The Alien Warrior King's Accountant - Loki Renard Page 0,11

who is determined to punish somebody for the damage to his ship. I’m the scapegoat. The whipping girl.

“This is my ship,” he intones. “You will respect it, and you will refrain from damaging it. Do you understand?”

“I’m so sorry. It was a mistake! I never meant to cause any damage to your ship, I swear. I’m very careful with property.”

“I saw your apartment, human. There is no evidence to support your statement. Many of your common items were in a state of advanced disrepair. You may put holes in your walls, human, but you will not put holes in my ship.”

I can’t believe he noticed the state of my apartment. He was only at my front door for a matter of seconds. Goddamn it.

“That’s because we’ve all been locked away inside to avoid the plague. There was no way to get them fixed.”

“There shouldn’t have been holes at all. Humans don’t use materials capable of withstanding physical blows.”

I’d point out that neither does his species, but I don’t feel like pushing my luck right now. Instead, I try to explain what happened.

“Okay. I was playing a game, you know, in VR, and you wear these goggles over your head, and then you really can’t see anything, so sometimes you hit a wall.”

“Then you haven’t calibrated your room size properly.”

“How the fuck do you know how a VR toy works?”

King Tyrant lets out a laugh. “You are surprised we understand your world, human? We made your world.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I really wish I wasn’t having this conversation in such a humiliating position. This is an interesting topic, but my ass is higher than my head and the alien king is starting to stroke it gently, petting me like I am an animal.

“Do you really think that humans suddenly developed computer chips, a global communication network, microwaves, and electric appliances within two hundred years after spending tens of thousands of years bashing stones together?”

When he puts it that way, it does sound unlikely.

“I just thought…”

“Human arrogance,” Tyrant says to Terrible. “They think they’re capable of anything, no matter how unlikely or ridiculous.”

I would disagree, but I find myself on a ship made of some kind of malleable matter, held in a very undignified position, about to be punished for being human and making a mistake. This doesn’t feel like the time to argue. It feels like the time to appeal to alien egos and get myself released from this soft prison of firm material, and ideally, from the contract.

I no longer care if I get fired. I don’t care if I lose my apartment, and if everybody I know and inevitably tell this story to is going to think I’ve lost my mind. I have to get the hell out of here. I have to escape these aliens who do not know how to treat a lady at all.

“What you are in is called the punishment position,” Tyrant explains. “I will put you in this position anytime you behave in a manner unbecoming a possession of mine.”

I choke on the word possession.

“Excuse me, I think you’ll find that I’m a consultant on loan from Rogers Accounting. Not a possession.”

“I think you’ll find you're in my care,” King Tyrant replies, punctuating his comment with a hard slap which somehow covers both my cheeks. The slap is not overly hard, not harder than I can bear, at least — but it does shock and surprise me. There’s something about being spanked that reaches the very core of me instantly, touches parts of my mind which have been locked away safely for years.

It makes me smaller. It makes me weaker. And it makes me sore, especially when it is repeated a half dozen times in quick succession. Every time his scaled palm makes contact with my robe-covered ass, I gasp involuntarily and try to wriggle away, only to find myself gripped ever tighter by the ship’s protrusion.

“OW! What the HELL! What the literal fucking hell!?” I curse and wail and swear, completely outraged. First, they dressed me like a Star Trek extra, and now I’m being punished physically. I did not sign up for this. There are no physical punishment clauses in my contract. This is illegal and wrong and it is making me sore as hell.

Worse still, every time I wriggle, I feel a slight curve of the ship’s grip protruding between my thighs. It is pressing against the nub of my clit almost as if it was engineered intentionally. I don’t