A Sex Slavee To Alien Masters

“Ciara, you were thinking of something. You will tell me what it is while I clean you.”

I started as he took a damp cloth from the counter and ran it between my legs. I was sore.

He gently pinched my pouting labia and asked again, “Tell me what you were thinking of.”

I squirmed against him and decided to answer, “How many more times will you have sex with me today, Master Bane?” I asked quietly.

“A human cannot take us as many times a day as our women can. You have performed your function for today,” he said standing me up.

I continued to stare at his organ and he didn’t miss it.

“What are you thinking now?” he sighed.

“I was wondering what the auction lady did so it didn’t hurt that bad when you had sex with my ass, Master Bane.”

“She cleaned you and stretched you while you slept. We will continue to keep you clean there and stretch you, so it will not hurt,” he answered leading me into the area with the showers.

Now I was curious, I couldn’t understand what he meant about continuing to keep me clean. Despite what they obviously thought, I could wipe myself.

“How will you keep me clean, Master Bane?” I asked as he turned a knob and water hit me from all sides.

Stupid question, of course, this is how they would keep me clean.

“That is where you make waste, much Like we do. We will wash the area out regularly and stretch it, so we can use it when we wish. Now that the process has begun it will not be painful for you.” ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

It hit me. They were planning to give me enemas to keep me clean and use something to stretch me. My horrified expression must have amused him.

“Ciara, these things are done on your world also. The saleswoman told us of this procedure,” he said starting to soap me with a sponge.

Angela’s Library

The thing he used to wash me was deep blue, but otherwise looked like the expensive natural sponges I had seen in fancy bath shops. Mom and I had just used washcloths.

“Why are you cleaning me, Master Bane? I know how to wash myself,” I said as he worked over my chest and stomach.

I would have assumed a slave on a strange world would be the one doing the washing part, not getting washed.

“So many question…You must be cleaned. In fact, we were told you would want to bathe afterward,” he told me.

Master, but I can do it myself,” I insisted.

‘Ciara, you are now a possession of ours. We care for our possessions.

We will clean you, so it is done correctly. When we are not available to care for you, we will pay others to do it for us,” he said. “You have done what is expected of you.”

There was a finality to the statement, so I didn’t push it.