Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"You're to follow me." He lifts his chin, indicating I should come along, and then turns and walks down a side hall that I rarely go to. The cellblock is actually quite a large building, with multiple rooms and multiple levels of security. When the second clone steps in behind me, I'm puzzled more than afraid. Where are they leading me? We head downstairs, into a section that's normally the guard barracks, and my skin prickles as I'm led past room after room that are the private quarters of the guards themselves.
Is…someone about to get rid of me? I know the guards have no love for Crulden. Is this their way of getting back at him? If so, though, where are they hiding him?
"I'm not sure I should be down here," I stammer, fear sliding through me.
"Just shut up and come on," the clone in charge says. "Down here."
He leads us down a side hall and then pauses in front of a door with what look somewhat like lavatory markings. Once there, he moves to the side and gestures that I should go in. "Take your time."
And he smirks.
All right. I'm pretty sure at this point I'm not dying, but if they want me to clean up their toilets, they've found the wrong girl. Crulden would absolutely lose his shit if I returned smelling like a half-dozen clones because I have to clean up their bathroom. I'm curious, though, so I put my wrist-cuff to the reader and wait.
A wave of steam and soap-scents hit me the moment the doors slide open. In the distance, I can hear running water, and it looks like a strange sort of locker room. Oh. Showers. I did point out that Crulden smelled. I purse my lips, full of questions, but a quick glance at the smirking clones tells me they're the wrong ones to ask.
Maybe Crulden is finishing up with a shower and they want me here to calm him down.
I move forward, heading past a line of cubbyholes and benches toward the sound of water. The place is empty, a couple of baskets of laundry staggered along the wall. There are no laundry-bots, since the gladiators don't play well with expensive equipment, so the clones must do their own housekeeping. The tile floors are slick and damp, and steam rolls out toward me as I head farther in.
And stop.
Directly ahead of me are the showers. It reminds me a lot of Earth communal showers in prisons, where it's a bunch of spray heads pouring into a big area, a metal bar at waist height. There's a damp towel on the bar, and a stack of fresh ones on a shelf away from the water. In the far corner of the room, Crulden stands utterly naked, his back to me. His tail flicks back and forth, but it doesn't quite hide the magnificently muscular ass. I stare at Crulden's form, because he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. His back is broad, the line of his spine strong and elegant as it leads down to rounded, gorgeous, biteable ass cheeks. His head is bowed as he stands under the water, letting the droplets cascade over him like a waterfall. One big hand is on the tile, and he looks…relaxed. Content.
Really, really naked.
I don't know why I'm obsessing over his nudity. I've seen lots of naked aliens. You pop that cherry the moment you're stolen from home. And I've seen naked guys before. I'm no virgin. I know how to handle a penis or two, and if my mother ever asked, it was never more than two, ever, and not at the same time, because I was a good girl. But something about Crulden just leaves me breathless.
He's magnificent. For all that Crulden's face is ugly, his body is a thing of sheer beauty.
His head moves and he opens his eyes under the cascading water, looking over at me. "Mina."
I move forward, silent. I'm not sure what to say.
He turns toward me, and then I get a dose of full frontal. "Will you wash me?" he asks. "Like you always do?"
Sweet Mother Mary.
I try not to stare at the absolute monster between his legs. It's just a penis, I remind myself. Aliens are different sizes and so alien penises are different sizes. But Crulden is very, very big, very much not circumcised, and very, very thick. As I approach, his cock lifts off his thigh, hardening, and juts into the air. His balls are large and full, the head of his cock is prominent and a thick vein twists its way down the impressive length, and oh my god, why am I staring at Crulden's cock vein?
This is a problem.
He glances down at his cock—his magnificent, stunning, standing-straight-at-attention-for-me cock—and grimaces. "Apologies."
"Why are you sorry?"