Taken by the Aliens Read online

  TAKEN BY THE ALIENS

  SAMANTHA MADISEN

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Afterword

  More Stormy Night Books by Samantha Madisen

  Copyright © 2022 by Stormy Night Publications and Samantha Madisen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Madisen, Samantha

  Taken by the Aliens

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Shutterstock/Maksim Shmeljov, Shutterstock/Aleksey Mnogosmyslov, and iStock/3quarks

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  CHAPTER 1

  Clutching her comms device fiercely in one hand, Mina Groza balanced precariously on a scan-portal platform with no handrails, attempting to stand still and keep her eyes trained on the biometrics scanner. She cursed silently to herself. Astrogoda-9 was really out there, in more ways than just distance. It was underdeveloped, backwards, and because of its location—minimally distant from a stable but enormous black hole—time was literally passing at about half the speed as Earth. All of these characteristics combined to make everything a huge hassle.

  An unintelligible series of sounds assaulted her, the volume much too loud. She plugged her ears and shouted, “Human!” as loudly as she could, twisting her wrist at a wretched angle so she could see her comms device in case Paolo had some final information to pass on to her.

  The ear-splitting sound ceased and a tinny electronic voice replaced it. “Customs and Security at Astrogoda-9 requests your forgiveness. Our scans have detected lightwave frequencies originating from your left upper quadrant appendage. Customs and Security at Astrogoda requests that all non-biological emissions are eliminated for identification and security scans. Please eliminate all non-biological emissions and indicate your readiness for identification verbally. Thank you for complying.”

  Mina rolled her eyes but kept her commentary to herself as she shifted her baggage and balanced precariously in order to turn off her comms device. “Ready for ID,” she said loudly. A blueish light scanned her eyes, and the computerized voice—which left something to be desired in terms of translation—counted down the time of the scan for her.

  She tried to summon patience, because Customs and Security devices all over the galaxy were prone to scanning impatience as hostility, and she had ended up in “enhanced” security once before and had no desire to repeat the experience.

  Also, she was already late.

  Thankfully, she either maintained the illusion of calm, or the Astrogoda-9 scan was not very sensitive, because she was released into the spaceport by the same tinny voice several minutes later.

  She shifted her baggage again so that she could turn on her comms device, carry the baggage, and scramble to the exit, hoping to do all three at once. Her comms displayed the local time alongside the standard system time and the system standard in her own solar system, as well as Paolo’s local Earth time.

  Any way you sliced it, she was late, and Paolo was taking his sweet time sending her yet another diatribe about not failing in this endeavor, couched in the weak tea of his “encouragement,” which she suspected he only added because he had to. Bethesda-Klein Galaxia Developments had a real problem with retention of agents. Not many Humans wanted to schlep around the galaxy in the first place, and if you threw Paolo’s unforgiving nature into the mix, it was an even tougher sell.

  But excellent money, and that’s what Mina needed right now.

  There was, thankfully, a large enough Human presence on Astrogoda-9 that signage in universal hominid symbols, as well as (somewhat poorly translated) English, was abundant, and she easily made her way outside, following indicators to a “Transport Place,” where she hoped to find her liaison waiting for her.

  “Well,” she said, when she stepped outside. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

  The sleek interior of the spaceport had given her a false impression of Old Celox, one that was quickly dissolved when she stepped outside. The spaceport was evidently right next to the old city, and its large walls, towering several stories in Earth-measurements, were just across a highway of sorts from where she stood. She had virtually toured Old Celox, and the walls had left an impression on her even then—they were constructed of a stone, so far found only on Astrogoda-9 and only in this region of the planet, which possessed a luminous quality, almost like opal, but was a peculiar shade of blue that matched nothing she had ever seen. In real life, the color was different than in VR, and there was no way to imitate this in digital format. It was one of the many aspects of Old Celox that made it appealing as a potential tourist destination. A potential gold mine, she thought, marveling at the walls.

  She held up her comms device and her identification badge as she approached the only being—biological or mechanical—that she could find on the narrow platform abutting the blocked-off transportation channel. “Human,” she said, waiting for the being—a large, multi-colored hominid nearly two feet taller than her, not a Draquun or a Herstrakaa—to identify itself.

  It held a glowing red orb to its head, which in turn displayed a glyph indicating that it communicated through images. Mina sighed and fished her glyph translator out but despaired of the task it would be to use it. She pulled up a picture of Earth and pointed to herself, then followed with a picture of the Parliamentary building. Even as she did so, she was already looking around for another source of information—visual-only (VO) beings were almost impossible to communicate with effectively, and she needed an answer yesterday.

  Her comms squawked: incoming message from Paolo. She ignored it and stared at the red orb the creature in front of her was holding, feeling hopeless.

  She was about to turn around and seek someone else, when the red orb displayed a series of images in rapid succession and then began to broadcast a message in a monotone, disaffected pileup of words:

  “You are Mina Groza representative of Earth corporation Bethesda-Klein Galaxia Developments you have arrived at an unfortunate moment I am your escort please accompany me you are not arrived at the designated time.”

  “Yeah, I’m late,” Mina muttered, but into one of her bags. She made a gesture of assent that was acceptable to the native apex species on the planet and hoped it would be understood by whatever this creature was.

  “Accompany me in this vehicle,” the red orb spat, after what seemed like an eternity.

  It’s fine, she thought. It’s always like this, bumps in the road. No one can expect everything to go perfectly when someone travels to or from an extreme gravitational zone; everything will be okay.

  “You are not arrived at the designated time,” the creature repeated, once they settled into a small transport vehicle, shiny silver and shaped like a suppository.

  “So I’m told,” Mina whispered under her breath after turning her head to the window.

  This did not bo
de well.

  “Excuse me… uh, sir? But what’s going on?” Mina said, after the vehicle sped around the curve of the city walls and then passed through a secure portal and they entered the old city. The scene was chaotic, although Mina was temporarily distracted by the tall buildings made of brilliant stone that seemed almost bejeweled; the curvaceous architecture of the Draquun, bulbous and fantastical, mesmerized her now that she saw it with her own two eyes. The scale of the buildings had not come through in the VR, nor the rich colors, nor the fanciful twists and turns of the buildings made of a white stone that, like the walls of the city, contained a luminescent quality to it that even sophisticated VR could not convey. And, as promised, peach-colored “fires” burned instead of lamps, adding a rustic, archaic appearance to the city that enhanced its charm. Complex spires drove into the greenish sky, and the roads of the city were paves with large, glassy bricks that looked like blue oil spills, rainbow rings of color catching the light. The windows of the city—its most appealing feature, Mina thought—were made of the unique multicolored silicon sands that washed up on the shores of Old Celox. Glassmakers needed not be true artisans to create a work of art in each pane, because the material, if not filtered extensively, was shot through with swirls of colored glass, the hues unearthly and bold.

  But all of the city’s austere beauty was a backdrop to an otherwise chaotic scene: the translucent windows were being covered, hurriedly, by metallic coverings and what looked like rugs woven from plant materials. All of the inhabitants—a mix of numerous species—scurried, carrying heavy crates and boxes of supplies, shouting and gesticulating.

  “Storm,” the red orb shouted, many moments later, startling Mina. She looked over at her escort.

  “A storm?” she asked and made herself look as confused as possible. Most hominids read facial expressions in much the same way.

  The creature looked confused momentarily, then displayed a picture of a tornado and the red orb squawked: “A violent disturbance of the atmosphere with strong winds and usually liquid or crystallized water and electrical discharges.”

  Mina smiled in spite of her annoyance. “I know what a storm is,” she told him. “It’s just… this looks… severe.”

  The creature considered her words, the red orb glowed thoughtfully, and she waited.

  Ultimately, she was treated to a green check mark.

  Whatever.

  * * *

  She had done her homework, because she always did her homework, and so there really was no reason for it other than pressure, and continuum dysregulation, and… well, that was all she could blame it on, really. It was a stupid, stupid mistake, but she was late, and Paolo’s message had been a full two minutes of haranguing, and she had distractedly thought again of how much she needed to make this deal work, and so perhaps that was why she forgot herself.

  So when the Herstrakaa—an enormous specimen of an already formidable species—headed toward her as she crossed the blue and white tiled floor of the parliament chambers, she was suddenly aware of the Draquun speaker she had not noticed when she entered. She realized, with horror, that she had committed a huge cultural gaffe.

  And she also realized, at that same instant, that she was going to be punished, in accordance with the Draquun cultural norms under which these negotiations were to take place. With ever-increasing horror, she also quickly realized that the Herstrakaa approaching her, vibrant red and purple skin crisscrossed by battle scars, his deceptively dull eyes shifting with what Humans often mistook for nervousness, was going to mete it out.

  And it was, in accordance with Draquun customs, going to be humiliating.

  She stopped in her tracks, which she realized later probably only added insult to injury as far as the Draquun were concerned. Her intention was to explain herself, right after making a deep bow and lowering herself to both knees in supplication, palms on the floor.

  She didn’t have time for any of that, because she doubted herself for just a moment as she recalled all the information she’d memorized about Draquun culture. She was also disoriented by her disappointment in herself—here she was, borking it, right out of the gates. The Herstrakaa male had picked her up and spun her around before she could think or do anything at all.

  Reality came to her on a time delay, for a few moments as if it was happening to someone else, and she was merely watching it. It took her a moment to orient herself: she was face down, her stomach pressed against a warm, heavy, material… not the floor… the legs of the Herstrakaa… and after a delay of several moments, she recognized the feel of cool air on her bottom, felt the tug of her underwear as they were pulled away from her skin.

  But the complete picture: that she had been lifted from the ground and lain across the lap of the Herstrakaa, and that her pants and underwear had been pulled down, away from her bottom, and that her bare skin was on display for an audience of nearly 100 males with whom she was supposed to conduct business—the complete picture did not really reach her consciousness until she felt the hot sting of the Herstrakaa hand against her skin.

  The bite made her gasp, but it was so sharp and unexpected that it immediately cut off all air, and she could not make a sound. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream, but the tears did not fall and the air did not move. A cold, queasy, but also oddly pleasant feeling blossomed in her lower abdomen, just as the sting of the spanking began to ebb away into waves of heat that seemed to only increase with each passing second.

  It was then—just before the next smack landed on her already burning skin—that she realized in full what was happening. In accordance with Draquun customs, she was being punished with a spanking, which she believed would be ten smacks long.

  In front of everyone present.

  She had not anticipated herself breaching any customs, so she had never really given the reality of such a punishment much thought. Sure, she had thought about it and thought it was barbaric, but compared to some customs she’d witnessed, it wasn’t the worst.

  She had not at all thought about what she would think or feel if such a thing happened to her.

  But now that it was, and her tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks, and the throbbing heat rolled in waves that crashed into each other, and the sting of each smack became sharper, adding to the fire on her skin—she found herself in an unimaginable situation.

  Because beneath the pain and humiliation, fluttering deep in her abdomen, was a feeling of… could this be right?

  Arousal?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. It couldn’t be.

  And yet she could also feel—and it made her chest feel hollow and cold with humiliation—that between her legs, her pussy was welling up with excitement. Just like her tears, it threatened to spill over.

  The thought sent another wave of humiliation through her, which had the perverse effect of making her pussy throb and ache even more. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will herself to not have the feelings she was having, but it did no good.

  The same curious, surprising sensations had trilled inside her abdomen when she had done her cultural training segment on the Draquun, which had included a video of a punishment ritual. At the time, she had been able to dismiss the arousal, the strange thrill that had flowed through her, because the punishment was a theoretical event in her mind: she would never do anything so stupid as to get herself punished like that…

  The slaps came more slowly than she had imagined, giving her ample time between each to feel the pain recede, the new heat roll into her still-burning skin, and—worst of all—plenty of time to consider the humiliating public nature of it all. She was half-naked, being spanked, and would be expected to apologize for her transgression by thanking her punisher profusely. Every second that his large, forceful palm hovered above her skin, waiting to come down on her bottom, she could feel her pussy throbbing and squeezing out more moisture.

  A tenth smack cracked across her bottom, the hardest one of all,
and tears rolled freely to her nose and dripped onto the floor, but she chewed her lip to keep from crying out.

  “It is done,” the Herstrakaa rumbled in his native language.

  She managed to wipe her tears away quickly as she stood up. She was unsteady on her feet and shaking as she pulled up her clothing and straightened it out. She could feel the eyes of the Draquun—who had watched on with their characteristic stoicism—upon her, and her skin burned with shame everywhere. Her clothing scratched at her burning bottom, and she desperately longed to rub her skin, but did not.

  Her face flushed as she began the next segment of her punishment. She knelt on the floor facing the Herstrakaa who had punished her and bowed her head. “I thank you profusely for properly shaming me. I behaved shamefully and you have corrected me, for which I am grateful.” Now the really hard part, which she had been assured was a ceremonial gesture and, if done properly, would not be acted upon by the punisher.

  The skin on her bottom flared up again, urging her not to do as she knew she must. She struggled to open her mouth and say the words.

  “I beg of you to punish me further, so that I may thoroughly repent my shameful behavior.”

  Her voice cracked a little at the end—because really, who the hell were these barbarians kidding, spanking people and publicly humiliating them?—but she managed. As she begged for more punishment, her body reacted strangely again, and a throb of arousal blossomed in her womb, making her pussy overflow again.