-Enslaved-by-an-Officer[ Sold 8] (2 page)

detaf
was a dangerous thing.
Turning away from the communication unit, Honor closed his eyes. He imagined the scene differently. The massive blond human wasn’t on stage but standing in front of Honor. His big green eyes were attentive as he watched Honor stroke his hand over his shaft while his
strosan
continued to tease the tip. The blond took his cock in hand and mimicked the strokes that Honor made. For a moment, he thought of mentally reaching out and stroking the blond, but ultimately refrained. There was something almost unbearably arousing about watching each other and not being able to touch.
Honor stood up but kept his eyes closed. He pictured the scene so vividly it was almost as if he could smell the light sweat that glistened on the human’s chest. Faster they stroked their cocks. Harder they breathed as they got closer to the summit.
“Come for me, Honor. Stain me,”
his gorgeous blond human would say as he dropped to his knees.
“I’m right here, willing.”
To Honor’s astonishment, he climaxed. The release was so intense he staggered back into his chair. After the longest time, his shocking orgasm was finally over. But his relief was short lived. Now that he could provide release for himself, he knew he wouldn’t be able to turn to another warrior any more. He had to have a human, or he would have to be alone.
“Then a human I shall have.”

Carver Tam had never been afraid of hard work. He was a driven man who took his goals seriously. Because of his diligence and dedication, he’d made his way to the big leagues, both literally and figuratively. After four years of playing college ball, he’d been offered a contract to play for the Denver Broncos as an offensive tackle. That was the literal part of making it. The figurative part came when he finally realized exactly who he was and how he wanted to live his life. Most of his existence he’d struggled against embracing his lusts, but when the offer to play pro ball had come, so had a night with another man.

His first.
Carver had been in a state that was as terrifying as it was exciting. Success had emboldened him to turn to his roommate Mac, pull him close, and kiss him. There had been a split second where Mac had resisted, and Carver was convinced his fellow college teammate was going to pull back and beat him to death with his own arm, but Mac had practically melted into him. Well, as much as another massive man made of muscle could melt.
They’d kissed and groped while violently tugging at each other’s clothes. When Carver ripped Mac’s T-shirt, he’d laughed and ripped Carver’s. And then they were sucking and fucking and oh, God it had been so damn good that just thinking about that moment made Carver hard.
“If you don’t pick your quota, you won’t get your food or a bed for the night.”
Carver was yanked out of his reverie and slammed back into reality so fast his erection instantly deflated. Nodding to the creature next to him, he returned to digging in the white sand. A brutal sun beat down on his back and would have stripped the hide right off him but for the white veil and cape he wore. Without the thin fabric, he would die in the dry heat of an endless desert.
Since he was a slave, Carver wasn’t told the name of the planet he was on, only that his job was to dig down into the sand about a foot and retrieve the tender bulbs of some kind of plant. He wasn’t told what those were, either, but since he had ears and the other slaves talked, he’d discovered he was digging out
jild
, a truffle-like desert plant that was highly prized for cooking and medicine. Each of the bulbs was worth a fortune. Since they had to be harvested by hand, and after working all day he would generally find only two, it was no wonder to him why they were so pricy.
He’d asked the fellow next to him, a Xearzan with six arms and skin the color of bubblegum, why they didn’t simply use some type of machine to dig for the
jild
.
“Because none has invented a machine that won’t destroy the bulb. Once the outer skin is torn away, the essence quickly follows.”
After sniffing the bulbs, he realized they had a curious sage-like scent that was probably water based. In the hot, dry desert air, the water would quickly evaporate. The outer layer of the bulb was thick and felt somewhat oily. He couldn’t help his curiosity as he simply wanted to understand what he was devoting his life to. In addition to finding out what he was digging for, he’d also gotten his first taste of the overseer’s lash that day. To him, high up on his camel-like mount, he’d thought Carver had been attempting to eat the bulb, so he’d struck him. His whip whistled as the lash cut through the air then smacked as the supple leather slashed against his back.
The pain had been so intense he’d dropped the bulb and fallen to his knees. Carver had only gotten up and gotten back to work because he feared a second blow. That night, one of the other slaves had cleaned his back and put some kind of salve on the wound, but there would always be a mark. Once, that would have infuriated him. His body was his temple, and he took great care to keep himself fit. But now he was only prized because he was strong enough to dig in the sand all day without collapsing.
The Xearzan had not been so lucky. He had six arms and could therefore cover a wider area, but he couldn’t take the heat. His pink skin darkened more each day despite the protection of the white veil and cape. To his horror, Carver realized he wasn’t getting a sunburn but drying out. When he reached the point where he could no longer retain enough water, he collapsed and died. The overseer’s reaction was one of annoyance that he had to climb down off his mount and drag the body away.
Carver had vowed to kill him. A being died at his feet and he saw it as an irritant to himself. He couldn’t remember ever being so angry. The overseer, a creature who kept himself so swaddled in white fabric it was impossible to see anything other than his eyes, would spend his time watching the slaves and hitting them to enforce the quota. He never seemed to tire and never let any of the slaves slack for even a moment. Carver was lucky he’d trailed off into thought without getting another taste of the lash.
Bracing himself for the pain, he plunged his hands into the white sand. The surface wasn’t that hot since the sand was white, but after having his hands shoved into it all day every day, it was wearing away his skin. Each night he was given a small amount of oil to use on his body or his food since there wasn’t enough for both. Carver had been keeping his hands covered and then ate the rest. Without the added calories, he would have faded away to nothing very quickly. But the rest of his skin was in dire need of a way to retain moisture. He longed for a bath and then afterwards he’d slather himself with lotion. Just thinking of that made him practically swoon. He dreamed of long, hot showers followed by cool drinks and horny men slathering him with oils. He woke to find himself dry, dirty, parched, and crammed into a room with dozens of other beings who shared his suffering.
Before the Xearzan died, Carver had asked him about the brutal way the slaves were treated, and he said that slaves were cheap, the bulbs were not. Also, a good portion of the creatures working the sand were criminals. This was their punishment. They were supposed to be worked to death.
Carver had stopped asking questions after that. It was his fault he’d been sent here to dig for
jild
. Had he been a better and more subservient slave, he’d still be in Fraunnon’s mansion. But Carver had not understood there were far worse things than sleeping with a creature he didn’t desire.
As he felt a wave of nausea that almost face-planted him into the sand, Carver took a deep breath that burned his lungs it was so hot and dry. He dug down a bit deeper into the sand, found a bulb, and felt a momentary relief. He’d met his quota. But that in no way meant he was done for the day. It only meant he wouldn’t be punished once the day was done. Success also meant he’d be given food, water, oil, and a bed for the night. Not having enough to eat was what was causing his queasiness. He was used to a strict regime of eating and exercise. Soon his body was going to waste away to nothing as he cannibalized his muscles for energy. Not that he was all about his looks, but he realized rather suddenly he was going to be worked until he died. There was no end of the line for him other than that. The
jild
farm didn’t offer a retirement plan. There was no time served. His sentence was life.
“Give it here!”
Barely had Carver pulled the bulb free when the overseer thrust the net at him.
Rather than get down off his mount, he had placed a loosely woven net at the end of a long stick.
“Give it over!”
Carver lifted his hand as if he would tumble the bulb into the basket. He looked up and saw that the overseer’s eyes were so intent on the bulb he was oblivious to everything else.
“What’s it like when you go home at night?” Carver had noticed that the overseer was the only one on the farm who didn’t schlepp off to the tents at the other end of the field they’d picked. As the slaves moved around, so, too, did their temporary housing. But the overseer went the opposite direction.
“Put the bulb in the basket or I will whip you!”
“But then I’ll drop it.” Carver held the bulb firmly in his hand. “Or I might just crush the poor thing from the pain.”
The overseer’s eyes were wide, horrified that Carver was threatening to destroy the precious item.
“How fucking sick is that?” Carver tightened his fist by a fraction, and the overseer’s eyes almost tumbled out of his head. “You’re more concerned about what’s in my hand than all the people working this land right now.”
“So what if I am?” The overseer lifted his whip from his belt. “Put the bulb in the net or—”
Carver dropped the bulb in the net, but once he did, he yanked on the stick that held it. He pulled the overseer right off his mount, tumbling him into the sand. Before he could orient himself, Carver jumped on top of him.
“All I did was ask you a simple question. But you wouldn’t answer because you don’t care about anything but the
jild
!” Carver punched him. “I had a life on Earth! I had a job, and a man, and everything was going so good that I was wondering if it was all a dream and then some fucking asshole stole me and sold me!”
Screaming and punching, Carver suddenly realized the body below his wasn’t moving. Purplish liquid—blood?—stained the white fabric. He stood and realized all the slaves had stopped working and were now watching him. Carver’s instinct was to jump onto the overseer’s mount and urge the beast to run in the opposite direction of the slave housing, but he couldn’t leave all these poor creatures behind.
“We have to get out of here.” Carver looked at the ragtag crew of slaves.
“To where?” someone asked. “There’s nowhere to go.”
“The overseer didn’t live with us in the tents. We go where he went.”
Someone uttered a laugh that trailed off into a coughing fit. Carver’s gaze zeroed in on that creature since he could tell by the shaking of his veil who it was. Once he recovered from his hacking, he offered, “There’s a tracker on him.”
“On the overseer?” Carver glanced down at the body. The purple spot was still spreading. He’d always wondered what the guy had looked like, but he found he had no urge to pull up the veil now.
The slave came forward, dropped to his knees, and roughly searched the overseer’s body. “Here.” He held it up.
Carver took the small circular item. There was a metal clip on the back so that it could be affixed to clothing. “If I put it on, will it track me?”
“One of us better put it on because otherwise the owner is going to come looking.”
“Who are you?” Carver asked the only other slave brave enough to get involved in seeking his own freedom.
“I am Acerith.” He pulled off his veil, revealing that his skin was fashioned of interlocking diamonds, like a reptile’s. The overall color was black, but there was some kind of shimmering blue pattern woven into his skin. Acerith was startlingly beautiful in an utterly alien way. He also had pointed ears like the Vulcans from
Star Trek
. He was so unusual looking that Carver was utterly distracted for a few moments. “I am a Venian. From Ven.”
“I’m Carver Tam. Earthling. From Earth.” He looked down at the tracker then slipped it onto the waistband of his shorts. Or rather what he’d turned into shorts. Given the lack of supplies, he’d used a part of his veil to make underwear so his dick wasn’t dangling all day. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of briefs. “It’s always the simple things.” “What?”
“Sorry. So now I have the tracker. Can I lead everyone out of here?”
Acerith grinned, revealing very human-looking white teeth. “You wish to steal the owner’s slaves?”
“I want to take you all somewhere else.” Carver looked around at the endless sand dunes. “Anywhere else.”
“There is nowhere on the planet that is not like this.”
“Then we’ll take this place over.” Carver realized he’d probably only hastened their deaths.
“You are…”
Carver waited, wondering how this alien would sum him up.
“Unusual.”
“Yeah. Whatever. I don’t want to be worked to death, do you?” He lifted his gaze to the other slaves. “Do any of you?”
There wasn’t an answer for so long Carver almost got on the overseer’s mount to ride away alone, but Acerith stepped forward.
“I do not want to die for this. I would rather die fighting for my freedom than succumb to a hostile world so a handful of elite can spice their food.”
Carver grinned and thrust out his hand. After a moment, Acerith accepted. He didn’t shake but squeezed and let go.
“Who else wishes to die fighting?” Acerith asked, turning to the group of slaves.
It wasn’t how Carver would have sold the call to freedom, but he supposed what Acerith said was the truth. Since there was nowhere to run to find safety, they were probably going to die. But again, he’d much rather die fighting as a free man then die as one enslaved.

“You lost him?” Honor peered at the Laruhar and tried not to let his frustration rule him. Relaxing was difficult, but not impossible. He had been through worse. He would undoubtedly go through even more trials. Humans had a way of causing trouble wherever they went.

“What does it matter?” Fraunnon turned away, his gleaming yellow skin looking oddly shiny under the lights of his home. Laruhars’ eyes worked very differently from Krases’ so what looked sickly green to Honor was apparently soothing to Fraunnon. “The Earthling wasn’t worth a fraction of what I paid for him. I would have demanded my money back but decided he deserved no more of my time than he’d already taken.”