What Worse Place Can I Beg In Your Love?
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by Syd McGinley
Description: A good bottom can obey any master. Called annoyingly obedient, and dumped for a less submissive bottom, my attempts to recover from Dave have led me to a place where those same traits could mean my survival. An alien holding cell turned out to be a pound, and my new owner is a seven-foot tower of jet-black muscle with raptor legs and shark teeth. I'm getting the training and discipline I longed for from my Earth lovers at the claws of my alien owner. If only I can make him want me? Warning: this title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, violence, alien-man sex, D/s, and human pets.
eBook Publisher: Lyrical Press, Inc., 2008 2008
eBookwise Release Date: January 2009
92 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [53 KB]
Reading time: 30-42 min.
My new owner gives a patient "come along" tug--he can see I'm panicked--and a low hiss. I give my guard a scared look, but he bares his teeth, so I decide my new owner is the safest choice--as if it were mine to make. I earn an approving ass pat as I scoot to my master's heels. My stomach churns as I realize I've already invested myself in him. I know I can handle it; a good bottom can obey any master.
I stay on my knees as he walks down a long sterile hall with the guard accompanying him. From my all-fours they seem bigger than ever. I dare to raise my head as we approach the lobby. He towers over me. My head's not even as high as his knees. They pause at a counter, and I suppose my new master collects my papers and pays for me.
I stare out of the door. I'd seen little of the outside. We'd landed at night in a wooded clearing, and they were waiting for us. As we shared our cell, Joe deigned to speculate that their technology must be better than we thought--and undetectable. This isn't the primitive world we expected. The sky is ocean-green--just blue enough to still seem sky, but alien enough to make me hesitate on the threshold and tremble.
A vehicle pulls up from a parking area and a chauffeur gets out and opens the door for my owner. The mercenary part of me thrills to know he's rich. I wonder if I'm a status symbol. I realize lots of potential owners have viewed me. My pride says they couldn't afford me--they can't know Joe believes I'm a runt or David said I was annoyingly obedient.
My owner climbs in and hisses when I don't move. The step is too high to handle from my hands and knees and I'm scared to stand. He tugs and I scramble in. I'm so stupid: I try to sit like a man on the cool leather-covered seats, and I'm quickly on the floor with a slapped face. My head swims as he leans forward and reveals his teeth. I've seen the guards snarl, but this is my first close up view of one of their faces. I faint. * * * *
When I wake up, I'm alone in a cage. It's a nice cage: six-by-six feet but only three feet high. I can lie down and stretch fully, but I can't stand up. The floor is a smooth vinyl, and the mesh is big enough to stick my arm out to the shoulder. I have a bowl of cold water. I have a blue canvas-covered cushion. I'm curled up on it when I wake up. My collar is still on, but I can see my leash hanging on the outside of the cage door.
The room is dim--the daylight had been dazzling when I was transferred to the car so I guess it must be evening now. I can see most of the room. It's large but very plain, although everything in it is high quality. From my cage, I can see a big bed--ten-by-ten feet--but it isn't fancy. It's low to the ground like a futon--even I could effortlessly sit on the edge--and it has a simple linen covering with a few pillows. There's no top cover. The ceilings are fifteen-feet, high--even for a race that reaches eight feet, as one terrifying guard did. I think about the heat of the days, and realize the ceilings make sense. They don't seem to use air-conditioning, even though I've seen cars and electronic devices already. I can see some dark, wooden furniture against a wall. There are no personal possessions in view, but I'm sure this is his room.
No one comes to the room, and it gets dark. I can just sit up, cross-legged, on my cushion, without bumping my head, and I wrap my arms around my knees. I rock a little, and the moment of self-comfort unleashes my tears. I'm terrified both by my situation and the memory of his face, and I'm soon bawling as if I were six. I'm crying too messily to hear him come in and the first I know of his presence is a hand on my collar and the leash drawing me out. He has to pull--not because I fight, but because I can't uncross my legs fast enough or gather my sobbing wits.
He doesn't hit me again, but drags me to the bed. He sits on the edge, and I sensibly stay at his feet. He's making a lot of his hissing noises. I can't distinguish between them, but they sound soothing. He rubs my head with his palm, and then uses his thumb to smear away my tears. I put my head on his knee and tremble more at the feel of his thigh. It's like rock.
I force myself to think. He seems kind in his way and I imagine what a good owner would do on a pet's first night. Surely he'll just let me adapt to my new space? I dare not let my mind run further. I'm an animal to him, but I suddenly find him unbearably desirable. I feel more hot tears flow as I see myself as a hump-happy little terrier pestering his legs.