Page 4 of My Big Alien Bodyguard

And It. Doesn’t. Matter. At. All.

My big alien bodyguard grabs me under the arms and physically hauls me up and over the crowd, holding me over his shoulders like a farmhand with a bag of grain. I am cursing and squirming, telling him to put me down and go away, but he hauls me back into the hotel as though I am about as sentient as that aforementioned sack.

Zayne

They’ve already ripped her clothing to shreds, and they were going to start tearing her into pieces too if they could. I feel hands clawing at my scales, curses and hisses and sounds of insane desire. I can hear my client’s outraged shrieks as well, as she takes complete and total offense at being rescued from near certain death.

It’s not uncommon for starlets to have a lack of understanding regarding the seriousness of their situation. They think everybody loves them, because they love themselves and they think fame is about being adored. It’s not. Fame is just as muchabout being hated as it is about being loved. It is about being envied as much as it is being celebrated.

The hotel’s security closes the doors and arms the weaponry to suppress the crowd if necessary. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder, I just carry Lyric into the elevator and keep her over my shoulder as she curses, wails, and makes demands I have no interest in entertaining.

“Put me down!” She makes the demand stridently as I get into the elevator. I ignore it stoically.

“Don’t make me hit you,” she tries again.

I laugh at that threat. She has no idea what she has coming. It is ironic that she has the absolute nerve to threaten me physically. I need to establish some boundaries with this brat human, and I need to do it now.

I follow my laugh up with a good spank across her ass. My palm easily covers both of her cheeks, and the sound she makes as it lands is very satisfying indeed.

“How dare you! I’m going to get you fired! I’m going to get you fucking fired!”

Her threats only earn her more pain. I land a great many more satisfying swats to her ass, feeling the pleasing way her taut cheeks jiggle beneath my palm, and the just-as-satisfying gasps of outrage and pain — which is not truly pain. Real pain sounds different. Her wails and whines are performative.

This is just a warm up. She doesn’t deserve this courtesy, but by the way she acts, I’d put money on her never having been properly spanked in her life. Humans are rarely disciplined suitably. My observations suggest that they are either punishedtoo harshly, or not at all. This woman is mature enough to imagine that she is beyond a good dose of discipline. She is wrong.

The journey from the lobby to the penthouse suite she occupies takes approximately sixty-nine seconds. I endeavor to get at least sixty-nine good swats in along the way, giving her a taste of what she has to enjoy if she defies me again.

My anger at her disobedience is melting in the face of the joy of punishing her. I have to admit that I have more than a grudging admiration for the sheer nerve it takes to free climb down the side of a building for some attention from fans. I wonder if the attention she is getting now will sate some of that need.

By the time the doors open to the penthouse, she is starting to actually whimper. She might even be getting close to something like regret, maybe even an apology. But she’s not all the way there yet, and I take something like twisted mercy on her by dropping her down onto her feet as we step back into the penthouse.

“You fucking ASSHOLE!” she screams, grabbing her rear. It’s much harder for her to appear vengeful while rubbing her buttocks with both hands.

“Hey, you two, how’s it going? Getting to know one another?”

Simon Scowl greets us with a sleepy, open-jawed yawn, having apparently returned to the room in the middle of this chaos and fallen asleep. I know him well enough to understand that beneath the laid back feline exterior, this guy is a stone cold predator with nothing that passes for even close to empathy swimming behind his golden eyes.

Lyric hasn’t learned that yet. She still thinks he’s the charming agent who lifted her out of obscurity and intends to make all her dreams come true. She thinks he is her friend. Most incorrectly, she thinks that he is on her side.

“No! We are not! He just abducted me from downstairs! I was meeting the fans. And he hit me!” She adds the last little detail as if it is going to particularly scandalize him.

Simon was lying down on one of the many chaise longes. Now he gets up, slowly, casually, dangerously.

“Were you getting paid to meet the fans? More specifically, was I paid for you to meet the fans?”

She looks at him, stunned, as if it never occurred to her that Simon Scowl is in this entirely for the money. There is literally no part of her life he will not monetize if possible.

“They’ve been waiting out there for hours. They’re my human supporters. The ones I owe everything to.”

“Wrong,” Simon says. “You owe everything to me.”

Her head jerks back in shock, her glossy dark hair moving around her face in a curtain of annoyance. I don’t think she has any idea how to respond to that.

Lyric

“Also,” Simon adds casually. “Spanking is part of the contract. You will be punished for contractual violations and behavioral misadventures.”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?”

---