Taquork Market: A Gift for the General

AVA

At what feels like the peak of the bidding on me, the mood suddenly shifts.

The auctioneer acknowledges a new bidder that makes the raucous laughter and overall excitement die down abruptly, and a reverent sort of murmur ripples through the crowd.

There are only a few bids put forth to compete against the new bidder, but they seem almost half-hearted, as if no one wants to go against whoever entered the fray.

I try to scan the crowd to see who the new bidder may be, but the lights are still blinding, and the movement makes me lose my footing on my toes, my body threatening to spin. I grit my teeth and concentrate on pressing my toes back into the floor.

I half hear myself declared as sold, and my arms are lowered. I wince as the muscles in my back threaten to cramp and a toad guard unhooks my wrists and leads me off the stage.

“Wait here,” he orders me gruffly, removing the silver bracelets and shutting me into a waiting area.

I rub my wrists to ease the chafing the bracelets left behind on my skin as I study my surroundings. It’s a pleasant room, with a wooden bench and two large armchairs. A fuzzy rug is soft under my bare feet and tinkling music plays overhead.

There is not much new to learn from the room, however. I soon let out a huff, lowering onto one of the plush chairs to sit stiffly on the edge of the cushion. My back is ramrod straight with tension.

Eventually, the door swings open, and I jump to my feet. The man who enters has his broad alien nose buried in some sort of tablet. He barely spares me a glance before beckoning me to follow behind him, spinning and walking away as he types furiously on the tablet with one hand.

Okay, then. I guess I expected a little more excitement.

I follow him through a hallway and out a large sliding glass door guarded by two toads and into an enormous docking bay filled with spaceships.

These ships are nothing like the market’s small, boxy shuttle we all took up to the station. These are futuristic and huge. All different colors and shapes, but I can tell they are all obviously expensive, even though I have zero experience with spaceships.

The man, still typing away, leads me to a vessel, the size of a cruise ship back on Earth, parked slightly away from the others. It’s a dark-and-sleek-looking metal that has almost a purple sheen to it.

I cough back a giggle because it looks like a giant butt plug. The body is comprised of three spherical swells that increase in size and a flat panel on the back. The largest swell has a bright, shiny silver emblem emblazoned on the side.

We walk across the dock to a gangplank. Standing guard are two reptilian-looking men in simple, purple uniforms that sport the same silver crest as the ship. They merely nod and let us by. I’m led down the ramp to an open door in what I think is the middle of the ship.

This seems like some sort of service entrance. The halls are narrow and in no way match the grandeur of the outside of the ship. Aliens in simple, purple uniforms scurry by us, speaking in low tones about a feast they are preparing.

I definitely suspect there is some opulent shit in another part of this space butt plug.

We stop at one of many identical doors in a long hallway, and the man looks up from his tablet just long enough to press a button outside the door. It slides open with a beep.

I step inside to see a small residential room. There is a narrow bunk, a small desk and chair, and an open door on the far wall that leads to a bathroom.

“I am Bryozoa, steward to the High Commander. You will be fetched when his lordships return from the festivities of the market.”

With that he leaves, his nose still buried in the tablet, while I fight to catch my breath over my shock.

The High Commander?! THE High Commander, ruler of half the galaxy? That asshole we saw backstage? Is that who bought me?

“Oh, this is bad. This is real, real bad,” I moan out loud into the empty space. Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I put my head between my legs. I take deep breaths, fighting off the panic.

There’s no way I can make someone like that happy. I have a foul mouth and a penchant for inappropriate laughter, and he’s going to be annoyed with me in about five seconds. He’s going to realize I’m the worst choice of slave ever.

I continue my attempt to steady breathing, my heart racing.

Maybe it’s just for show. A guy like that has to be busy, right? So busy.

He’ll probably just throw me in some sort of menagerie so everyone can see he’s rich enough to own a human while he’s never home.

Ava, you idiot, that’s way too optimistic.

But! He probably has a whole harem of slaves, I tell myself. ~If he does expect to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll just have to take my turn between all his other slaves. Right?~

Since the chaos after my parents died, I’ve never seen much point in denying what’s right there in front of me. But my mind skitters away from the truth of what awaits me, like I’m trying to touch a hot stove. It says a lot about my situation that telling myself I’ll hopefully only be one sex slave out of many almost helps calm me down.

I stand and smooth out the sheer material of my dress. Maybe it’s the haze of shock that makes me feel calmer. I want to wash my face and remove these damn clamps, but I doubt he will want me to change my appearance before seeing me up close. Compliance might keep me as safe as I can be…

I pace around the tiny room for what feels like hours before Bryozoa returns. He doesn’t have his tablet, and for the first time he actually meets my gaze for longer than a split second.

He looks at me like he absolutely does not give a single shit about me. Honestly, it’s very refreshing after the countless undisguised leers I’ve gotten over the past week or so.

“Come,” he says bluntly, cocking his head and looking bored. “You will meet your master now.”

I follow him to the end of the small hallway, into a larger, more open hallway that leads to an elevator.

We move up and then pause before the elevator moves sideways. When we come to a stop, the doors open into some really opulent shit, just like I thought.

We are in a huge atrium with marble columns that match the cool floor under my feet. The columns rise and frame a glass ceiling above, where I can make out the gray metal ceiling of the docking bay.

Between the columns are raised garden beds with the most beautiful trees I’ve ever seen.

Their bark looks scaled, in a pale shade of green, and the puffy tops are a light lavender that remind me of clouds of cotton candy. They fill the air with a scent that is vaguely similar to honeysuckles.

Bryozoa leads me between the trees and across the room where I see another elevator opening. He stops, holding a hand up to indicate I should do the same.

“Stay,” he says. “And make sure you show him the proper respect.”

I open my mouth to ask him what the protocol for that is, but he just brushes past me, striding back to the elevator we came out of.

Okay then. Time to wing it.

The other elevator doors open, and two men step out and into the room.

But…neither of them is the High Commander.

The man who enters immediately gives off feline vibes like Kiri, but while she is the personification of a delicate Siamese cat, this dude is a fucking lion. He is a rich shade of brown, and I see a thin tail swishing behind him.

I hold back a gasp as I recognize him as the man who snarled at me backstage.

Oh, no. This can’t be who bought me, can it?

I already gave myself a whole mental pep talk about being owned by the High Commander. This changes everything. I don’t know if the generals have harems where I could hide among the other slaves. I don’t want to be the only one.

Never mind, I didn’t actually know that about the High Commander either, but still.

He turns to speak to a man of the same race, following slightly behind him, as they walk toward where I wait. As he does, I notice a subtle striping of a darker hue of brown stretching across his shoulders.

Okay, he’s more like a liger, then.

When they are an arm’s-length away from me, my mouth grows dry at the sheer size of him.

He’s pushing seven feet tall, with bulging arm muscles that put any human bodybuilder to shame. He’s a liger mixed with a gorilla.

A gorliger.

For fuck’s sake, Ava, you gotta stop comparing all the aliens to animals.

I blink up at him in astonishment before remembering what Bryozoa said about showing respect. I immediately drop into a wobbly, and frankly embarrassing, curtsy, staring down at the floor.

“My lord,” I mumble in greeting to him, feeling that title is a pretty safe and respectful choice to throw at him.

The man gives off a deep, but clearly amused rumble. It’s deep. Very, very deep.

I shiver at the intensity of the sound, keeping my eyes on the floor.

He steps closer to me. The tips of his boots appear in my line of sight before he places a finger under my chin and raises my gaze to meet his.

His eyes are a deep amber, with a lighter ring of gold around the oval pupil. It’s hard to say for sure, but I get the feeling he’s sizing me up.

As if I could ever be a threat to this mountain of muscle.

“What is your name, little one?” he asks me, in his deep, rumbling voice.

I swallow my fear, keeping my eyes on his.

“My name is Ava. Ava Matthews.”

“Ayyyvah,” he repeats, drawing out the vowels in a way that I absolutely should not find sexy.

“I am General Kozawhow of the First Quadrant of the Coalition of the High Commander, who has chosen to honor me by purchasing you as a gift for my loyalty.”