Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Wow,” I say. “Thank you very much. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
I need to get off this fucking ship. I need to find an escape vessel, or a life pod, or some kind of whatever. Hell, I’ll take an insulated bubble that ends up floating inexorably through space until such time as I end up perishing of hunger rather than be taken to this simulation he seems to think will be nice.
“Could I have a tour of the ship? It seems so amazing.”
He smiles at me. “Don’t worry about the ship. You are going to need to get used to worrying about yourself and your behavior. And your bed time, which it now is. You are excused from the table.”
I take that as a sign to get down, which I don’t mind doing because it means I get to move around the ship a little more. The scythkin, who has still not introduced himself by name, leads me to another room inside his vessel — but not before I finally crack and ask him what he’s called.
“What should I call you?”
“You can call me Atlas.”
“Atlas,” I repeat. “You can call me Sandy.”
“Cute name,” he says.
“Thanks,” I smile back. I wonder if he notices that it is more forced now.
I notice that there’s a real pain in my ass again, as if the realization that the safety I thought I felt here is just another brand of danger, has made all my senses go heightened again the way they do when I have to try to survive. Usually I at least have the luxury of my situation appearing threatening, but on Atlas’s ship everything is sickeningly perfect.
“This will be your room,” he says. “You’ll have the same one when you enter the simulation.”
This room was decorated by someone who collated a set of period-specific images of a room belonging to a female generally. There’re a lot of flowers in vases. Too many, really. Everything that can be pink is pink, and that which cannot be pink is either crystal glass or gold. I am sure this is someone’s dream room.
The bed is big enough to fit two people quite comfortably, but it would barely fit a scythkin and a human. That makes me wonder if he can, you know, do the deed in his human suit. It also makes me curious as to what a scythkin’s cock is like. Would I survive it? Or would it be brutally bladed the same way the rest of him is?
I glance over at him and see him looking down at me with one of those expressions that people give you when they are hoping you will like something they have done for you. He made this room for me, just as he made everything else in this ship for me. He must have wanted a brainwashed little human all of his own so badly.
The bed has a pink floral coverlet, of course, and a lot of strangely shaped small pillows that appear to have eyes. I pick one up, noticing that it also seems to have arms and legs of a kind. It’s almost human-shaped, except for the head, which is much more animal.
“What are these?”
“They are teddy bears,” he says. “They’re small stuffed effigies of one of Earth’s most deadly predators — though there has been some debate as to whether bears posed more of a threat to women than men did.”
“Are they supposed to be scary?”
“No. They are comfort items. Humans need comfort items.”
“Do they need this many?” There has to be a dozen of these at least in various shapes, sizes, and in various clothing. Some of them have little jackets. Others have little pants. It’s all out of the realm of my experience. I’ve never had a comfort item. I’ve had to get comfortable in other ways.
“I did not know which ones you would like,” he explains. “This way you have a choice of several and can choose your favorite. Which one would you like to take to bed?”
“I, uh…”
Raz, the spy, he wanted to fuck me. He did fuck me. I assumed all the aliens wanted some kind of carnal contact. If this scythkin does, he has a somewhat twisted approach to it. He is looking after me as if I am juvenile, but of course I am a fully grown adult.
“You know I am an adult woman,” I say.
“Of course you are. That is the entire point.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
“You want a mate? Like, a sexual mate?”
He gives me a look that I find rather hard to read. Is it disapproving? Does he find me forward?
“I intend to mate with you, yes. But tonight, my sweet human, you will be looked after, as I suspect you were not looked after before. I want to give you all the experiences you need in order to feel safe. You are going to be taken care of, Sandy. You are going to know what it means to be properly attended to.”