet masters, and when they were engaged in using her they had no need to cast their hungry eyes on anything other than her bound, naked body,provided to them for their solace in the depths of outer space. So I had no idea what was going on outside the ship except from what I could hear in the increasingly agitated noises coming from the bridge.

No door separated the comfort room from the ward room. TheConqueror of Bresla’s officers frequently left me bound to the pleasure bench as they ate, commenting from time to time on the attractions of my punished backside, my visible, hairless cunny, or my exposed bottom hole. The door from the ward room to the bridge, though, was usually closed—automatically so, like all the doors on the ship. It had not closed, however, after Lieutenant Jorg had left. That meant I could hear the officers shouting at each other and screaming requests for other ships’ assistance into their comm panels.

It also meant that things had gotten bad: theConqueror of Breslaonly disabled the automatic doors when the ship’s computer sensed that evacuation to the rescue pods might be necessary. It had never happened before, in the year I’d been assigned to theConqueror.

I strained my ears, trying to make sense of the frantic voices echoing from the bridge. The officers’ words came in bursts, punctuated by static and the blaring of alarms.

“…massive jump signature! They’re everywhere!”

“How did they get so close? Our long-range sensors should have…”

“It doesn’t matter now! We need backup!”

My heart raced as I pieced together the fragments of information. A Magisterian fleet had somehow appeared inthe system, much closer to Vion Prime than ever before. The impossible had happened—they had breached our defenses.

“This is theConqueror of Breslato any Imperial ships in range,” Captain Voss’s voice rang out, tight with barely contained panic. “We are facing a full Magisterian assault. Requesting immediate assistance!”

There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the persistent wail of the alarms. Then a cacophony of responses flooded in, each more desperate than the last.

“…shields failing! We can’t hold them off!”

“…engines are down! We’re sitting ducks out here!”

“…evac pods launching! May the Emperor have mercy on our souls!”

I felt a chill run down my spine as the grim reality of our situation sank in. The defenders of Vion Prime, once a formidable force, had been whittled down to a shadow of their former strength. Now it seemed the Magisterians had come to deliver the final blow.

“How many ships?” Lieutenant Jorg’s voice cut through the chaos, still commanding even in the face of disaster.

“At least thirty capital ships, sir,” came the shaky reply. “And… and that’s not counting the support vessels and fighters.”

A string of curses filled the air, one of them in a language I barely recognized—Lieutenant Bavo’s native Gorian, which he was actually forbidden to speak aboard a starfleet ship, by imperial decree. The fear in the officers’ voices was palpable, a stark contrast to their usual arrogant demeanor.

“It’s the end,” someone said, the words carrying clearly to where I lay securely bound to the bench. “They’ve come to finish us off.”

“This is it,” Captain Voss agreed, his voice heavy with resignation. “The final battle for Vion Prime.”

CHAPTER 2

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