Alien Skin Market by Lizzy Bequin

CHAPTER 8: DAGGOTH.

He had never seen a creature quite like this one before. In some respects, its anatomy resembled that of a Raksha like himself. A similar symmetrical arrangement of two arms and two legs, similar features of the face, eyes, nose, mouth. But there were significant differences too. Its frame was slight, its coloration different. And most notably, it carried a pair of round protuberances situated on its chest.

How strange.

Why did those soft lumps entice Daggoth so?

Fortunately, the creature appeared to be unharmed by the crowd. That may not have been the case had Daggoth not interrupted when he had.

As he moved closer, he saw the creature’s eyes were wet, brimming with moisture that spilled down its face in glistening trails. For some species, such a response was physiological in nature, a natural defense to remove dirt or other contaminants from the eyes. But Daggoth suspected these tears had an emotional source. Fear and rage.

What are you little thing?

Daggoth advanced until his shirtless front was almost touching the creature, and he could feel the warmth emanating from its naked skin. He took the small, fragile head in his hands and tilted its face upward for examination.

You are a long way from home, aren’t you?

Ever so gently, he thumbed away the tears from the creature’s eyes. Once they were clear, Daggoth gazed deeply into those eyes. They were a pale brown hue that caught the light like chips of amber.

The Raksha sensed the spark of intelligence within those golden-brown depths. There was something different about this creature. It did not belong here among the others at the skin market.

The creature opened its trembling pink lips, and a sound issued out.

“Mwuuh…”

Hm. Perhaps Daggoth was wrong. That didn’t sound like any sort of language an intelligent being would use. Then again, he could be wrong. He was not versed in the many thousands of languages employed by the species of the Galactic Covenant.

The idea that an innocent and intelligent being would be strung up outside the skin market bothered Daggoth very little. He had long since forsaken all concepts of justice or compassion. On the other hand, the idea that this creature was not intelligent disturbed him a great deal. He should not be experiencing intense arousal at the sight of a dumb animal.

What the void was wrong with him?

His cock had now grown so painfully rigid it threatened to burst from his trousers. Apparently his many years of darkness and debauchery had finally caught up with him.

Mistress Nekrona’s voice startled Daggoth out of his profane reveries.

“Hm, an odd little creature, isn’t it?”

Nekrona’s comm-orb flew in close, and the camera aperture whirred and buzzed as it focused on the frightened creature’s skin.

“What in the void is it?” she asked.

Ever since Daggoth had dispersed the unruly gathering, the spindly-legged Arranian auctioneer had been hovering nearby, rubbing his forelimbs together. He now stepped forward to address the comm-orb. The auctioneer knew Nekrona well. She was one of his best customers, consistently outbidding everyone else for the skins she desired.

“Mistressss, how kind of you to grace our humble auction house with your presence yet again,” the auctioneer chittered obsequiously. “As for the ssspecimen in question, I do not know its ssspecies or its provenance. Truly, it is a rare and exotic breed. It was just brought in today by a crew of Penumbriansss.”

Shadowmen. Daggoth shuddered.

Goddess only knew where they had picked the creature up. No one knew much about the shadowmen, but they were rumored to have the ability to travel far beyond the reaches of the galaxy and perhaps even to other universes, other realities.

“Hm,” Nekrona muttered after a moment. “I must admit, this creature is a bit of a disappointment. I was expecting something extraordinary based on the enthusiasm of the crowd. Not this, this…frail little thing. Why, its skin doesn’t even have any coloration to it. No stripes. No spots. It is quite plain. Daggoth, let us examine the other specimens on display.”

Daggoth had to admit, the alien creature did look a little worse for wear. Its skin was smudged and dirty, no doubt from the Penumbrian ship that had brought it here. Its hair was tangled and ruffled, and Daggoth suspected it had not eaten in a few days. Still, there was an undeniable beauty which he found impossible to resist.

“I don’t know,” Daggoth said. “I think with a little cleaning and grooming, it could make a fine dermis, Mistress. And look…its mane has a great deal to recommend it.”

Off to the side, the auctioneer nodded eagerly.

Daggoth reached for that lively mane of hair to test its texture and softness, but the creature flinched back. At the same moment, another smaller animal held nearby in a hovering energy orb began snarling and growling madly.

“Rawn! Rawn-RAWWWN!”

Daggoth glanced at the raging ball of fur inside the floating orb, then turned to the auctioneer. “Would it be possible to silence that thing? It is distracting me.”

“Of coursssse, sir.”

The Arranian auctioneer reached out one segmented limb and tapped a button which turned the energy orb opaque and muffled the sound of the angry little ball of fur held inside.

“Thank you,” Daggoth said. “That is better.”

He returned his attention to the naked creature trembling in front of him.

Keeping his claws retracted, he combed his fingers through the creature’s hair, untangling a few knots until the silken follicles spilled freely through his fingers like water. He lifted a handful of soft strands to his face and inhaled deeply, which elicited a startled gasp from the creature’s lips. The scent was tainted with dirt and smoke. But underneath it all was the creature’s natural odor, sweet and enticing as the kiva blossom of his forsaken homeworld of Rak.

Daggoth’s aching-hard cock pulsated in his britches. A trickle of pre-seed fluid spilled down his inner thigh.

Goddess, he truly must be going mad.

Part of him wanted to rip his pants off right here in public, wanted to shove the naked creature hard against the wall where it was leashed, and…

And…

And what?

The creature was female, presumably. Why else would she be having such an effect on Daggoth’s body? And yet she had no mating globule like a female Raksha, nor did she possess any apparent means for producing one. So what in the void did his stupid cock intend to do with her?

Possibilities rose up unbidden in Daggoth’s dark brain. He imagined how it would feel to force this weak little creature to her knees, to wrap his cock in the silken threads of her hair and then stroke himself to an explosive release, drenching her lustrous mane with his hot, dripping seed.

“Well…how does it smell, Daggoth?”

Two times in as many minutes, Daggoth had forgotten that his Mistress’s comm-orb was hovering nearby, watching. He wished she would go away. The auctioneer too. And everyone else on this grimy, filth-ridden street.

He wished to be alone with this creature. He wished for no eyes to gaze upon her skin except his own.

But one did not tell Mistress Nekrona to void off.

“It smells…exquisite,” he answered.

Next, Daggoth’s hands moved back to the creature’s face, and again she flinched and whimpered at his touch. Daggoth purred from deep within his chest to calm her. That sound had once been used by Raksha males to soothe their female mates. Daggoth had used it on his own mate many times, but that had been long ago. Now he used it on this strange alien female, and he was pleased to see it had the calming effect he had hoped for.

His fingertips traced the rigid convolutions of the small, immovable ears, then skated over the female’s cheeks and jaw. The bones underneath the skin felt delicate. Easily broken.

“How is the quality of the skin?” Nekrona asked.

“It is exceedingly soft and smooth, Mistress, lined with very small follicles that are nearly invisible to the naked eye.”

His thumb moved toward the corner of the creature’s mouth.

“Careful, sssir,” the auctioneer chittered nervously. “It may attempt to bite you.”

Daggoth’s purr deepened. Those amber eyes locked with his, and he allowed his gaze to fathom those sparkling depths.

“No…you’re not going to bite me. Are you, little one?”

He extracted the claw of his thumb, and with the sharp tip, he carefully drew down the pliant pink cushion of the lower lip to inspect the teeth inside, hard and white and blunt. Only four of the teeth had the merest point of sharpness to them, bespeaking a probable predatory ancestry. He allowed his claw tip to click softly across the enamel.

The creature gasped. Eyelids fluttered, pupils dilated.

A fear response?

More images sprang into Daggoth’s mind. Again, he imagined the creature on its knees, this time with his hard cock plunged deep inside those supple lips, pumping her as if her head were a mating globule, penetrating her face until his seed spewed forth and flooded her pretty little mouth.

Would she bite him if he did that?

Probably, but it would be worth it. Not that it mattered. Daggoth would never find out anyway. The creature was to be Nekrona’s prize, not his.

He retracted his claw and let his hand slip lower, encircling the female’s throat just below the metal collar that bound her. Callused male palm against tender female flesh. The pulse of her blood drummed a rapid staccato against his hand, confirming her fear.

She had good reason to be afraid.

One quick squeeze would be all it required to crush the life out of her. Daggoth consciously had to restrain the part of him that wanted to do just that—the part of him that took delight in destroying beautiful things. He had not always been this way, but years of agony had trained it into him.

He quickly drew his hand away before he made a momentary slip. Mistress Nekrona would be greatly displeased if she had to pay for Daggoth’s damaged goods.

“What about these lumps?” Nekrona asked. Her comm-orb had hovered lower to inspect the creature’s heaving chest.

Daggoth placed both hands on those swollen globes, and the creature cried out and flattened herself against the wall as she tried to pull away. Daggoth moved closer, pinning her in place with his hips. She must have felt the hard rod of his erection through his pants, because her pretty amber eyes fluttered wide, and she made a choked sound.

Daggoth purred even deeper, and tiny bumps pebbled the female’s skin.

“Fascinating,” Nekrona said, noticing the reaction of the creature’s flesh. Daggoth could hear the change in his Mistress’s voice. She was gradually becoming much more enthusiastic about this strange creature with the highly sensitive skin.

Daggoth thought he understood the tiny bumps. A kind of vestigial reflex, perhaps. In the past, this creature’s ancestors were likely covered in thicker fur, and the erection of the follicles would have made them appear larger, to scare off enemies.

It was a defense reflex.

And yet…the creature made little attempt to fight Daggoth off. Perhaps she knew it would be futile against a bigger, stronger individual such as himself.

Or perhaps she didn’t actually want him to stop.

Daggoth did not know, nor did he care.

He cupped the creature’s chest mounds in his hands, hefting their ample weight. Heat coursed through his veins, and his cock swelled to dangerous levels of engorgement.

Even more obscene imagery flickered across his mind’s eye. He saw the creature on its back in the middle of the dirty street. He saw himself on top of it, naked and enraged with lust. In the vision, he was furiously rubbing his erection over every inch of the creature’s skin, dragging his hardness over her face and her belly, slotting it into the cleavage of her plump mounds, humping, humping, humping madly until his roaring climax left the helpless, frightened female glazed and dripping with his hot, sticky spend.

“What are these things?”

Daggoth was speaking to no one in particular, but the auctioneer suddenly sidled closer—Daggoth had all but forgotten the Arranian was there—and answered.

“I am not certain, sir, but I suspect they may be mammary glands. Breasts. If that is the case, their function is for feeding the neonates of the species.”

Intriguing. A species capable of manufacturing food for its young.

In the old days before the plague, when Raksha females still existed, they did not have breasts like these. Instead, the Raksha infants would feed themselves by devouring the remnants of the mating globule until they were large enough for other food.

If the auctioneer was correct, if these glands were designed for manufacturing food, then the little pink nubbins must be feeding nodes. Daggoth felt a sudden urge to drop his lips to those fresh buds and suckle, but he restrained himself. They were in public, after all.

Instead, he settled for merely strumming his thumbs across those firm little peaks, and he was delighted by the way they immediately tautened under his touch.

The creature whined and moaned. Her face flooded red, and more of those tiny, pebbled bumps erupted across her skin.

“Excellent!” Nekrona chimed. “Excellent! Look how responsive it is! I believe this one will make a first-rate dermis…”

The comm-orb dropped lower to inspect the patch of fur between the creature’s legs.

“But look at this, Daggoth. Has the creature been marred?”

Holding the creature’s hips tightly to keep her from moving, Daggoth lowered himself to his knees to get a better look.

He immediately saw what Nekrona was talking about. Hidden amid the tuft of fur between the creature’s legs was something that appeared at first glance to be a deep laceration. And indeed, when he slid one finger down to touch her there, the creature cried out sharply, as if in pain.

“Mwu—UH!”

Yet when Daggoth drew closer, he neither saw nor smelled any trace of blood. That strange slit looked raw, and it was clearly sensitive, but it did not appear to be a wound.

Using both hands, he carefully teased apart the soft curls of fur and prized apart the plump outer ridges to reveal the glistening pink folds within.

The creature shouted again and tried to squirm away.

“Stop it!” Daggoth bellowed. “Hold still!”

He did not expect her to understand his words, of course. But the snarl in his voice was enough to let her know he meant business. The female plastered herself back against the wall, quivering, but she did not attempt to escape a second time.

Daggoth shifted his attention back to her curious anatomy.

With the pad of his thumb, he stroked the length of that soft, pink slit. It was weeping some kind of fluid, but it was not blood. The secretions were clear and slippery like drool. He stuck his moistened thumb between his own lips and sucked it clean. Her flavor was sweet, like nectar.

Behind him, Mistress Nekrona said something, but Daggoth was no longer listening. He was totally entranced by this mysterious blossom of flesh between the creature’s legs.

What in the void was it for?

At the top of the slit, half hidden by the crop of fur, was a narrow ridge inset with a glistening pearl of flesh. Daggoth carefully drew back the thin hood of skin and gave this tiny pink bundle a pinch. The female let out a loud yelp.

“Are you hurting it?” he heard someone ask, and he realized dimly it was Mistress Nekrona.

“No.”

Though he was not sure how, Daggoth sensed he was not causing the creature pain. He rubbed that nub of flesh beneath his thumb, and it grew rigid, almost like a miniature cock becoming aroused. Perhaps this thing wasn’t a female after all? Interesting…

Daggoth worked the little nerve bundle harder, grinding it roughly beneath the pad of his thumb. The creature cried out again and tried to pry Daggoth’s thumb away, but it was far too weak for that, and he swatted the little hands away with another snarl.

He continued to stroke furiously, and the creature’s muscles tensed up. He sensed she was building toward some sort of climax, and he wanted to see the process through to the end.

He did not have to wait long.

With a loud, shuddering moan, the creature’s muscles shook with an involuntary spasm, and even more wetness seeped from her slit.

“Goodness! What was that?” Nekrona asked.

“I’m not sure…”

Daggoth was more interested in finding the source of that sweet, sticky fluid. After a moment’s inspection, he realized it was secreting from a narrow hole inset between the slippery pink petals of flesh.

“Hmm…”

Without thinking of the potential danger, Daggoth inserted the tip of his index finger inside that hole. It was foolish, of course. There could be teeth in there, or a poison stinger, or Goddess knew what. But Daggoth’s rational mind was overridden by his all-consuming curiosity.

He had to explore this hole.

He had to figure out what it was for…

The orifice was tight, but its rim was soft and pliant, and it stretched easily, allowing Daggoth’s digit to press inside, first the tip, then to the second knuckle, and finally to the third.

The creature gasped above him and her thighs trembled.

The walls of its wet channel fluttered around his finger.

“Ahem…”

Beside him, the Arranian auctioneer cleared his throat and gingerly tapped Daggoth on the shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. The Raksha turned toward the auctioneer with a vicious snarl.

“What do you want?”

The Arranian auctioneer’s many legs trembled and clacked as they knocked together in fear.

“A thousand p-pardonsss, sir, but I’m afraid the i-inspection hour is coming to an end. The auction will be starting sssoon, and the animals must be taken backsssstage to prepare.”

Daggoth looked around the dark street in a daze, like someone waking up from a dream. Indeed, the other Arranian underlings were now dashing about on their spindly legs, carrying cages and leading leashed creatures into auction hall.

“Yes,” he muttered, feeling suddenly ashamed of his lack of self control. “Yes, of course…”

He unsheathed his finger from the female’s heat. It came out of her with a wet sound.

The female gasped again in response.

Daggoth gathered himself up to full height and stared down into the trembling creature’s face, waiting for her amber gaze to finally meet his own before slowly sucking away the moisture coating his finger.

The alien creature’s face colored—a sign of embarrassment?—even as her eyes flared with a look of dark defiance.

Daggoth grinned.

This was no mere animal, of that he was certain. Animals had the capacity for stubbornness and aggression, but that always stemmed from a lack of understanding. The defiance which now smoldered in those pretty, wet eyes looking up at him could only be conjured in a creature of intelligence, one who knew right from wrong, who knew its enslavement was unjust.

Mistress Nekrona’s comm-orb hovered in close.

“I must have this creature, Daggoth,” she said. “Its skin must be mine.”

The Raksha warrior stiffened. Lost in the rapture of his curious explorations, he had not stopped to consider what he was doing. Here was this beautiful alien creature, the likes of which he had never seen before—and surely would never see hence—and he was about to deliver her over to Nekrona be skinned alive.

His mind raced. There was still time to dissuade Nekrona of the creature’s value. He could invent some flaws, and his mistress, ever reliant on his judgement in such matters, would no doubt agree.

And then what?

It was not as if he could bid on the creature himself. There would be no way to do so without Nekrona finding out. And his Mistress would doubtless be angered by his duplicity. She might even get angry enough to activate the deadly device that had been implanted in Daggoth’s brain when he first took up employment with her. All of Nekrona’s underlings had such an implant, as a means of ensuring their lifelong loyalty.

It was pointless. Even if he could somehow trick Nekrona, Daggoth didn’t have enough personal money to bid on this creature, which would surely command an exorbitant price at auction. But perhaps he could steal her? Wait until the auction began, then make some excuse to Nekrona, sneak backstage, and abscond with his prize…

Daggoth’s face clouded, and a wave of guilt and self-loathing swept over him.

Why was he thinking such thoughts?

He had a mate already. A Raksha, like himself. A female. He had pledged his soul to her, and together they begotten three beautiful daughters.

Then the plague had come and stolen her away, stolen their offspring, his mother, his sisters, and every other female inhabitant of the plant Rak.

These lustful feelings now stirring in his hearts and his loins dishonored his fallen mate.

He had been a good man in those days. A Raksha of honor. But his loss had twisted his mind and disfigured his soul. Now his only pleasure was the destruction of life and beauty. Beauty such as this helpless, shivering creature that stood before him, bound and leashed.

Daggoth made up his mind.

He would help Mistress Nekrona acquire what she desired. Perhaps, with her permission, he would even oversee the skin removal process. His hearts ached at that thought, and he savored the pain.

A single orange-tinted tear rolled from his glowing eye and traced a luminous trail down his dark purple cheek.

“Daggoth?” Nekrona asked. “Are you weeping, my pet?”

“Nay, Mistress. It is merely the poor air quality in these quarters. The fumes here irritate my eyes.”

“Yes, yes, your sensitive eyes. Well, come on then, let’s get inside and find a seat for the auction.”

The comm-orb buzzed away toward the entrance of the auction hall, and Daggoth followed obediently. He did not look back at the strange creature bound to the wall.