Page 22 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers
He gets off on exerting his control over us.
The towering Aurelian strides forward, and the leader of the Toads raises his electro-rod defensively. Marcel smiles at the unspoken threat – and that chilling grin sends a shard of ice stabbing through my heart.
Then, suddenly, the Aurelian moves so fast my eyes can’t even track his movement. He snatches forward with one of those huge hands - grabbing the carbo-steel tip of the electrified prod and closing his fingers around it.
Instantly, there’s a crackle as the electro-rod activates. Thousands of volts flood through the blade – and every muscle in the Aurelian’s body suddenly tenses up as the surge of electricity floods through them.
Marcel’s huge biceps bulge and flex – but that smile never waivers. Slowly, as he absorbs the crackling voltage, that smile hardens into a grimace. Marcel squeezes his fingers more tightly against the carbo-steel blade – and then he yanks the electro-rod clean out of the Toad’s slimy fingers – tossing it aside like garbage.
The weapon is still crackling as it hits the fetid water – until it shorts out with a plume of sparks and a puff of acrid smoke.
The Toad cowers back against the wall.
“Please, Marcel!” The foul creature suddenly doesn’t look so terrifying any more – every jiggling jowl of his flabby body quivering like pudding. “These are for the Bullfrog auction!”
Bullfrog auction.
Behind me, one of the girls suddenly throws up – spewing the last meal she’d had into the brackish water swilling between her feet. I hear things moving and wriggling in the water and I nearly throw up myself.
If we’re intended for a Bullfrog auction, that means we’re considered the cream of the crop – the highest quality of slave meat available.
Tessa, myself, and the ten other female prisoners are going to be auctioned to the formidable warrior caste of the Toad species – the fearsome Bullfrogs.
Just as repulsive as the others of their species, Bullfrogs stand apart from regular Toads – literally. They can stand over nine-feet-tall, and unlike the flabby bulk of their brethren, Bullfrogs have a leaner, stronger build; as if their gangly bodies are weaved together by ropes of warty muscle.
Compared to a Bullfrog, even an Aurelian seems dwarfed. I’ve even heard nightmarish stories of women abducted and forced into the harems of a Bullfrog – and gettingcrushedbeneath the creature’s foul-smelling, slimy weight as the Bullfrogs cruelly and greedily rut with them.
The thought of being a slave in a Toad aquarium is terrifying enough – but of the helpless women recruited to the harems of Bullfrogs…
…few are ever heard from again.
The appetites of Bullfrogs are legendary – and their hunger isn’t merely sexual.
I wish I could dismiss such rumors as the fables of drunken space-farers – but I’ve heard such things directly from the slaves Ling and I once rescued.
I think of how I used to rescue women in exactly my situation. I’d been so fearless back then – focused and relentless. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Back then, I’d been a different person – the old me. She’d been a woman brave enough to make a difference. A fighter, like Ling.
But the old me had died when she did – and despite her ghost guiding me as Tessa and I fought for survival back on the Elnor, I don’t see the ‘old me’ ever finding life within me again. I’d survived by luck alone, panic forcing me forward.
I’m trembling as I look toward the three Aurelians. They’re towering triumphantly over the three Toads – the undisputable victors in this tense battle for dominance.
Marcel spits out a mouthful of blood – bright like scarlet on his marble-white lips.
The towering warrior must have bitten his tongue as he’d endured that crackling voltage. I watch the red glob floating in the water at Marcel’s feet – and my stomach churns as I witness tadpoles eagerly rushing to gobble up his blood. Some even begin fighting with each – thrashing in the water as they squabble over the rare feast.
Despite the blood, Marcel smiles – and it’s a dangerous smile. He ignores the Toad’s warning and steps forward – as if the three slimy, aliens aren’t even there.
Marcel strides towards us. The other two members of triad follow in unison – as if they share a single mind.
The twelve terrified women press ourselves against the slimy walls as they approach – no less terrified of these gorgeous aliens than the slimy, foul-smelling Toads who’d brought us to them.
Within moments, Marcel is looming over us. I gaze up and feel butterflies churn in my stomach. The leader of the Aurelians exudes an unhinged chaos – such a contrast to the almost statue-like stillness of his too-perfect face.
As the three warriors approach, I turn my head down – too terrified to meet their slate-grey gaze. When I can, though, I steal glances up at them – studying the three of them with the analytical intensity that Ling taught me.
Superficially, the three of them look similar – almost like brothers. I know Aurelians don’t have brothers, though. These three merely share the signature features of this legendary alien race – the marble-white skin, muscular physique, and intense, slate-grey gaze.
