The Captive Pet

Page

The Captive Pet

ISBN # 978-1-78651-480-6

©Copyright Samantha Cayto 2016

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2016

Edited by Jamie D. Rose

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2016 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Alien Slave Masters

THE CAPTIVE PET

Samantha Cayto

Book four in the Alien Slave Masters series

When a distant planet’s ownership is in dispute, conquering aliens turn defiant human males into pampered sex slaves.

Frey Bjorkson is an orphan from New World Colony Five. While making a supply run, he’s been captured by a Travian privateer and kept as a pet. Brutalized, he fights to hold on to his sanity and hope of escaping. His hopes are all but dashed when his master loses him to another, scarier male.

Having lost his mate, Rone has given up his old military ambitions. Instead, he’s volunteered to pose as a privateer to root out the arms suppliers of the traitorous males trying to overthrow female rule. When he becomes the reluctant master to a human pet, he has little patience for caring for the scared, battered creature. That doesn’t stop him from wanting the boy, and, as he sets about claiming the human as his property, he finds himself getting in deeper than he’d intended.

Not only does Rone prove to be kinder, he also gives Frey his first experience with sexual pleasure. The way Rone makes him feel, physically and emotionally, confuses Frey. He fights against his growing attraction even while he struggles to learn just what his master’s true agenda is.

As Rone infiltrates the dangerous world of privateers, he reluctantly drags Frey in with him. He tells himself that he needs the cover of being a brutal slave owner, but there is no denying his growing need for the boy. As Rone’s mission heats up, the stakes are high, and the alien master and his captive pet will have to work together to survive.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Star Wars: Lucasfilm Entertainment Company Ltd.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: PEA and United Artists

Chapter One

How much is the buy-in? Rone kept his face neutral, cool and disinterested, as if the answer made no difference to him. He’d been watching his quarry fleece idiots from their credits all evening by cheating at quaz.

The privateer, a male going by the name of Arpell, took his time to respond. Arrogance radiated off him like a stench. While most others in the disreputable male-only relaxation center set in the middle of a far-flung minor space station were likely impressed by the gambler’s name, Rone wasn’t. He doubted the male truly came from the caste his name implied. Out here, no one really looked too closely at someone’s pedigree. You could be anyone you wanted to be, pretend as much as you liked. Rone counted on that ability.

Five hundred credits, the guy finally barked out. He trained his beady eyes on Rone.

Mother, the male disgusted him and not only because of the cheating and the dubious work the male did. He was also layered in fat, an almost unheard of condition among males of their species and a testament to how much time the gambler spent sitting in his dirty clothes in the rank corner of the place. On a female, extra weight would have been lush and alluring. On a male, it spoke of slovenliness. If Rone weren’t so sure of the intel he’d gleaned through contacts around the Empire, he would never have suspected this guy was part of a sophisticated arms smuggling operation.

It didn’t matter what the cost of playing was. Rone had credits to spare, courtesy of the government. He waved his wrist unit over the credit register on the wall and sat down on the less than clean pillow across from his opponent. Like the other male, Rone had a role to play in front of everyone else. He’d cultivated his own persona of a privateer out only for himself, no one to fuck around with. As he sat, the leash attached to his belt tugged tight, forcing Preen to follow and sit on its haunches next to Rone.

Rone hated treating his companion with such blatant disregard, but that was also part of the game he played. Preen understood. It hadn’t taken long for Rone and the former pet of his mating sister to form an alliance born of loneliness and, on Rone’s part, grief. They communicated through mostly hand signals that, again, they’d developed themselves, although Preen understood much of what Rone spoke. The noises that Preen made didn’t translate into Travian at all, yet, after a while, the meaning of each sound had also become clear to Rone. Their hand signals allowed more sophisticated communication, however, with the added advantage that no one else understood their meaning.

Before the game began, Rone glanced to the far side of Arpell. Sitting in a tight ball was the male’s own pet. Rone recognized the species immediately—a human, a male one at that. Had to be. Even in this backwater place, no one would allow a female pet to be kept openly. With its face hidden within its arms, Rone couldn’t see the creature much at all. A curtain of long hair the color of bright starlight covered its head and fell over the arms wrapped tightly around small knees. Rone knew from his experience with his former house brother’s pet that humans didn’t tolerate Travian temperatures very well. Poor beast. Life with Arpell must be a misery, not that Rone had time to dwell on any sympathy he might feel for the human. He had a job to do.

Grabbing up the quaz pieces strewn before him, he nodded to Arpell. First move to the dealer.

The male regarded him with barely bridled glee, expecting Rone to be the next easy victim. For a time, Rone allowed himself to be just that, losing a few games and lots of credits. He pretended not to see the sleight of hand, moving pieces out of turn and substituting them with better ones. The effort, while impressive, was not hidden from his keen vision. The other players had either been stupid or chemically compromised—or likely both.

He shook his head over his latest loss and swiped in more credits, as if the large amount he’d already wasted didn’t concern him in the least. It got the attention of others in the place, one of the points to the game he played. Whoever supplied arms to the rebellion that still percolated within the Empire needed to notice him.

You are a worthier opponent than I typically encounter, Arpell said, leaning back. His meaty hand pawed at his pet’s head. A barely visible tremor ran through the boy’s body.

Rone hardened his heart to the sight and concentrated on his mission. I’m new to this station. He glanced around dismissively. So far, this game is the most interesting thing I’ve encountered here.

Arpell huffed out a laugh and made the next play. As with before, Rone let himself be cheated time and again. Then, having sufficiently lulled his quarry, he made his move. Arpell might be very good at cheating, but Rone was better. The look of surprise on his opponent’s face when Rone outmaneuvered him gave Rone the most satisfaction he’d felt in a very long time—since his mate had died, except he wouldn’t think of her or of the child she’d lost, along with her life. He didn’t allow any emotion to show in his expression. He simply continued his campaign of winning.

Arpell knew Rone had cheated. He could see it in Arpell’s eyes, yet what could he do? If he called Rone out on it, he’d open himself up to the same accusation. With so many others avidly watching their game, a quiet confrontation would be impossible. Rone didn’t want one, anyway. What he wanted was a pissed-off Arpell, in the hopes that he could leverage that into information when Arpell made a move against Rone. He would, too. All of Rone’s intel on the guy said that he was a smuggler, privateer, outright thief and a killer when crossed. Rone certainly hoped so. Physical fights had become a handy outlet for his anger and grief.

The crowd around them grew larger the more Rone won. He made sure to lose a few, as well, so that his winning streak wasn’t completely unbelievable. Eventually, though, he’d gained all that he’d lost and so much more. Arpell sneered down at the game pieces when Rone placed the winning one yet again. The male grasped the strands of his pet’s hair once more, the only sign of his distress. A small sound reached Rone’s ears, a whimper perhaps, although it was so faint that he almost thought he’d imagined it. Almost. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, however.

Picking up his pieces, he raised an eyebrow at Arpell. Another round?

Arpell licked his lips. Your luck has certainly changed.

Rone leaned back on one hand while he rolled the pieces in the other. It has. I seem to have stolen yours from you. The threat hung between them. If Arpell entertained the idea of calling Rone a cheat, he’d be on the receiving end of the same accusation. If you wish to end the game… He moved, as if intending to stand.

No, Arpell barked out. I feel my luck will return. It’s only that you have temporarily cleaned me out of credits.

Rone was willing to bet he’d taken just about all of them. Then we can’t continue, he replied, lacing his tone with a modicum of regret for the benefit of the onlookers. Once more, he began to rise.

Wait. I have something I can bid. When Rone merely stared back at him, Arpell shifted his gaze briefly to his pet. As he did so, he also tugged the boy’s head up by its hair.

A delicate face came into view, young and so beautiful that for a moment Rone believed he’d been wrong about Arpell keeping a female pet. But no, this was a boy with skin as pale as any Travian. When it… No, when he raised downcast eyes for just a moment, Rone caught a glimpse of ice blue ringed with white—and fear, before it was quickly banked and the gaze dropped again. Arpell’s brutal grip kept the human’s face up, though, on display. There were murmurs in the crowd and some lewd remarks.

I don’t understand, Rone said slowly. Are you intending to offer your pet as a wager? If so, I’m not interested. I already have a pet. He gestured toward Preen, who still sat quietly by his side. The little alien had endless patience.

Arpell’s expression turned nasty. Ah, but mine is better. You can fuck it, and it knows how to suck cock. I’ve trained it very well, if I say so myself.

Laughter broke out and more rude observations were made. Rone ignored it all, as he did Preen’s hiss. Rone knew that sound, and it meant his companion was pissed off. Small as it was, Preen could be dangerous when provoked. Rone entreated it to silence with a subtle gesture. He needed to consider this turn of events. His simple plan to provoke Arpell and gain notoriety hinged on beating him soundly and taking as many of his credits as possible. If Rone didn’t continue to play, another male would take his place. He could already see the speculation in some of those around them. The idea of owning such an exotic and enticing pet would prove too tempting. No one would win the boy, of course. Arpell would see to that. He’d rack up more winnings, and all of Rone’s efforts would have been for naught.

Very well. I suppose it’s pretty enough. If nothing else, I could sell it. Your move first.

Arpell released the boy then leaned forward. No, I insist the first round is to you.

Idiot. He thought to gain an advantage by seeing Rone’s opening gambit and reacting accordingly. Rone could already see the extra pieces moving their way down the male’s sleeve. Really, Arpell’s cheating was amateurish compared to others—compared to Rone’s. The male was too full of himself to even realize Rone had maneuvered his extra pieces where he needed them while they’d talked. Winning would be easy. He just had to make it look hard.

* * * *

No!

Frey tried not to quiver at the angry sound of his master’s voice. He didn’t have to lift his head to see what had happened, either. He knew. His master had gambled him away. The vicious creature who prided himself on cheating others so well and often had met his match and lost. There was no suppressing the violent shudder that overtook Frey’s body as he absorbed the awful truth that, as bad as his life had been, it had just become infinitely worse. He’d glimpsed the Travian who’d just won him and had seen a depth of hell in that moment that had surpassed all others. Not since his ship had been boarded and its crew slaughtered right in front of his eyes had he been gripped by such mind-numbing terror.

You have lost. That low voice held more menace than any loud one would.

We’ll play another round.

I think not. You have nothing left to gamble with, and, in any event, I grow weary of the game. I’ll take my winnings now.

For a few tense seconds, there was silence. Frey didn’t dare look up, but he wondered if there would be a fight. What happened when one cheater lost to another? He had no doubt that the other alien had, in fact, cheated. How else could he have won? Finally, Arpell, whom Frey had always thought of as Jabba the Hut in an effort to find some humor in his predicament, tugged angrily on Frey’s leash. Choking against the sudden tightness, he tried to move quickly to his feet to ease the strain. The Travian gave him no consideration, as usual, and yanked so hard that he sent Frey stumbling into his new master.

Where Arpell had carried soft, doughy flesh over muscle, this new alien was like a wall of rock. Frey couldn’t help but cry out when he hit that unyielding tower. He cringed, expecting a blow. None came. Instead, a large hand grabbed his shoulder and steadied him. The grip was firm, yet not as painful as it could have been. Frey forced himself to remain still, not to shy away. Resisting would only earn him a beating, and he’d had plenty of those. Besides, he wasn’t sure he would survive one meted out by this creature. Taller and broader than Arpell, with a coldness far more frightening than anything else Frey had encountered, his new master looked like death on two legs.

In the early days of his capture, when Arpell had brutalized and humiliated him, Frey had prayed for death. He’d fought hard, too, every step of the way. Eventually, though, he’d realized that resistance only led to unimaginable pain that wouldn’t be alleviated by something as merciful as death. And he’d decided that he wasn’t ready to die. He could withstand the dehumanizing life as an alien’s pet and fuck toy. If he held on, there might be a way to get