Taquork Market: A Gift for the General

AVA

I swear he just said his name was Cozy Wow, and I swallow the laugh that tries to bubble out of my throat. It sounds so ludicrous compared to his monstrous frame that I get a case of the inappropriate giggles.

Didn’t I see some infomercial for a product called that once? A fluffy, two-person robe or some shit like that?

“C-cozy wow?” I repeat.

He nods sharply in agreement and repeats it, emphasizing the syllables for my benefit.

It’s more like “Kozawhow,” but I will never be able to unthink cozy wow at this point.

A giggle bursts past my lips despite my best efforts to contain them, but I swallow it down, and it manages to come out sounding more like a terrified whimper.

Thankfully, that’s a noise which is much more suited to my current situation of having just been gifted as a sex slave to an alien general.

What is wrong with you, Ava? I ask myself. ~Get it together.~

He places a large hand lightly on my elbow, guiding me toward the elevator he entered from. He drops his hand as soon as we enter.

The following ride is silent, but he steals glances at me every few seconds. I keep my eyes stubbornly ahead, resisting the urge to tap my foot nervously or, even worse, turn to meet his glances.

We exit into a hallway with lush carpets and elegant wall sconces. There are only two doors, one on either side of the hall. The general strides to the door on the left, opening it and indicating I should enter ahead of him.

The man trailing behind us, who has remained very silent, gives us a sharp nod and moves to stand at attention in the hallway. I tentatively pass through the door into the general’s rooms.

They are large and luxurious. The entryway we step into has a round table with a giant floral arrangement displayed in the center. Through an archway beyond, there is a formal room with two giant sofas facing each other. A large window makes up the entirety of the far wall that looks out to the drab walls of the space station. I bet it’s stunning when there’s a better view.

I wonder briefly why I couldn’t see windows on the outside of the ship, but I’m too distracted to consider the matter in depth.

“Make yourself comfortable,” the general tells me as he turns away and begins to unhook the leather harness strapped over his tunic.

Like, “Oh, let’s slip into something more comfortable?” Like, “Get naked?” I’m practically naked as it is.

I hesitate, not sure what to do, my heart pounding fearfully in my chest with thoughts of what may be coming. But he simply drops the harness onto the table and walks away from me, thankfully leaving the rest of his clothes where they are.

I slowly and hesitantly move farther into his quarters and perch on the end of one of the couches.

“Thank you, General,” I tell him shakily, as he moves about the room turning on lights and fiddling around.

“When we are alone you may simply call me Koza,” he tells me. “Only while in the presence of others will you be expected to address me as general.” He opens a panel in a wall to reveal a cabinet behind it, and pulls out two small glasses, placing them on the table between the couches.

He looks at my face as he bends down, and his eye contact is intense. He seems to study my face for a long moment before straightening and turning back toward the open panel.

I take this chance to study him more closely.

I had already noticed that his face was actually quite human-looking at first glance. His eyes were slightly farther apart and his nose higher and broader than a human, but it was a subtle difference.

With his back to me, the most noticeable difference between him and a human is the tail that peeks out from under the simple, sleeveless white tunic he wears. It comes down to just above the back of his knees. It’s sleek and thin like the tail of a panther and the same rich color as the rest of his skin.

Up close, the general’s skin doesn’t appear to be covered in fur, but I have yet to touch his skin directly to tell for sure.

His hair is knotted on top of his head, and his ears are positioned higher on the sides of his head than human ears. The curve of the cartilage is more pronounced, but they don’t seem to move like feline ears do.

With his arms raised, sorting through the contents of the cabinet, his defined muscles and intimidating size are on full display.

I clear my throat, crossing my arms over my chest. I suddenly feel very self-conscious.

“Scryal wine or Comine brew?” he asks.

“Surprise me,” I mumble, my nerves making my tongue feel heavy and dry in my mouth.

Like I know what either of those are.

He flashes me a brief glance over his shoulder before pulling out a tall crystal bottle filled with a pale-blue liquid.

He returns, pulling out the stopper with a soft pop as he walks. He fills each glass halfway before setting the bottle down gently and taking a seat across from me.

He leans forward, his arms resting on his knees and large hands clasped in front of him, and just stares at me.

I am acutely aware of my nipples poking through my dress, my entire body practically on display, and want to squirm in embarrassment.

Instead, I try to play it cool, reaching for the glass and taking a gulp of the beverage.

I immediately choke.

While the pale-blue liquid appears cool and refreshing, it tastes like the combination of hot chili peppers and four-day-old garbage.

I force myself to swallow it, my eyes watering.

“Oh god, that’s disgusting,” I moan, setting the glass as far away from me on the table as I can. Then I freeze—I just insulted his hospitality and probably spoke out of turn. “I-I’m sorry,” I begin to stutter an apology, fear of punishment making my body tense up.

To my relief and astonishment, General Koza simply grins, showing off two elongated canines. My heart skips a beat at the way it transforms his austere face. The friendly action makes the frightened words die in my throat. A trickle of doubt begins to creep in about my initial perception of him from backstage of the auction.

“Comine brew is very expensive,” he tells me sternly as he drinks from his own glass, though his eyes still sparkle with amusement. “It is considered quite the luxury.”

Yeah, well, so is caviar, but I’ve still always thought it just tastes like salt and sadness.

“Apologies, General,” is what I say out loud, however, realizing somewhat belatedly I really need to watch my attitude.

“Koza,” he insists, taking another deep swallow of the garbage beverage.

“Koza,” I agree, and he gives me an approving nod.

“We must attend dinner with the High Commander,” he tells me, standing abruptly.

He strides into another room behind me, and I stand, panic rising as I face the door.

“I-I don’t—how should—what do I do?” I trip over all my words, trying my best to keep from insulting him. But for the life of me, I have zero idea of what is expected from a slave other than sex.

He continues to speak to me from the other room, raising his voice slightly to be heard clearly.

“While at dinner you are not permitted to speak to anyone, nor look them directly in the eye. You are also not permitted to sit at the table, there will be a stool or cushion at the base of my chair. You will not eat. Do you understand?”

He appears back in the doorway, buttoning a black tunic with embroidery on the sleeves, much fancier than the one he was wearing before.

“Yes, sir,” I reply meekly, and he inclines his head in approval before turning away again.

“Sounds real pointless for me to even go, but all right I guess,” I mutter to myself, turning to straighten the glasses on the table, just for something to do.

I hear a small noise of amusement from the general at my complaint. I grit my teeth in annoyance at my inability to hold my tongue.

Super-alien hearing, check. Keep your thoughts to yourself, Ava.

At least so far, he seems amused by my impertinence and not angry, which is not really what I expected.

He steps toward me a moment later, fully changed into his formal wear. I look down at my sheer slave dress and grimace.

“Should I change, General Koza?” I ask him quietly.

He shakes his head softly, giving me what seems to be an apologetic look.

“Unfortunately, I have nothing else for you to wear. I will remedy that when we return home tomorrow.”

My cheeks flame. I’m both mortified and relieved that I have to keep wearing this sheer dress. There’s no telling how much worse another outfit could be.

At least I don’t need to walk out fully naked. I shudder at the thought.

“You must walk behind me, Ava, and keep your eyes on the floor. It is what the High Commander expects from a slave, yes?” he explains, as we head back to the door that leads into the hall.

What the High Commander expects from a slave…but not him? I don’t have time to analyze his expression before he moves to leave the room.

As he opens the door to the hall, the other man that was standing guard steps into the doorway. “General,” he says.

Koza turns to me, introducing his companion. “This is my second in command, Zynett.”

Zynett looks toward me briefly, giving me a quick nod, before moving toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

We take the elevator back down to the atrium, and I am astonished at the transformation that has taken place in the short time we were away.

A long table is laden with place settings of fine china and vases with flowers. Orbs of light float gently in the air above. Large upholstered armchairs are positioned around the table with a generous amount of space between them, but no one is sitting in them.

People mill around the room, and as we step out of the elevator, I drop my gaze to the floor as expected.

We move into the room, and I keep my eyes on the general’s feet and follow behind him as he walks. He stops frequently to exchange greetings and pleasantries with other dinner guests. Many comment on my body, and I tune them out like I did back at the market.

It’s only a short time later when I hear heavy, synchronized footfalls enter the room. Everyone around us grows silent and turns toward the sound. I move closer to the general’s back, suddenly very nervous.

I glance up as much as I dare, and see the High Commander surrounded by four soldiers just as he was during my first glimpse of him.

The two soldiers in front part to allow the High Commander by. He moves through the crowd, the dinner guests parting and bowing respectively as he passes them, until he comes to a stop directly in front of General Koza. I stand behind him, shaking with nerves.

I see the general give a shallow bow, inclining his head, and I dip into another curtsy.

Much steadier this time, I note to myself proudly.

“Koza, my friend. Let me see your new toy,” the High Commander tells him in a voice that leaves no room for refusal. I blanch, thoroughly reminded of my role for the evening.