Xanthopella The Gift

Copyright of Peter Dee, 2001

Out of the frying pan and into the third place, a spirited girl becomes a gift of remote affection to an alien's wife. This turns out to be extremely fun.

***

To be presented at the slaver's auction, naked like an un-apprenticed virgin! The shame! No girl at eighteen, I was the best sneak-thief in the city, on the planet, and I had the certificate to prove it. Lord Rracc's handkerchief, Embroidered with his initials, hung on my wall. I made no secret of it.

The Great Lord Rracc. That name may conjure an illusion of a tall glowering man whom could flay a maiden with his eyes and make her enjoy it. Not so! Flaccid and fat Lord Rracc. He won't get his hands on me in this tale. Not if I have any say in it!

The humiliation of being sold cut me far deeper than the Auctioneers crop as he prodded me forward. Perhaps his shame was as great. I spoiled his diorama of doe-eyed consumptive waifs. A most unfashionable slave girl with my close-cropped hair and sun-spoilt skin. If he had not owed my father a favor, he would never have agreed to sell me.

Each slave was symbolically bound by a collar whose leash looped over the same bar in the ceiling. Just too little slack to allow one to collapse to her knees. So we had to stand, and clutch each others baby-oiled hides in twos and threes to stop the most waif-like from fainting and slowly asphyxiating. The sight of us would add a small but scientifically quantifiable edge to the bidding. Who says chivalry is dead? All bidding houses employed some such gimmick.

I was lead to the front of the stage, one of the Hands whipping the leash so it would slide along the overhead bar after me. I stepped upon the block. Yanking the leash, the Hand pulled me taut. And more so, up onto my toes to emphasize my lithe athletic legs, before he secured his end to a floor ring. Still it choked me. I had missed my queue to wrap the leash round my wrists so I had to grip desperately to the leash with both hands above my head in order to breath.

The bidding began. Sadistic hands traced the straining arches of my feet, pinched the muscles of my calves and above the knees to test tone and responsitivity. There was Lord Rracc in the crowd. Who had invited him? If it was my father, that sodden...

If it was my father who had invited Lord Rracc, and I had enough faith in our unique father-daughter bond that it was, twice fool him!

For Rracc was not bidding.

To bid for me would be to publicly confirm what everyone knew. Rather, Rracc was here to show total indifference, and remind everyone what an unwise investment I could nevertheless be. Rracc was here to see me sold for a handful of maize to a mule trader. Valued thus, consensually and publicly, as nothing. Nobody. Revenge is best served indifferently.

Bidding was poor. Father would not make half the money he needed to pay his debts. Not one whit would he have thought of me in his misery, his only daughter (not a son, some were only now being convinced), presented to the crowd for their mockery, dangling on the end of a leash, naked , gasping and glistening like a fish on a hook. Untouched!

Look at me! I wanted to scream. I have done things you only dream of. I have done things! I have engaged in high treason and acts of lurid depravity. All by my self! Always by my self. Now I want recognition!

"Look at those perfect shoulders, that taut abdomen! Those child-baring hips" The Auctioneer twisted me round, "That tight peach butt!"

Look at me! I am a personality! A hot tear.

"..Those thighs.. No previous owner. A must sell! No reserve price! Offer ANYTHING!"

There was silence. I heard the nobles tittering. The bid stood at slightly over a quarter what was required bail out father. But why should HE worry. Once I escaped and returned to him, why I could let him sell me again. And again. And I would do it. My mother made me swear to look after him.

The scheme would have worked, (and I admit it took him to think of it) but he wanted ten times as much, by selling me to Lord Rracc. Oh how I hated him.

"Going once," Ouch!

"Going twice," Ow!

The auctioneer raised his crop for the closing strike. My butt tried to scrunch up into my arsehole, reflexively.

A beautiful voice delayed the stroke. "Your pardon...We are strangers here...".

Alien. Mellow yet crisp. The words were not shouted, but the speaker had never doubted that they were sufficient to halt the proceedings. The voice had no clear origin. The auctioneer paused, looking in all directions. To me, it was as if my taut belly had rung like a bell. I felt the voice resonate there.

My eyes noticed a disturbance in the crowd. There was the alien and his wife. A space had formed around them.

If I muff their description you will think them horrific, six foot scorpions. Or perhaps some sort of six-legged lizard. All I noticed were the eyes. Brilliantly hued, set in a herbivorous face, balanced swanlike on a slender neck that descended to shoulders and chest that could have belonged to a pubescent boy and girl, but for the smooth plating.

Their draped and decorated bodies flowed back and finally narrowed to a tail that arched up to a bulbous stinger, perhaps, that darted around inquisitively very much as if it were a second head. Their bodies were slung inches off the ground, spider-like, between four long crouched legs. All their feet were also hands.

With frightening agility and ease they had scuttled up beside us and began inspecting me, really looking me up and down, eyes carried by graceful necks from toe to tip as they cooed appreciatively. Eyes that seemed to physically touch me with their gaze.

"Are we to understand that this exquisite genuine-human virgin-female is for sale?"

The auctioneer looked at me dubiously. "Yes?" he ventured,

"Future generations would not expect her back?"

"Definitely not." On this he was quite certain.

"Never been used?"

"Ewh!"

The auctioneer had merely shuddered at the concept. You are MEANT to be SELLING me, fool!

"Can we have her wrapped?"

***

The female had left us on other business, leaving my leash in the hands of the other, whom had in fact managed every element of the purchase. I did not consider this unusual at the time. The male, who had professed total ignorance of human care and grooming, nevertheless had noticed my thirst and now was treating it at a nearby tavern.

Although I dreaded the answer, I asked what use the alien intended to put me to.

"You are to be the conduit by which I express my remote love to my wife."

I frowned. So I was to be an expression of remote affection. That sounded insulting.

"So you are a male Xeno? You Xeno's all look the same anyway," I spat.

The Xeno looked sad. "We have not progressed so far in our relationship to be sure... But yes, I will be the male when we, it.. that is to say when we terminally consummate. But that could be delayed decades. Centuries. You are to aid in that delay, by providing sport and titillation."

That was a lot to swallow. I was more confused and nervous than before. It must have showed.

"I see you do not understand. Why should you. We do not advertise our nature. We find it shameful. In the act of consummation, where smaller mate who has been totally conquered, that is reduced to a state of complete submission and pliancy by the sexual administrations of the stronger, the female, and also thrust deep upon her ovipositor, then biology takes over and he is absorbed into her abdomen where the mate is consumed by the larvae laid within him. This is traumatic, especially for the female, for once the biological process begins, the justifying urges fade and she is quite sane for the few hours it takes for her mate to be consumed. Consummated. Much poetry on the subject exists... but is never shown."

I was already out the window and running. Well, actually only half out. The alien was faster than I expected and had grabbed the chain joining my wrists. I was half out the window and my legs were pumping in mid-air.

"Be unafraid, my exotic. Your biology is incompatible. Consummation will never take you, however repeatedly or deeply her lust is sated upon you."

"Oh. Good." I kept my face expressionless. I resolved to be elsewhere and soon.

***

Soon elsewhere I was. I opened my eyes to find myself deep in the alien's palatial quarters, on the softest bed, looking up at a suspended mirror to see a beautiful girl dressed like a young bride to be. Some damned alien hypnotic trick had switched scenes on me easy as an authors pen. I was starved, dazed and embarrassingly dressed in the latest fashions of white lace and silk, that I could not possibly afford, that no one in their right mind would have been egotistical or deluded enough to think they could carry off and not look ridiculous. All this evidence suggested I had been shopping. Yes. I slowly remembered now. Laughing and giggling as I towed my sugar-daddy from boutique to boutique, feeling the fabric, trying on everything and discarding with a flourish till I had this, the most perfect perfect costume for the most wonderful, wonderful occasion. I hit my forehead on my palm several times hoping the brain damage would remove the cringe inducing memory of it.

Dressing me had not been all of it. I also remembered some sort of full body facial with restorative clays and cucumber slices all over, a steaming hot bath and being dried by the softest towels before I slept. I sat up suddenly on the bed, so excruciatingly refreshed and alive that I could lie still not a second longer. I had to escape and find my father, damn him. I had abandoned him too long already.

The room had only one way out. I would have to play along for now. I did not think the spell had worn off accidentally. I guessed they wanted ME for the next scene, not the vacuous shopping zombie. If I could keep my wits about me I had a chance. Dressed like a princess but walking like a thief, I stole into the waiting elevator.

***

The elevator door opened onto a hanging garden of delights. Delicious scents enticed me through the door before caution returned. The aliens were not in sight.

In the center of the room was what I took to be a wide round table, surrounded by hanging pots and open dishes, of gleaming bronze, from whence the aroma surely came. But there were no chairs, and the table was slightly domed. Mushroom-like, in fact. I bent down and found it to be soft and silky, surely for sitting on. If I was wrong however, it might set a bad precedent to sit on it.

"Climb up upon the table, and inspect each dish."

I looked around but could not spot where the voice had come from. I obeyed, balancing on my knees at the table center, spinning the hanging mobiles of food that surrounded me to smell each mouthwatering dish. They not only knew humans. They seemed to know me. There were steaming meats, the softest white bread and pluckable fruits and small wine bottles in ice and ice-cream and crayfish and much more. I have never explored my food before. My stomach grumbled. I knew I had not been given permission, but if I moved quickly enough, technically, they had not forbade anything.. My greed and spirit of rebellion, always my finest qualities, won me over and I grabbed for a tart small enough to swallow in a single gulp.

Instead I found my arm suspended above my head, a soft ribbon entrapping my wrist, loosely closed by an alien thumb and fore finger. The wife, not the husband, had taken the initiative.

Both of them were there coiled above me. Not coiled to pounce but coiled in each other's arms and bodies like playful children, feeding the illusion that it was I looking down at them.

Her face hung down by my ear. "Your childlike snatch.. delighted us." Another hand brought a small tart to my lips, identical to the one I had failed to grab. "My name is Xanthopella."

"Y' knew.." I accused, mouth full. It was even more delicious than it looked.

"Your desires sparkle like diamonds in your mind. Now we will blindfold you."

My wrist was released and the ribbon wrapped over my eyes. They sat me down comfortably between them, one in front and one behind. One held a refreshing drink to my lips to wash down the tart, while another pair of hands loosened my coat. It might have been the same alien. They had so many hands.

The cloak slid down to my elbows as I chewed on succulent chicken flesh, my lips dabbed with bread. Each mouthful was another dish, always surprising me, never quite fast enough or large enough so my mouth would hang open, expectant for the next treat. The heat from the bowls radiated intensely, perspiration beaded on my brow despite cool goblets to sip from appearing at my lips just as my thirst occurred to me. I was thankful when my puffed silk blouse was unbuttoned and pushed down to aid my coat in entangling my arms.

Something as ticklish as feathers was dragged over my brow, down past my ear and jaw. It descended my neck, traced one collar bone before dipping into my cleavage. It traced the lip of my bra before ascending to my lips, where I could catch it and devour it. It had a freshening taste, after an initial salty burst that might have been my own sweat, but perfectly judged in any case.

That I think punctuated the end of the first course and the beginning of the second. Although I was almost out of breath from chewing and anticipation of the next bite, my appetite was stronger now and the aromas more tantalizing than when I had begun, my nervousness gone.

My lips never knew whether or not to expect one more treat. They sated me but still my mouth hung open hoping for new sensations after the meal had finished.

***

My arms were finally released from the tangle of shirt and coat. I felt soft leather thongs tighten about my wrists. Before I could investigate I felt the mushroom table sinking beneath me, deeper than the floor, and an animal instinct for balance glued me on all fours. "Hey!" I cried out. Fighting my instincts I spared a hand to rip off the blindfold. We were descending through a hole in the floor to a new room. I saw them momentarily distracted with each other, kissing, then the husband leapt down to the new approaching floor and Xanthopella turned her sinuous neck to watch me; two fingers to her lips as if to stifle laughter. "Time to stretch your legs, I think."

Did she mean stand? I barely had a choice. The other ends of the thongs binding my wrists were tied wide apart to what was rapidly becoming the ceiling. They no longer reached all the way to the descending mushroom table I knelt upon. I stumbled to my feet before the thongs pulled me up. By the time the mushroom reached the floor and stopped I could not drop my wrists any lower than breast height.

I found myself surrounded by familiar elements in an odd composition. The floor was dominated by one big circular leather sofa with me at it's center. The room was octagonal with mirrors on all eight walls, reflecting me off to infinity in eight directions. My arms were now bare and the scarlet of my bra peeked out from above the bridal dress. It was corseted, pulling my waist to wasplike thinness before exploding in a waterfall of lace. My legs had been bare from the beginning.

Xanthopella stretched out on the sofa luxuriantly.

The husband brought his wife a sparkling champagne as she watched me, and turned immediately to unlacing my corset. Using four hands it practically fell away to reveal my perfectly fine waist.

It was about this point that I admitted to myself that my owners were probably going to recoup at least some of their moneys-worth before I could escape back to Father. I never considered telling them to stop. I had voluntarily sold myself. True, I had no intention of honoring the contract but they weren't to know that. I couldn't let them suspect it or escape would be far, far more difficult.

"This room," I said. "If it were a human room the sofa would face one wall, and that would be the TV."

"Can you dance?" Xanthopella asked almost too casually.

"No. I.." I had never really tried. I imagined myself trying to sway provocatively while she watched and suddenly felt very self-conscious and clumsy.

"My husband will show you," Xanthopella replied in a never-mind tone.

"Just keep light contact with my palms. You will be very beautiful," he assured.

I jerked away when his hand brushed my knee, sheepishly returned to follow his movements. Another hand guided my head to sway. He taught me to sometimes keep it parallel, like an Indian dancer, then a roll of the head before locking eyes with Xanthopella again. I realized it must be some alien traditional style.

"Am I doing this right?" I asked "Very well," she replied.

With two more of his hands he guided my waist to sway, and swing the lace ribbon skirt. The feel of the cloth brushing against my thighs was delicious. The rhythm was beyond me and I gave up trying to second guess the movements he wanted.

I may not have been much of a dancer, but my cat-burglar skills meant I could slip through the smallest of spaces. That is all I had to do: slip through the spaces his hands created. I poured through his hands like quicksilver. His hands slid over me always keeping contact. He did not show me what to do with my own hands but they naturally took part: keeping tension against the thongs to preserve balance. I felt very graceful.

Xanthopella had drained her glass and now knelt on the edge of the mushroom. Her own hands shaped the space around me now but just in appreciation. Not touching.

"Ha," I cried with out of breath glee, "If I'd danced like this on -- auction block..."

"If you had danced this dance," she returned with conviction, "we would have been forced to ravish you then and there." As the truth dawned, she whispered in my ear "It is our dance of most blatant seduction."

Something icy traced up my spine and cut the straps of my bra. No longer under tension, the magic offworld cloth immediately contracted to its original postage-stamp size, useless for anything. "Hey!" I recaptured my breasts in the cups of my hands. I only had the two hands; they shared twelve. I was unable to defend more flesh as the two aliens began working every exposed inch of me.

The dance had not stopped. Merely the space had contracted so that there was nowhere to fully escape those hands. I could not stop. Every movement I made to avoid those stroking fingers or in response to them was part of the dance.

Fingers kneaded my tense back and shoulders as others traced my waist, belly and the curve of my inner thighs through the lace. Hands reached up under the lace to massage the back of my thighs and stroke down all the way to my bare feet. Xanthopella in front held my face while she kissed me, and both of them whispered to me how beautiful I was, and described every inch of me, and how they would inflict unbearable pleasure on every inch of me until I begged for mercy; but there would be none.

The Lace skirt fell featherlike to my ankles. I tried to grab for it but the ropes to my wrists prevented me. The alien kissing me sunk down to where I could not reach. Her muscular tail wrapped around my ankles and all six limbs became arms to stroke every inch of my exposed legs, and every inch of me that I could not defend. She started kissing and licking my navel and lower, until my panties were wet with her moisture and mine. When she started to roll the elastic down and all my gyrations did nothing but increase the pleasure of her lips and fingers upon me, it struck me how inconsequential the defense of my small breasts behind my cupped hands had become. Yet I could not surrender these last inches of me even though my legs were shuddering and buckling. The ropes would not let me reach lower.

Though I crossed my legs tightly, Xanthopella continued to roll my panties down, over my butt till her fingers could stroke the crack of my arse as gently as a feather, and her tongue playfully explored my delta. Her mate behind me began running a finger up my spine and down again, right to my tight buns. And up again. Two hands massaged my scalp expertly while two just held me balanced against his exploring finger. That made five. No, he must be standing on two and using his tail. I was too beset to twist and look. I groaned as the finger or tail traveled down again, tracing between my buttocks and probing the barrier of my closed thighs. Playfully it slipped through, and for a second I saw the stinger-like tip poke from between my thighs, between the fur of my cunt and the cloth of my panties. Curving down it hooked the thin cloth and pulled the panties down slowly to my knees where they fell to my ankles.