Page 3 of Bought and Shared

A urora

Nobody moves a muscle, too frightened or curious to do so. We all just stare at the giant, standing at least six and a half feet tall. Every inch of him is built, trim, and well-defined.

Muscles stacked upon muscles flex as he walks down the aisle of the bus, punctuating his strength and ability to overpower us with each smooth step. His uniform is different from the American ones. It’s all black, has sculpted breastplates upon the torso, and fits like a glove.

Though the Voltan look mostly like humans, as they claim we are all descended from distant common ancestors, his skin is golden brown and unlike any flesh I’ve ever seen before.

Not quite tan, it’s more copper than brown in color.

Then there are his eyes. They stand out as much as his impressive height.

They too are golden, encircled by a thin band of blue.

All in all, he is strikingly handsome and powerfully built in a way that no human man can compare to.

“I’m Lieutenant Crom. My job is to get all the new draftees settled comfortably in the barracks here at Fort Kent. If you have any concerns while in residence, you may reach out to me and I will assist you with those concerns.”

After his little speech, the lithe soldier continues down the aisle, assessing the women one by one with obvious interest. As his eyes rove over the lot, each woman instinctively lowers her gaze, suddenly uncertain and flustered, except the girl with the rainbow-colored hair.

She’s not frightened. On the contrary, her expression is about as lusty as the soldier’s as he approaches.

When he closes in on her, she shoots him a big, open smile, and he chuckles at her cheek.

“They’re going to love you over in D pod,” he states cryptically, grinning as his eagle-eyed gaze travels over to the window.

I track the movement and am horrified to see a swarm of soldiers circling the bus like a pod of hungry great white sharks.

It’s clear they want a look at the fresh crop of women that have just arrived at Fort Kent.

Lusty expressions burn on their faces as they press ever closer to the windows, wanting a sneak peek at their options in advance of the actual auction.

The soldier on the bus moves down the aisle to the next seat, which is mine. Like most of the women before me, my attention drops to the floor as soon as his zeroes in on me. A deeper blush, even more pronounced than I’d worn at the spa when they’d waxed my private parts, stains my pale cheeks.

To my horror, the soldier’s feet stop. Leaning forward, he tilts my chin upward and emits a low whistle.

“Look at me, draftee,” he demands, his voice soft yet menacing at the same time.

Too fearful to defy his authority, my light brown eyes level up to his. I’m not sure if he likes what he sees, but the soldier’s gaze hardens as he leans in even closer.

“Is this natural?” he inquires, running his fingers through my thick red hair that hangs down in tight ringlets to my waist.

In my religion, women aren’t allowed to cut their hair unless they’re in mourning for their husbands. Since I’ve never been married, my hair has yet to be cut beyond a basic trim here or there.

So close now we could kiss, the soldier growls, “I asked you a question, draftee. The Voltan don’t like being ignored. Answer me!”

“Y- yes, sir. It’s natural,” I stammer out in fear, reverting to my childhood lessons on respect, and using the title out of sheer habit.

“Stand at attention, draftee. I’m going to need a closer look at you,” he commands.

My next “Yes sir” is a mere whisper. I reluctantly rise, my knees shaking in fear, as he leans in even closer.

“Sir,” he repeats with a smirk, stroking my face from my cheek all the way down to my neck.

“I like that, draftee. I like that a lot. I see your parents have trained you to be respectful and subservient to authority. That goes a long way with the Voltan,” he praises, his finger trailing down the exposed swell of my breast.

Bending, he traces his aquiline nose along the curve of my neck as he takes a deep whiff of my scent. Too paralyzed with fear to react, I stand stock still and allow him the strange intimacy because I’m not brave enough to rebel.

“You smell fucking amazing, too,” he rasps, his voice suddenly an octave deeper before he begins to unexpectedly purr.

It’s a low sound, and I have to admit, it soothes me for some strange reason.

“I can imagine you’ll be an expensive contract.

Well beyond my rank’s reach. But damn, if I only had the money,” his voice trails off and his eyes speak the dark words his mouth chooses not to.

Not knowing how to respond to that, I begin to shake and the soldier laughs, breaking the spell and pulling back from my personal space.

Checking the roster in his hand, he says, “What’s your name, draftee?”

“Aurora,” I finally squeak out after several tense seconds pass in silence before I can force myself to answer him.

Scanning through the list of names in his hand, the soldier swiftly locates mine.

“Aurora Pleasant, draftee number eleven. Eighteen years old. Born in Utah. Never married. And…,” he pauses before glancing up, “…a virgin,” he notes, slowly licking his lips.

Reaching between his legs, he shifts the massive bulge there and his eyes begin to glow with an internal heat.

“Yes, I can imagine you’ll fetch quite a high price tonight at the auction, Ms. Pleasant. Quite a high price, indeed.”

We’re led to our dorms where our meager luggage is already waiting for us at our bunks. Not knowing what else to do, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare off into space.

The girl beside me stops rifling through her bag and says, “You okay? You’re white as a sheet.”

I’ve never had a tan in my life. As a natural redhead, I’m far too pale for that. “I’m okay, just a little nervous,” I answer honestly, giving her a tentative smile. “How about you?”

The friendly girl shrugs and comes to sit beside me on my bed. “It wasn’t my choice to be here, but I’m going to make the best of it,” she answers pragmatically.

“I’m Aurora,” I introduce, extending my hand in greeting.

“Cadence,” she replies with a megawatt smile, giving me a firm shake.

Cadence has long dark hair, china blue eyes, and pale skin like mine. She’s classically beautiful with a curvy figure and has an innate confidence that I lack.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cadence. Are you from Utah, too?”

Nodding, my new friend sighs. “I had a full scholarship to college, but my number came up in the draft and I had to put it on hold for my service with the Voltan,” she discloses.

The Voltan had instituted the draft system like the US military had historically done during times of war. All men were expected to complete military or civil service. Women were expected to either be companions to the Voltan, or work in civil service as well.

Though I was hoping for a civil service job, I was allotted that of a contracted companion instead. At this startling news, my mother had wept, my father had raged, and I’d panicked.

My family had immediately applied for an exemption to the service, due to our religious background, but we’d been denied and I’d been collected on the first of the month like all the other eligible women whose numbers had come up.

“What’s your major?” I ask, curious what it would be like to go to college. I’ve only ever known my small community. The idea of advanced learning, branching out, and meeting new people sounds like heaven to me.

“Chemistry. I’d love to study all the new medical advancements made by the Voltan. Maybe even one day help build upon them.” Cadence’s voice is wistful.

That’s impressive. I’ve only ever learned to read and write and do basic math at my school. Feeling embarrassed by her superior intellect, I stare down at my hands in shame. “I’ve never even been outside Utah before.”

Pity enters Cadence’s pretty eyes then. “Do you want to travel?”

I didn’t even have to give my response any thought. “Yes! I’ve dreamed of it my whole life!”

Not that I ever expect much to come of that dream. My parents have my whole life mapped out for me. Travel isn’t even a consideration in those plans.

“Well, maybe your Voltan master will help you do that. I hear they’re very generous with their companions,” she delicately points out.

I appreciate how she couches the term so that I don’t flinch from the brutal truth of our new reality.

“Maybe.” I’m sure my voice sounded as nervous as I felt.

I’m on the very edge of becoming completely overwhelmed by all this and I’m just trying to keep myself from collapsing from the fear rippling in waves up and down my body.

Two girls begin to argue in the corner of the large room then and we glance up to see what the fuss is all about.

They’re squabbling over which bunk is theirs.

I’m not sure why that should even matter.

We’re only going to sleep here for a single night.

I can’t imagine why such a short stay warrants any sort of tension.

As their argument escalates, the same soldier from the bus enters the room. Striding over to the women, Lieutenant Crom easily pulls them apart as they suddenly lunge at one another.

Effortlessly holding them apart, Crom’s deep voice cuts through the space like a gunshot when he shouts, “Enough!”

Instantly, the two women cease their struggles and lower their heads submissively at his censure.

“As much as I like to watch two scantily clad women crawl all over each other,” he jests, holding them apart by the scruff of their necks, “I won’t have disorder in my barracks. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” both women grudgingly concede.

“Yes, what?” He demands, not accepting their pitiful apology.

“Yes, Sir,” they each dutifully provide.