These are the first two chapters of a sci-fi MMM book I wrote titled Acquainted With the Night. It’s a pretty emotional book for me, probably second to The Reluctant Dom. (The Author’s Note in the book will explain why.)
Not work-safe. LOL
[Ménage Amour ManLove: Erotic Alternative Sci-Fi Ménage a Quatre Romance, M/M/M/M, with Multiple Partners, M/s dynamic, Public Exhibition, sex toys, m-preg]
Dale despised the Terran military. He was drafted, not a volunteer. He never expected to get captured by the Algonquans and sold as a breeder pet, either. He only prays his new owner is kind and doesn’t eat him. Then he meets fellow pet, Mark, who informs him getting captured was the luckiest day of their lives. Mark also hated the military and now spends his days in a life of sexual leisure, enjoying poetry and totally at peace with his fate.
Dale settles in and finds not only does he enjoy this life, he loves Mark, too. Despite tragedy striking too close to home in their protected world, they find room to love their Master’s newest pets, Cooper and Nate.
When the war ends and the Terran pets are granted their freedom, the men are faced with a choice: return, or stay with the owner they’ve grown to love?
A Siren Erotic Romance
I never asked to be here. Like most other healthy Terran males between the ages of eighteen and still able to walk on their own two feet, I was drafted.
I wasn’t a warrior.
I wasn’t a fighter.
It wasn’t my war.
Some fucking bureaucrat in some fucking shithole office somewhere decided we needed to teach the Algonquans a lesson for daring to send their ships to explore a sector of the galaxy we’d thought about getting around to looking at one day.
A pissing contest.
They aren’t warlike. They’re pacifists. We’ll just flex our muscles.
Those were the mantras, I’m sure. They didn’t want the Algonquans taking a harder look at the territories staked out by the monkey men who evolved on the third rock out from Sol. They rolled the dice and fired a few shots over the bow of an unarmed exploration ship and expected the Algonquans to back off.
The plan backfired.
The same said nameless bureaucrat also got his intel wrong when they said the Algonquans were a slowly reproducing race with relatively low population numbers.
They lied. Or they failed to take into account the Algonquans’ deep desire to survive as a species.
They’d never done anything to us.
And now here I was, in a war technically as old as me even though the bulk of the fighting had only been going on for fifteen years.
They yanked us from universities and non-military jobs and passed the marriage ban so only certain people could actually tie the knot, thus preserving healthy young males for military duty on the ass-end of the galaxy. Rich people could usually swing exemptions. As the war progressed, the breeding program started.
I was straight and twenty, and the only women I’d been allowed to fuck were the three breeding partners selected for me.
To do my duty.
The thirty-minute sessions with the women whose names I wasn’t allowed to know were about as romantic as a root canal. I actually enjoyed the sperm donation sessions more, my required two deposits a week, every week, from when I turned eighteen until I shipped out, me and twenty-four other guys in a room with jars.
Just in case we didn’t come home, they’d still have something to remember us by and help repopulate the species.
At least during the donation sessions I could close my eyes and bury myself in a fantasy, instead of staring at the face of a woman who obviously would rather be somewhere else and needed half a tube of lube so I didn’t hurt her when we did it.
Finally, a cause to unite the Terran races, bring together the various colonies, and get people behind the coalition government. Even three of the alien treaty races, sensing blood in the water, decided to hop on the bandwagon. Whether to mop up what was left of the Terrans should they get their asses kicked, or help the Terrans mop up whatever remained of the Algonquans and reap those rewards, who’s to say?
It wasn’t enough.
We were on the Washington Franklin, a battle troop transport cruiser, armed and deadly. We carried fifty buzzer bees, fast two-man fighters that could fly in space or atmosphere, and a total of seven hundred and thirty-two souls on board—buzzer crews, flight maintenance, ship’s crew, and bushwhacking grunts. Lucky me, I’d drawn assignment to flight maintenance, meaning I didn’t have to carry a fucking gun and storm the beach heads or jungles or whatever the fuck terrain our grunts got dropped into.
I could stay on the ship and pray I made it home alive. Not that I had a home, since they drafted me in as an A-1 classification. Meaning this was my home until I died or they finally decided to let me out of the fucking military. My parents died soon after I shipped out, in a reactor explosion at the plant where they worked. At least I’d had parents and not just a breeder code tattooed on my arm. My mother and father had been married for ten years before my birth. I grew up a happy, well-loved, and fairy well-adjusted resident of the Ganymede colony.
I was born three years before marriage bans kicked in.
Seven years before breeder laws.
How “human” were we Terrans anymore, really?
The government was great at spinning it so people took their dog shit and lapped it up like fine caviar. People my age and older could remember some semblance of freedom. People a few years younger than me accepted without question that we were doing our duty to preserve our species.
I tuned out the morning propaganda bullshit, officially called the morning briefing, or MB. Techs had to sit in as command staff briefed the crews on their missions and reminded us all about the “Algonquan menace.” No one, officially, had ever returned after capture in the twenty years the war had been going on. Were they killed? Turned into slaves? Tortured?
No one knew. An estimated twenty thousand men, give or take. Never heard from again.
I suspected more missing than that, knowing our government’s penchant for not releasing all the facts.
That didn’t stop the government from scaring the everlovin’ crap out of us by trying to fill us full of their bullshit. Kill or be killed…or worse.
I remember a lot about that morning. All of it, actually. Starting from when I decided to take an extra ten minutes to sleep in instead of going to the wank closet, as the crew called it. We were required to visit it a minimum of three times a week, probably to keep us from getting too rowdy, and I’d already been twice. I could skip a day. I remembered mess, the MB, pre-flight checks on the five BBs I was assigned to as senior tech, the flight crews busting our balls as usual.
“Bye, pussies,” one of the BB pilots teased us. “We’re off to keep you safe and save the species.” His co-pilot brayed with laughter and slapped him on the shoulder.
I remember passing the BBs off to the launch crews, who lined them up in formation to shoot out of the cruiser’s belly like the deadly insects of war they were.
I remember turning to Billy Akins, a year younger than me, a good ol’ boy from the Alabama territory back on Earth. This was his first trip ever into space. Being from Ganymede, I’d seen space plenty of times before this fucking fiasco. I remember the look of fear on his face as he stared at the radar monitors used by the launch crew to keep track of fighter squadron distances so they didn’t launch too soon.
“Dale, what the fuck is that?”
I turned and saw the huge shape, more like a planet than any ship’s radar signature I’d ever seen.
That’s all I remember.
The next thing I remembered, I didn’t believe, at first.
My vision slowly cleared. I lay upright at an angle, not quite vertical but not under my own steam. Some sort of energy manacles on my wrists held them pinned to the sides of the shoulder-high frame I was attached to.
Attached in more ways than one.
Face-in, as my mind slowly re-engaged with my body, I discovered I wasn’t alone. I learned more about my predicament based upon what I saw around me. The huge facility struck me as some sort of warehouse, but then I heard a faint rumble in the distance that immediately brought to mind a ship’s engine.
As far as the eye could see, we were immobilized in circular racks of twenty men each, facing in. We were all gagged. I tested the soft ball in my mouth. It gave and changed shape, but despite not being painfully tight, the strap holding it in place had no slack. I couldn’t dislodge it.
The other men in my rack looked as wide-eyed and shocked as I felt. I didn’t recognize any of them, which didn’t mean anything because I didn’t socialize much. I barely knew the flight crews whose BBs I maintained. I slept, ate, wanked, and worked. That comprised my usual day. I existed, barely, to make it through another day.
If it wasn’t for the mind-numbing fear, I might have found my situation interesting, something to break the monotony of my pitiful existence.
We’d all been stripped naked. Our ankles bore similar manacles as our wrists, pinning our legs to the frame, spread apart but not uncomfortably so. I tried and could not move.
Angled just slightly forward, I could take my weight off my feet if I leaned against the frame and let it hold me. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t my choice of accommodations, that’s for damn sure.
In the center of the rack, a dome-shaped housing held what I guessed could only be described as a pump. From it, twenty hoses emerged with an attachment on the end of each one.
Attached to our cocks. Sort of like the pictures of old-fashioned cattle milkers I’d seen in schoolbooks and vids.
I wasn’t in any pain. In fact, once I fought back my panic and tried to relax, I realized it didn’t feel too terribly bad. Not like I could fight the woody the constant suction from the device gave me anyway.
In the distance I spotted movement, blue-garbed figures working around another rack. I didn’t know how many of us there were in this room, or vessel, or warehouse, but I could count at least twenty other racks, and suspected many beyond those.
As the figures drew closer to our rack, I occasionally heard muffled grunts from my fellow captives. It wasn’t until they reached the rack next to ours I realized what they were doing.
Photographs of the Algonquans were never shown, even though I knew we had a prisoner complex near Alpha Centauri. I’d heard rumors the most horrible of tortures wouldn’t get Algonquans to give up information. Again, that little fact didn’t stop the government from building them up in our heads as horrible, mutant, insectoid creatures.
If these were Algonquans then the government had badly lied. It also left me praying the Algonquans treated their prisoners better than we did.
Close to eight feet tall by my best guess, with smooth, bronze skin, their black hair fell past their slim shoulders and was tied in a braid. They had four long but thick fingers, although they seemed to favor the first two fingers like a clasper grip. Large brown eyes, a flattened nose, and a long, oval face.
They weren’t Terran beautiful, but they weren’t the ferocious creatures we’d been told about, either.
They didn’t talk to any of the Terran men in English, although I was situated close enough that I noticed if one of my fellow captives made a loud noise through their gag, one of the Algonquans would stroke his naked back and make soothing, chirruping noises at him, like you would a child.
Or a dog.
The Algonquans moved methodically around each rack, and only as they drew within my line of sight did I realize they had a hover cart of some sort, loaded with supplies. Each man was given three injections in the left ass cheek, a metal collar was placed around his neck, and a tag on the collar scanned into a hand-held device. Then they donned some sort of mitts and, working from the face down, they rubbed each man, front and back, armpits and groin, all the way down to their feet. As they stepped back to check their work, sometimes going over an area again if necessary, I realized it was a hair-removal process. They left eyebrows, lashes, and hair on the head, but everything else, including facial hair, was removed.
They had it down to a science. The next step, apparently the one that produced noises in the men, was squirting a very viscous goo onto a probe that went…well, up the ass. Not just a probe, but hooked to a cord, which they then plugged into a small control panel on the frame each man was attached to.
This is when it got interesting.
As one technician punched in settings, the man’s body would tense, squirm, and that’s usually when they’d moan around their gag. Their noises didn’t sound pained. It finally struck me the butt plug must be inflating because the second tech would soothe the distressed man as the first tech continued making adjustments until they were happy with the setting. A quick tug on the wire to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere, and usually the man received a pat on the ass as the first technician straightened to move to the next prisoner.
I was fifth in line in our rack for the treatment, now able to closely watch the faces of the men taken care of before me. Each one, as the anal probe was inserted, tried to struggle briefly when the plug inflated. Then futility set in again and they closed their eyes as they tried to get used to the sensation.
No wonder they gagged us. A whole facility of us moaning and groaning and begging and pleading would have only panicked the others, even if we weren’t being tortured.
They turned out to be smarter than our government claimed.
When they reached me, I closed my eyes and waited. Far as I could tell, no one before me had died from the treatment, so I figured if I didn’t fight, it might go faster. The injections stung, but not anything worse than I’d dealt with from the military before I was shipped out. The collar wasn’t loose enough to get off, but it wasn’t tight enough to choke or chafe, either. Lightweight, but I suspected the rounded metal rod was some sort of unbreakable alloy. The ends appeared fused together once put on, and I had no idea how it came off after being attached.
Their hands felt gentle but firm on my flesh as they scrubbed me with the mitts and removed every last bit of my body and facial hair.
They weren’t cruel because the lube they used felt warm. Although it didn’t numb my rectum when it went in, I didn’t feel any pain. Sure enough, after they plugged it in it started inflating. I couldn’t help but moan as it grew in size to feeling like it filled half my abdominal cavity, even though it didn’t hurt. It did, however, press against my prostate. I tried to suppress another grunt as I reflexively climaxed from the sensation.
I have to admit, that felt pretty good.
It also earned me a pat on the ass from one of the techs. They slightly deflated the device and then I felt a tug on the cord as they ensured it was securely in.
I noticed they talked to each other, but I couldn’t begin to decipher their language. I’d heard we had some linguists who could. To me, the complex mix of sounds made no sense, although I could almost picture two Terran med techs discussing their day as they went about their normal rounds.
To the Algonquans, perhaps this was a normal day.
I have no idea how long they held us there. I had a feeling probably three days, but it could have been two or four. Every few hours, a tech would come around with some sort of clear liquid that wasn’t water, but it wasn’t objectionable. They’d poke a tube through a small opening in the gag and patiently wait for us to drink as much as we wanted. If they didn’t feel we drank enough, they’d keep it there until we took a little more while they made encouraging-sounding noises at us. There was enough give to the ball gag we could swallow without choking.
Going to the bathroom, apparently, was done through the tube. We all discovered this when it became impossible to hold it any longer. Maybe the anal probe took care of business on that end because I didn’t have an urge to go. I didn’t miss that some of my fellow captives occasionally fidgeted in their bonds, wiggling their asses, then their breathing quickened. Invariably, I’d see a stream of white fluid disappear down the tube.
I quit counting how many climaxes the damn thing pulled out of me. I figured why fight it? At least it felt good.
We could sleep, and we did by resting our heads on the top of our individual frames. It was either that or stare at each other across the racks. None of us seemed inclined to do that because we could see our helpless fellow captives and know that’s exactly how we were trussed.
Then a group of techs, working quickly and efficiently, moved through the cargo hold. I was inclined to believe a ship at that point simply because we occasionally heard chimes that might have marked shift changes, accompanied by the steady drone of engines. The techs withdrew straps from our frames, passed them over our asses, and hooked them to the other side of the frame, tightening them not painfully but securely. Not exactly a standard seatbelt, but it added credence to the ship theory. Perhaps we were coming in to land.
The sound of engines grew louder, strained, then slowly eased off again as we felt a tremor pass through the ship. Another, then a third, and a harder, not quite jarring thud. Everything went still as the engine sounds faded.
Within minutes more chimes sounded and then an announcement. None of us could understand the language, of course.
More techs swarmed what, yes, turned out to be a cargo bay.
We were the cargo.
Two techs to a rack, they unfastened our straps, deactivated latches holding the racks securely in place, and moved us toward an open cargo hatch where they pushed us down a ramp.
I didn’t know if this planet was Algonquan. The planet’s sun either neared or hovered just past its zenith in a crystalline blue sky without a hint of pollution. We sat in a field with beautiful, lush, emerald green grass beneath us. I looked back and saw the ship was at least five times larger than the transport I’d been on. I wondered how many of my fellow captives were from my ship or others in our fleet.
I had yet to see anyone I knew.
Because of the way they’d configured us in the racks, I couldn’t look around too much. I guessed we were in a smaller town because I didn’t see traces of pollution or skyscrapers. Our racks hovered a few inches above the grass as they pushed us in a line across the field and into a large building. Clean, light, airy. This wasn’t some rank, dirty torture hole our government swore we’d end up in. It reminded me of a shopping complex because lining the far wall sat a row of what were obviously storefronts selling completely unfamiliar merchandise.
With all our racks unloaded and secured in this new place, more waiting began. The tech numbers reduced. Someone again made sure we were fed or watered, or maybe whatever they gave us was both. I never felt hungry or thirsty.
Just…perpetually aroused. Not that I could help it, the milking device hooked to my cock made resisting the sensation an impossibility. I got used to the fullness in my ass within the first hour or two of having it there. Not like I could do anything about it anyway. When I tried to push it out, like passing a bowel movement, I felt a slightly unpleasant buzzing, a borderline electrical sensation. Not a shock, but not something I felt brave enough to test the limits of. When I stopped resisting the sensation immediately went away, replaced by a pleasant vibration that instantly made me come again.
When I tried it again later, I received the same result. When I experimented by tightening my ass muscles, as if to ensure it stayed in, the pleasant vibration happened again, only stronger, making me come immediately.
I was rewarded for not resisting.
I did that more than a few times during our journey, to take my mind off my troubles. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of my fellow captives did, too. We were, after all, pretty virile men. It wasn’t like we could read or do crossword puzzles or talk to pass the time.
Sure as hell beat the wank closet.
What did that say about the Algonquans, that they used positive reinforcement on their prisoners?
And what did they have in mind to create such a pleasant sensation anyway?
I had an unpleasant suspicion, but I’d give them the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t dead, I wasn’t in pain or any real discomfort other than being immobilized, and if this was their idea of torture, hell yeah, keep me signed on. I might get bored to death, but I found that preferable to some of the inhumanities we’d been told they would inflict upon us if captured.
More waiting. Then, the first trickle of what I guessed were civilians appeared. Their appearance was similar to the techs, but they weren’t dressed in the blue uniforms. They wore tunics in a variety of colors and styles. I finally realized they all struck me as male, as were the techs. Or masculine, at the very least. Maybe my perceptions were skewed by my Terran upbringing, but that’s the opinion I had.
The civilians browsed our racks and talked to techs. Sometimes they had questions and would point to one captive or another. Sometimes they stroked hair, checked skin, looked at eyes. When asses were pointed at, the tech would make an adjustment to the console that usually resulted in the captive’s body tensing in a now all-too-familiar reaction.
Shoppers selected captives. When this happened, the techs scanned the tag on the captive’s collar and shot an ear tag into their right ear lobe. That was also scanned. Then the shopper gave the tech a card to scan, apparently matching the captive to their new owner and completing the transaction.
Who knew? They used credit cards. How Terran of them.
Now purchased, the techs detached the individual frame from the rack, unhooked the milker hose from the captive’s cock, and took the frame away, followed by the purchaser.
Throughout the day, as more captives were purchased, frames would be brought over from other racks to replace them and fill in the hole, consolidating our numbers. I nearly laughed at the thought of the merchandising going on in this literal meat market.
That’s when a horrific thought struck me. They weren’t going to eat us, were they?
Keep us calm and relatively happy by subduing us like this?
Not struggling so the meat wouldn’t become tough?
I closed my eyes and prayed I was wrong and tried not to think of pampered Kobe cattle back on Earth.
I was looked at a few times in passing but not selected until late in the day. A shopper wearing a finer-looking tunic than many of the previous customers examined me. His hands felt gentle as he took my face and studied me, turning me as if examining a prized hound. His eyes met mine, and I silently pleaded that, if he did buy me, to please not hurt me. I forced myself to relax and didn’t fight his grip, let him turn me how he wanted.
This was the closest I’d been to one of them who actually paid me attention. I swear it felt like he tried to read my mind, sense my thoughts. His large brown eyes were filled with small gold flecks, and I sensed not some rabid, vicious alien, but a sensitive, intelligent soul.
Or, maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.
Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll be good.
Without breaking eye contact with me, he asked the tech a few questions. The tech leaned over and did something to my control panel.
My eyes dropped closed as the butt plug swelled and buzzed, making me climax. I moaned. No way to avoid it, the climax hit me too hard and fast to prepare for it.
The tech changed the setting, and it shrank back to its previous size but left me breathless.
He bought me.
Even getting the tag through my ear wasn’t too bad, just a mild pinch. A quick antiseptic swab they used on my ear lobe also apparently contained a topical anesthetic. Once it wore off it ached, but not painfully. I’d felt worse in basic training.
They disconnected my cock from the milker hose. I couldn’t see my poor, abused member, but it felt swollen from the constant suction.
Part of me sort of hoped it’d stay that size.
I tried to stay calm. If they planned to eat us, they wouldn’t collar and tag us, would they?
I was taken by the techs to a small, private room where my new owner stood to the side and waited for the techs to finish with me. They gave me three more injections, this time in my right ass cheek. They brought in a different kind of frame, similar to the one I was hooked to, but smaller and configured so I had to lie down on it.
A tech hooked an energy leash to my collar. I felt a low-level hum through the connection, a distinct warning to behave myself if I ever felt one. The tech waited for another to join him and together they disconnected first my ankles, then the cord hooking the butt plug to the frame. My wrists were unfastened last, but before they did, I felt all slack tightened in the leash.
Once they released my wrists, I waited for them to signal me to move. No way in hell would I try for bravery. If they were going to eat me, so far they hadn’t done anything to hurt me. I figured maybe they’d be into humane euthanasia, too. One of the techs caught my left wrist and carefully guided me backward, giving me time to step away from the frame, steadying me with a palm to my back.
Then pressure on my back indicated I was to move to the other frame.
No use fighting, I complied.
I didn’t miss how one of the techs said something favorable-sounding, and my new owner nodded as he watched me. I got the distinct impression they were discussing me. Hopefully they were saying how well-behaved I acted. My owner’s eyes met mine as I continued silently pleading for mercy.
I’m not a grunt. I’m not into fighting to the death. I wasn’t into fighting at all. I just wanted whatever happened to me to be over with as soon as possible and to experience as little discomfort as possible in the process.
The two techs guided me into position on the frame, so I straddled it, almost crouched over it, but able to truly lie down for the first time since my capture.
This was okay. Padded and comfortable, I could actually go to sleep like this if I needed to.
My wrists and ankles were once again connected to this frame. I felt them connect the butt plug wire as well. Another milker hose, as I’d come to think of it, was attached to my cock.
I immediately grew hard inside it.
I was somewhat surprised Terran governments hadn’t thought of something like this to keep troops under control during transport.
Unlike the other frame, I felt a tether hook my collar to the structure. I could lift and move my head but not much. I wouldn’t get cramped like this though.
Before I could contemplate it, a tech removed my gag and immediately replaced it with another, different kind. Smaller in size but a flat wedge more than a ball. More comfortable, for sure. I felt another hole in it where they could give me the nutrients I’d been fed.
Once the techs checked my bonds, my new owner shook hands with them, then reached down and petted my head. I think he smiled at me. I sensed affection as his eyes studied mine.
He wouldn’t eat a pet, would he? I prayed not.
He said something in his language as he grazed his nails along my scalp.
Then one of the techs gave me another shot, this time in the upper arm, and blackness took me.