plik

Kirk  is  a  rich  young  man,  partying  on  his  twenty-first  and
filled  with  Atlantica  Dream,  the  drug  that  makes  the  user
experience  such  heightened  sensuality  that  even  to  look  at
someone else is to make love to them.

But when he wakes, he’s not in his affluent neighborhood

at  all.  He’s  at  the  Mattock  Markets,  Ardross  Major’s  largest
slave  trade  arena,  and  he  is  to  be  sold  to  the  highest
bidder. Being  handsome,  well  hung  and  unblemished
because  of  his  upbringing,  he’s  expected  to  fetch  a  high
price.  Kirk  soon  discovers  that  power  and  money  don’t
mean a thing on the outer worlds of the system, and his new
owner, an alien called the Schism who can bend the laws of
the universe, uses him as bait in a trap for shifters—a notion
he finds worse than being sold as an object.

Kirk is soon engaged in a race against time as he escapes

from the Schism and sets out to warn a fledgling colony of
platypus shifters who have been detected by the space
amplifier. But what he discovers about why he ended up in
the Mattock Markets will change the course of his life
forever. Not only must he survive to help so many others, he
must become a man, too.

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Atlantica Dream

ISBN: 978-1-77111-137-9

Cover art by Angela Waters

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Chapter One

irk Skelling had orgasmed multiple times.

The drug Atlantica Dream was coursing through his

veins, charging his sexual energy beyond anything any

human could ever dream of while he celebrated his twenty-
first  birthday  at  his  father’s  sprawling  ranch,  a  ranch  that
herded Boonta bovine. Exporting  fresh milk was a lucrative
trade,  especially  to  the  outer  rim  planets  where  such  a
product was in demand. The reason Kirk was able to afford
a  couple  of  grams  of  Atlantica  Dream  in  the  first  place  was
because of his father’s money.

Kirk had never wanted for anything.
The night was young, but already he’d given seven blokes

his drug soaked attention. They were the first to arrive at his
birthday bash, multiple orgasming with him when he came
to look upon them proper in greeting. One of the guys was
in so much ecstasy, writhing on the floor, touching himself
uncontrollably, panting and begging for more, he had to be
escorted away by two house slaves and given a sedative.

Kirk found his guest’s disablement by orgasm quite

amusing, but soon turned his attention to another arrival. A
stunning  young  man  named  Wiks  who  had  turned  his  eye
many  times.  Yes,  Wiks  was  a  friend—ex-lover  to  be
exact…sort  of.  Whoever  said  friends  couldn’t  enjoy  each
other on a sexual  level was a crazy  old prude, even if they
were no longer bed partners. Kirk prided himself on the fact
he liked guys. After all, no girl in his experience could suck

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his cock right. Not like how he did it, anyway.

He looked at Wiks with a deep, passionate stare. The

Atlantica  Dream  quickened  his  heart,  making  his  pulse  beat
loud  in  his  ears  while  he  concentrated  his  full  attention  on
the  man  who  would  be  his  next  interest  tonight.  With  that
glance, and after a wonderful moment of anticipation, Wiks
shuddered, his eyes rolling in their sockets for a split second.
Without a touch, a word, or a promise of what was to come,
both of them came simultaneously.

Kirk knew his underwear would be soaked with his cum,

because his balls ached with so much use. Even his skin
would be sweat soaked, his odor strong, but to tell the truth,
he didn’t care. He didn’t even care if he had a wet patch for
all to see.

He was having the time of his life.
Wiks came over to Kirk, a look of surprise and intrigue on

his face. He looked adorable, like a puppy who had been
rewarded for being curious. “You…you made me blow my
load in my pants, birthday boy.”

Kirk smiled. Wiks, of the eight people he had made

orgasm already tonight, was the one who he would actually
take  to  bed…again.  There  was  one  problem.  Wiks  had  a
boyfriend. Not just any old man either, certainly not one to
push around or to dismiss as something insignificant, but a
rough,  tough  construction  worker  who  lived  in  one  of  the
ring cities orbiting Ardross Major. Ganymede Tuesday was the
name of it from what Kirk recalled. If Wiks’ boyfriend found
out Kirk had made his man jizz in his pants, contact or not,
he would weld Kirk’s balls to his chest, no questions asked.
“I  got  some  Dream  the  other  day.  Given  seven  other  lads  a
good  time  just  by  looking  at  them,  as  well.  You’re  the
eighth.”

“Fuck, Kirk, now I’m gonna have to go change. I only

washed this gear, now I’m gonna smell like a Boonta whore

Atlantica Dream

on pay day who’s been through half the construction fleet,
even after my cum dries.”

“Ouch. You want to get that cleaned up before then. Cum

is a bitch to get out of pubes once it dries up solid, you
know.”

“Lucky for me I shave.”
“You do?” Kirk almost gasped out the words. To hear

such  an  intimate  detail  about  Wiks  sure  was  alluring.  The
last time he had seen him naked was the year before, when
they  were  lovers.  They’d  played  truth  or  dare.  Wiks  dared
Kirk  to  blow  him,  so  Kirk, being  a  man  who  never  backed
away from any challenge, took down his friend’s pants with
enthusiasm and sucked his smooth, magnificent foreskinned
length until he blew his hot, sticky load down Kirk’s throat.
Wiks  had  pubic  hair  back  then.  Those  were  the  days.  Pity
Wiks had to go and get himself attached to some hunk of a
man, all muscles and sexy.

“Yeah, Dodger loves to lick my smooth skin all over. He

doesn’t want me to be hairy, anywhere.”

“Even your crack?”
“Everywhere.”
“Fuck me, that’s hot, Wiks.”
Wiks let out a laugh. “You should have made your move

when you had the chance at graduation last year and told
me you loved me. I was ready for you to say it—wanted you
to say it. Fuck, I’d even wanked myself red-fucking-raw the
night before thinking about how you were going to tell me.
Why you didn’t, I don’t know, but Dodger now gets to
worship my body any damn time he damn well feels like it,
and I love that.”

To tell the truth, Kirk did want Wiks. Unfortunately, Kirk

got in the way of Kirk. He’d become distracted by one of his
latest ideas, a scheme which would ensure he no longer
lived in his father’s shadow, but could become his own man

Mark Alders

in his own right. After graduation he was going to buy into a
manufacturing company that had claimed they were able to
produce Genopills which could guarantee any woman would
have  a  boy,  one-hundred  percent  of  the  time.  Everyone
knew a girl who had a baby boy was given money for that
boy to be used—and abused—in the slave trade. Boys were
money in the bank, and the peasant families of Boonta were
left  with  no  choice  but  to  sell  their  sons  to  survive,  if  they
could produce them reliably.

Therefore, any company who could promise such a

breakthrough  pill,  and  deliver,  would  make  their
shareholders  rich  beyond  imagining.  Kirk  couldn’t  pass  up
the chance, and straight after the graduation ceremony he’d
rushed off to meet the directors of the company, standing up
Wiks in the process.

Trouble was, the scheme was a con.
Thankfully, Kirk saw the scheme for what it was before it

was too late. Actually, scratch that. Kirk’s father had seen the
scam  before  Kirk  committed.  He’d  gone  into  Kirk’s  room
late at night to snoop around, finding the fake brochures of a
company  which  didn’t  exist  and  could  never  fulfill  its
promise of producing pills, geno or otherwise.

His father never trusted him from that moment on. Still,

good thing…in such a case. The man was overprotective and
thought of Kirk as a useless waste of space who only wanted
to  fuck  and  dream  of  ways  to  waste  money.  Kirk  would
have lost a lot, including any shred of dignity he might have
had  left  in  his  father’s  eyes.  At  times  such  as  that,  Kirk
wished  his  mother  hadn’t  passed  away  after  his  birth.
Sometimes,  to  have  her  touch  upon  his  head  would  be
enough  to  cure  all  his  ills.  Maybe  if  she  was  around  he
would have been more responsible.

“I was tied up with business. You know that,” Kirk lied.

“Besides, I don’t want to know what you and your man do

Atlantica Dream

in the bedroom, it’ll make me fucking jealous and then I’ll
have to jack off thinking of you with no pubes, being licked
all over.”

“That’s the idea, handsome.” Wiks grabbed Kirk’s hands,

squeezing them tight. “Now, where can a man get out of his
cum stained clothes and into something more comfortable
around here?”

Before Kirk could answer, a shadow came over him. He

turned,  but  all  too  late.  A  man  built  like  a  robo-dozer,  the
kind  like  they  used  on  the  space  amplifier  those  creepy
Schism  beings  ordered  be  constructed  to  complete  their
ancient  genocide  against  all  shifters,  landed  a  meaty  fist
straight onto Kirk’s jaw.

As Kirk found the marble tiled and gold adorned floor,

tasting his own coppery blood flooding into his mouth from
the hit, Wiks’s boyfriend, Dodger, shouted, “Get your filthy
fucking hands off my man, rich boy.”

Whether the effects of the Atlantica Dream he had taken

earlier  had  worn  off,  or  whether  the  drug  had  another
strange  effect  on  him  now  that  his  sexual  energy  had  been
expended,  he  couldn’t  be  sure.  All  he  knew  was,  with
blurred  vision  and  while  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  he  once
more found the ground unable to support his own weight.

An agonizing moment later, one filled with intense pain

all through his body, unconsciousness found Kirk.

Mark Alders

Chapter Two

yndarum was a platypus—well, a platypus shifter, to be
exact. He had sacrificed himself to save his clan when the
Schism came to their moon, one of many orbiting Boonta.

The  now  working  space  amplifier  had  detected  him.
Thankfully,  the  device  didn’t  reveal  the  quantity,  only  the
whereabouts.

As far as the Schism knew, Lyndarum was the only one of

his kind. Sure, he’d suffer whatever fate dealt him, but even
then, as he was caged and taken onboard one of the Schism
vehicles, a vessel which could travel in the corridors of space
and time between universes, he was comforted in the
knowledge his clan—his family—was safe.

A Schism entered the prison in which he found himself.

The being could only be described as a dark object, obscured
by  oblique  angles  created  by  dark  matter  seeping  into  the
known  universe,  which  didn’t  quite  reveal  the  being’s  true
identity. The air around the alien seemed to burn and scorch,
as if it had been branded with a hot iron. “You are a shifter?”
was all it asked when close enough to the cage so its metallic
voice could vibrate the cage bars.

“You know I am!”
“Where are the others of your kind?”
Lyndarum didn’t want to play the game. He knew the

Schism would never rest, never stop in their hunt of shifters,
no matter their form. “I’m the only one of my kind. You’ve

Atlantica Dream

killed us all, you bastards.”

“One of you is too many.” The Schism jailer stepped

forward.  The  air  hummed  with  his  actions  and  Lyndarum
stepped  back,  not  wanting  to  be  scorched  by  the  heat
generated by the being clinging onto two universes, the one
of normal matter and the one of the dark, at the same time.
“But  for  the  moment  you  may  serve  a  purpose  to  our
glorious  war,  one  which  will  help  heal  the  rift  of  our
religions and bring the Schism closer to immortality.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you monster?”
With a touch of its hand—both there and not—on the

cage,  a  jolt  of  energy  struck  Lyndarum.  The  electricity,  or
whatever it was, passed through his skin  causing his blood
to  seethe.  He  collapsed  onto  the  floor,  curled  into  the  fetal
position. Pain shot through him, crippling and unlike any he
had ever experienced.

Lyndarum screamed, “Stop! Please, stop!”
The being seemed to listen. “I imagine you understand

what will happen to you if you do not obey. After all, death
is your release, but until then, you will serve us. We know
there are others of your kind. If you do not do as we say,
perhaps I should instruct my order to investigate the Moon
where we detected your presence in more detail.”

“You’ll kill them all anyway.”
“Yes, but would you want us to kill them because of what

you have done right now? Or would you rather a message
got to your colony before we arrived to warn them, to give
them a chance to escape, to prolong their demise one more
day?”

Then a terrible thought struck Lyndarum. Yes, the Schism

wanted  all  shifters  dead,  but  at  the  same  time,  they  were
going  to  make  sport  of  their  destruction.  They  were
monsters. Monsters who had bled from the  cracks into this
universe to wage their war on shifters for a reason only they

Mark Alders

knew. “Are you saying you’ll let them go free if I do what
you ask of me?”

“Yes.”
“You’re fucking sick.” Lyndarum thought again. “How

can I trust you? Your kind hasn’t exactly been hospitable to
anyone here, especially us shifters.”

“Because the universe you walk in is becoming thin with

your kind and we require a certain amount of your kind to
complete our holy mission.”

“I don’t understand.”
The Schism seemed to become agitated. The air around

the dark-matter-being once more cracked and sizzled. “Will
you do what is required of you?”

What choice did Lyndarum have? If he said no, his family

would be dead within a blink of an eye. If he said yes, they’d
be as dead, but not today. He felt terrible. The guilt rose up
to prickle at the back of his neck. How could he have
sacrificed himself to be trapped like this? What a waste. He
thought they would kill him, then be on their way, leaving
his colony alone. No. Things had to get complicated, didn’t
they? “What do I have to do?” he said with a meek, quiet
voice.

“There is a colony of shifters hiding out of range of the

space amplifier, out on the rim of this system near the Moon
of Mjae. We believe they are one of the last of the shifter
kind, aside from the little band of platypus shifters you
claim are your clan.”

Lyndarum knew where this was going. Before the Schism

could finish, he interjected, “You want me to rat them out for
you? Or at least find out why you can’t detect them…is that
it?”

The air sizzled again, but this time Lyndarum couldn’t

help but get the impression the Schism was laughing. “Yes,
you are to become a part of a trap we’ve begun to spring.”

Atlantica Dream

“Great…just what I wanted, to be the death of us all.”
“No shifter can resist another in danger. You are to be

sold at the Mattock Markets as a sexual slave to inform us of
anything  that  can  lead  us  to  our  goal  or  gain  us  any
information which will do the same. You will then be bought
by  a  Schism  sympathizer.  You  will  tell  your  new  master
everything you have discovered about any shifters who may
be hiding in the slave markets before we approach you once
more.  One  of  them  may  be  a  member  of  the  Mjae  clan.  A
simple  plan,  you  must  agree,  but  one  that  will  prove
devastating to your kind lurking in the places even we can’t
get to easily.”

In that moment, Lyndarum couldn’t help but believe—

live  in  the  hope—that  he  could  buy  his  family  some  time.
Even  a  day  would  be  enough  to  get  them  onto  a  transport
and  out  of  the  system.  They  would  be  free  of  the  Schism
forever.  He  had  known  of  a  couple  of  colonies  who  had
escaped  the  Schism’s  grasp,  one  recently  of  the  peacock
people.  Perhaps  the  platypus  clan  could  do  the  same.  All
they needed was time and Lyndarum would give them that
chance, no matter what.

“I’ll do what you say,” he mumbled, not one shred of

pride in his words. If he was going to become a slave, sexual
or otherwise, or an informant, then he’d have to put his past
life behind him for as long as it took, possibly even the rest
of his life.

Another Schism entered the prison room.
There was a brief exchange between the beings, one

Lyndarum  didn’t  understand  because  it  must  have  been
done on a sub-space level or something. Only the change in
their strange form gave any clue they were communicating.
Again,  the  air  seemed  to  accentuate  their  movements.  Was
their  talk  created  by  the  shimmering  space  between  them,
one where light and darkness became a kaleidoscope?

Mark Alders

When their conversation had run its course, the first

Schism,  the  jailer  Lyndarum  imagined,  turned  to  him,  and
said.  “Take  off  your  clothing,  shifter.  We  are  approaching
Ardross  Major.  You  are  to  be  ready  for  the  markets—an
experienced  trader  named  Oggard  will  be  onboard  our
vehicle within moments to take you.”

When the Schism said in a moment, he wasn’t joking. A

human,  one  large  bodied,  with  fat  on  him  revealing  his
excessive lifestyle, obviously fuelled by his wealth gained by
trading young men to the slave industry, entered the room.
The  man  eyed  Lyndarum  up  and  down.  “Is  this  the
specimen you want me to take off your hands?”

The Schism said, “He is the one.” The Schism turned to

Lyndarum.

“Not much of a specimen is it?” the man questioned with

a dissatisfied sneer, his beady eyes glinting in the dark of the
room.

“Take off your clothes as you were instructed or the

arrangement  we  have  constructed  will  be  forfeit.”  The
Schism’s  body  darkened,  the  blackness  as  eternal  as  the
universe  he  had  bled  into  from  beyond  matter.  The  being
looked like a hole in space, and Lyndarum’s stomach turned
with fear. All he could imagine were the poor shifters before
him who had met their fate at the hands of these supernatural
aliens.

Lyndarum was able to stand in his cage. He slipped off

his  trousers  and  took  off  his  shirt,  swallowing  his  pride  at
the  same  time  he  tried  to  swallow  the  growing  lump  of
anger, disgust and fear in his throat. Then, he pulled down
his  underwear.  His  cock  sprang  up,  free  from  the  cloth
which held it. Lyndarum, even though naked, felt the most
exposed  he  had  ever  felt  in  all  his  life.  For  a  start  he  was
open for all to scrutinize him like an object, which in a way
he  now  was.  He  was  to  be  sold  at  the  markets,  his  fate

Atlantica Dream

perhaps worse than death under the whip of his new master.
Again, he did such a thing for his family—his clan. He did it
for the ones he loved and he had to keep telling himself that
for fear of not being able to go on.

The trader didn’t even lift an eyebrow. “It’s quite

damaged, isn’t it?”

“He will be all profit for you, trader.”
By damaged, Lyndarum assumed the man was talking

about  his  freckles.  He  was  covered  in  them.  One  of  his
previous lovers—now lost to the Schism hate, may his soul
rest in peace, had said many times they were one of his best
features.  Made  Lyndarum  adorable,  he  claimed,  and  many
times he would play connect the dots on his skin, trailing his
finger  down  to  his  groin  as  part  of  one  of  their  many
foreplay  games.  But  to  the  slave  trade,  any  blemish,  mark,
freckle, mole or birthmark on the skin lowered the price and
therefore  the  profit  for  the  trader.  The  truth  be  told,
Lyndarum wouldn’t have been sold, or even given away. He
would  have  been  killed,  if  the  traders  had  caught  up  with
him before the Schism. How ironic.

“Well, at least it hasn’t been circumcised, that’s a positive,

I  suppose,”  the  slave  trader  said.  “Have  you  tried  to  sell  a
lad  from  the  Moon  Jayacynth?  The  peasant  folks  there
foolishly  circumcise  all  their  boys  in  the  hope  they  will  be
passed  up  when  the  traders  visit.  How  wrong  they  are.  It
just lowers the boys’ initial buying price and then the whole
village suffers because they can’t buy food when the seasons
change against them, that’s all. I mean, a boy who is stock is
a boy who is stock—”

The Schism waved its hand to silence the man who

seemed to like the sound of his own voice. “Take the
abomination off my vehicle and make sure he’s sold to one
of our sympathizers. Do whatever you have to at the
auction. I don’t care. Kill him if you must, but not before he’s

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completed our arrangement. Am I clear, Mister Oggard?”

The trader swallowed, his jowls jiggling. “Sure…I

understand. Do what I have to. Yeah, I got it.”

Lyndarum closed his eyes. His life of hell had begun.

Atlantica Dream

Chapter Three

aking up after a night of heightened sexual energy,
then a punch in the face by a jealous boyfriend of an
old flame, wasn’t exactly how Kirk had planned his

birthday celebration to go. Then again, he had been in a lot
worse situations.

He opened his eyelids. His bones ached and his head

pounded. When he had thought about being in worse
situations, he changed his mind as soon as he soaked in the
environment in which he found himself.

Kirk was in a cage.
Not any cage, but one forming part of a large corridor of

cages, like battery hens used to be housed in from the days
of old Earth, but human sized. Kirk was in the holding pens
of the slave markets of the Mattock Markets.

He jumped up. In that instant, he realized he was naked,

his  cock  and  balls  slapping  against  his  skin  because  of  his
sudden  movement.  “Hey!  Get  me  the  fuck  out  of  here!
There’s  been  some  sort  of  mistake.  I’m  Kirk  Skelling!  I’m
Kirk Skelling and I’m not supposed to be here,” he shouted
at  the  top  of  his  lungs  to  no  one  in  particular—well,  that
wasn’t true. He was aiming his anger at one of the workers
who  ambled  by  at  the  same  time  he  decided  to  rattle  the
cage and spew out the facts about his unjust capture.

The man, who had no doubt heard him, glanced up

casually at Kirk with amused disinterest. He looked him up

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and down, concentrating his stare at Kirk’s groin, and said,
“That’s what they all say. Now do you want to go to the
toilet before we lock up the alley for the night, pretty boy, or
don’t you?”

Kirk didn’t know what to say other than continue telling

anyone who cared to listen about how he shouldn’t be in this
place.  “I  want  to  fucking  go  home,  that’s  what  I  want.  My
father  is  Arton  Skelling,  Boonta  bovine  entrepreneur  and
billionaire  and  he’ll  make  sure  you  all  pay  for  kidnapping
his  only  son.  You’ll  all  fucking  pay,  you  hear  me!  Fucking
pay.”

The worker pressed his lips together. “I take it you don’t

need  to  go  to  the  toilet  then.”  He  sauntered  off,  carrying  a
bucket  Kirk  had  only  seen  at  that  moment.  He  took  it  the
bucket was the toilet, the evidence of  his observation when
the  two  young  men  locked  in  the  cage  next  to  him  pissed
into  it  when  offered.  Some  job,  collecting  slave  urine.
Perhaps even lower than the slaves themselves.

“You should have relieved yourself,” a voice said from

behind Kirk, one soft and melodious. “It’s going to be a long
night.”

Kirk turned his attention to the disturbance. Sitting with

his legs up, knees at his chin so that his genitals hung down
to  touch  the  straw-covered  cage  floor,  was  a  young  man
with  a  shock  of  short,  red  hair  on  his  head  and  pubes  to
match. What’s more, he had freckles everywhere, including
his  arms,  legs,  chest  and  stomach.  The  most  Kirk  had  ever
seen on anyone.

He was attractive, in a weird sort of way.
Yes, the man’s features were pleasant, his eyes an intense

blue. Heck, even his cock would be something nice to play
with, especially seeing as he had a nice long foreskin. But
with those freckles, he kind of looked…alien…if such a thing
could be possible. Kirk got a feeling about the man he’d

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never  felt  before.  Curiosity  and  want.  Normally,  if  he
wanted  something  because  he  was  curious  about  it,  he
would get it, being the son of a rich man. But right now the
situation was the most foreign he had been in since birth. He
couldn’t  have  anything,  because  slaves  couldn’t  own
anything,  being  property  themselves.  Kirk  was  owned  by
the  trader  who  acquired  him.  This  raised  another  question,
and the original one that popped into his mind as soon as he
became conscious. Why was he here?

“Who the fuck are you?” Kirk blurted. His anger hadn’t

subsided one bit, even if he was looking at an attractive
naked man, freckle covered or not.

“I’m Lyndarum and you must be something quite special

indeed.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your dog tag.” Lyndarum pointed to the object of his

words. “Quite a read, that.”

Kirk realized he was indeed wearing a dog tag. Of course

he was, all slaves before sale had them. Kirk studied his. It
read,  21-332-15000.  When  done,  he  studied  the  dog  tag  of
man who called himself Lyndarum, one which glinted in the
fading light of sunset and looked somewhat alluring around
his  neck  by  making  him  look  rugged.  The  man’s  read,  19-
332-(F).  If  Kirk  remembered  right  from  the  boys  he  had
purchased  himself  at  the  Mattock  Markets,  boys  which
provided him with all his sexual relief when he couldn’t get
any from anyone else, the first set of digits was the age of the
slave,  the  second  was  the  batch  number  at  the  auction  on
auction  day,  and  the  third  was  the  reserve  price.  A  price
which was calculated by the slave’s redeeming features and
possible interest by potential buyers. What the F stood for in
Lyndarum’s  case,  he  couldn’t  hazard  a  guess.  He’d  never
seen such a thing before.

“So is your tag. What’s the F stand for? Good fuck or

Mark Alders

something?”

Lyndarum’s smile was wiped from his face, and for a

brief instant, what seemed like a flash of shame crossed his
otherwise pleasant features. “The F means I am free to a
buyer who purchases all the lots in batch 332, that’s what.
You and I are batch 332.”

“You mean…when someone buys me, they get you as

part of the deal?”

“Yep. I’m damaged goods. In fact, while being escorted

down  here,  the  trader  himself  said  he’d  have  rather  killed
me on the spot to save him time and money than put me up
for  auction  if  I  didn’t  have  a  foreskin.  The  only  slave  who
could  be  valued  lower  than  me  and  have  a  D  for  death-as-
soon-as-possible tag at the end of his serial numbers would be
a  circumcised  boy  from  the  Jayacynth  Moon  who  had  an
infestation of blistering pimples all over his skin.”

“Ouch.”
“It’s okay. At least I know I’ve been batched up with a

stunner like you, even if you are a bit of a self-centered prick
from the few words that have flowed from your mouth…as
far as I can tell, in any case.”

“Hey, I ain’t a prick.”
Lyndarum’s smile returned. “I stand corrected.”
Kirk examined his dog tag again, then looked at his cell

mate. “Well, I take it I’m going for a few credits then, right?”

Lyndarum nodded. “The most I’ve ever seen a slave being

reserved  for,  I’d  have  to  say.  I  mean  look  at  you.  You’re
perfect.  Your  skin  is  free  from  even  the  slightest  mark.  I
mean,  it’s  like  pale  silk  spun  from  the  finest  worms  in  the
system  and  quite  breathtaking,  if  you  ask  me.  Some  buyer
will be cherishing your smooth arse as his cock warmer for
many days, that’s for sure.”

Kirk felt a flush of embarrassment wash over him for an

instant. “I’m not perfect…”

Atlantica Dream

“Like fun you’re not. Even your foreskin is wrinkle free

and caps off your cock beautifully by coming to a lovely
pucker-tipped point. I haven’t seen the likes of anyone like
you ever, and I’ve been around. The market worker was
right when he said you’re a pretty boy.”

“Fuck you, I’m not a pretty boy. Bend the fuck over and

I’ll show you how beautiful my cock is when I shove it good
and hard and without lube up your freckled arse!” But  the
young  man’s  words  didn’t  anger  Kirk,  not  in  a  way  which
would  have  seen  him  become  a  rage  of  foul  words  and
flailing gestures like he would when he didn’t get his way at
home. Instead, his words fired even more than curiosity. His
words fired arousal…lust even.

Lyndarum smiled. “Yep, self-centered. Besides, slaves

aren’t allowed to copulate unless instructed by their masters.
Now, who are you? You certainly don’t look like you belong
here…pretty boy.”

Kirk sat, a calm coming over him. Being angry didn’t get a

rise out of Lyndarum like it would his father. No fun playing
such a game then. Besides, he was tired of parading around
for all to gawk at. Even the other slaves in the closest cages
stared like love sick school boys. “To tell the truth, I don’t
know why I’m here. I was celebrating my twenty-first
birthday last night and there was a sort of fight…and—well,
I woke up here in this straw covered cage with you.”

“A fight? With you involved? I find that hard to believe,”

Lyndarum said with a chuckle behind his hand.

“Steady…I can still fuck you whether or not I’m allowed.”
“Promises, promises.”
In that moment, Kirk’s groin stirred. Seemed Lyndarum

was a gay man—or a bi one at the least. Interesting. Kirk
certainly wouldn’t mind looking down to see the man’s
freckled lips being parted by his rock hard, throbbing cock.
Hopefully, he knew how to suck properly.

Mark Alders

At the moment, when Kirk was about to speak, tell

Lyndarum how he was pushing his luck and could end up
on  the  receiving  end  of  some  serious  cock  action,  the
shutters  surrounding  the  slave’s  holding  pens  closed  tight.
No light penetrated them and the whole alley was plunged
into darkness.

“I take it that’s the signal we’ve got to go to bed?”
“Yep. And they will be opened at first light, too. Around

six in the morning on this planet from what I’ve worked out.
Long days and even longer nights here for us slaves.”

“Say, Lyndarum, how long have you been here?”
“Four days. I was offered at five credits to start with, but

didn’t  attract  any  buyers  no  matter  how  many  times  the
auctioneer  parted  my  buttocks  or  retracted my  foreskin for
the  crowd’s  enjoyment.  The  next  day,  I  was  three
credits…then two…and so on until this morning my dog tag
was changed to the lovely F you see now and I knew another
would  soon  join  me  in  this  cage.”  Sadness  imbued
Lyndarum’s words once more.

It seemed Kirk wasn’t the only one who took pride in

himself.  Then  again,  the  man  was  right,  Kirk  was  self-
centered,  so  pride  in  Kirk’s  case  was  probably  too  soft  a
word. Why wouldn’t Kirk be self-centered, anyway? He was
the  only  son  and  child  of  a  billionaire.  But  yes,  Lyndarum
wasn’t  like  Kirk.  Lyndarum  was  proud  from  what  Kirk
gathered  in  the  little  time  they  had  spent  together  and  the
conversation they had shared. The red-head wasn’t the only
one  analyzing  the  situation.  Damn,  Lyndarum  was  getting
more and more attractive with each passing second. Typical,
Kirk  found  someone  even  more  interesting  than  Wiks,  but
because of the situation he would never be able to act on his
lust…or feelings, because he was now a slave.

Kirk lay down on the straw.
Lyndarum came next to him, placing a warm hand on

Atlantica Dream

Kirk’s  stomach.  The  man’s  breathing  was  loud  against  the
soft  whimpers  and  moans  of  the  slaves  in  the  other  cages,
but not enough to disturb Kirk from his thoughts.

Hopefully, tomorrow would see some more information

come to him about why he was here in the  Mattock Markets
in  the  first  place.  He’d  sure  break  some  heads  if  he  ever
found out who had sold him to a slave trader, that was for
certain. What’s more, he’d have to do as much as humanly
possible  to  get  out  of  this  situation.  Perhaps  Lyndarum
could  help  him.  Why  else  would  they  have  been  fated  to
meet?  One  thing  Kirk  believed  in  was  situations  happened
for  a  reason.  Sure,  most  of  the  time,  such  a  notion  was  a
selfish one, but this time, he felt—no, knew it was different.
This time, he knew Lyndarum was someone special, offered
for free or not.

Kirk fell into an uneasy sleep.

Mark Alders

Chapter Four

yndarum woke the moment the retractable roof was
cracked open. He had always been a light sleeper. Plus,
being one of the first to rise meant he would be the first

to piss into the toilet bucket when offered, not having to wait
for  the  unenthusiastic  market  worker  to  empty  it.  Such  a
thing  could  take  ages  as  the  morning  piss  was  the  most
important  of  the  day,  especially  before  breakfast  was
offered. Eating the stodge the traders provided sure wasn’t
good to digest on a full bladder.

After he had called over the worker and done his

business, he glanced over to his cell mate. The man slept like
a baby. Perhaps growing up as a spoiled brat of a billionaire
had meant he had nothing to worry about while he slept.
Lyndarum, being a shifter, had learnt long ago to practically
sleep with one eye open.

While he studied the man, his perfect skin, his handsome

features and rather ample genitals, Kirk stirred. Yes, he was
beautiful.  Too  beautiful.  Was  he  a  shifter  himself?  Perhaps
he  was  a  member  of  the  colony  the  Schism  was  seeking
before they captured Lyndarum and forced him to deal with
the Devil to protect his own.

Right at that moment, guilt found him. How could he

lead others to death to save his own? He was no better than
the Schism if he did such a thing. He would be a murderer
himself.

Atlantica Dream

He swallowed hard.
In that moment, Lyndarum decided, with or without

Kirk’s help, whether or not he was a shifter as well, that he’d
do whatever he could to not only keep his platypus brothers
and  sisters  alive  and  flourishing,  but  the  other  colony  the
Schism  sought,  too.  He  had  heard  of  one  colony,  one  that
thrived on a moon on the outer rim of the system, orbiting a
planet  surrounded  by  a  powerful  magnetic  field  and  an
asteroid  belt.  Was  that  Mjae?  Was  that  why  the  Schism
couldn’t  get  close?  Did  dark  matter  become  unstable  when
close to a strong EM field?

Lyndarum wasn’t sure about all that. But some truth

might be found in such logic. After all, why bribe a shifter to
rat  out  another  shifter  when  they  could  kill  both  colonies
without  too  much  effort?  Yes,  that  must  be  it.  This  other
colony,  it  must  be  inaccessible  to  the  Schism.  No  wonder
they took him and used him for their sick and twisted goal.
What  other  reason  would  there  have  been?  Schism  usually
killed on sight, no questions asked.

Kirk stirred.
Lyndarum watched him with increasing interest. His cell

mate was in no rush to wake. He’d never seen a man so
content, so happy within himself. Perhaps all he had to fear
was growing old and impotent.

“You awake?” Lyndarum asked, stating the obvious, but

thinking of no other way to start the conversation.

“Yeah,” Kirk replied with a lazy drawl. “Where’s that piss

bucket. I need to take a slash like you wouldn’t believe. All
that Atlantica Dream is now passing through me, and fuck,
it’s giving me hell.”

Sure enough, even though the man had morning glory,

his foreskin partially retracted to reveal his pink head, the
man stood up, staggered over to the edge of the cage and
relieved himself. The bucket man nowhere to be seen, Kirk

Mark Alders

just  did  it…all  over  the  concrete  of  slave  alley.  Man,  the
market  worker  was  going  to  be  livid  when  he  discovered
he’d  have  to  hose  slave  piss  off  the  floor  before  the
morning’s  round  of  potential  buyers  was  let  in  after
breakfast.

“You can’t piss there,” Lyndarum said, surprise imbued

in his voice.

Kirk’s cock had gone flaccid once his stream of urine had

finished. He shook the last remnants of piss off the end of his
dick,  then  turned  around.  “Man,  that  was  almost  fucking
bright green. I’m damn well pissing coolant here. Must have
been  a  hell  of  a  night.”  He  sat  on  the  straw.  “So  when  do
they  feed  us?  I’m  fucking  starving.  I  could  eat  a  whole
Boonta bovine right about now.”

“Soon.” Lyndarum had to admire the man. He didn’t

seem to have a care in the world, even though he was now a
slave.  Sure,  he’d fetch  a  hefty  price,  but  still,  beauty  didn’t
mean  too  much  once  sold.  Usually,  it  meant  the  handsome
ones  were  killed  off  a  bit  quicker  because  they  were  the
favorites  of  the  house  and  therefore  fucked  the  most.
Lyndarum  had  heard  of  one  handsome  man  who  had  to
endure  forty-eight  straight  hours  of  sex  because  his  master
had organized a party and invited all his friends to have a go
at  his  arse  whenever  they  felt  like  it.  The  poor  slave  was
pounded  to  the  point  of  exhaustion,  offered  no  water  or
food.  Suffice  it  to  say,  he  didn’t  last  much  longer  once  the
party guests left to go home. What a way to die.

Lyndarum swallowed hard. He felt for Kirk. He’d be

fucked  red  raw  and  then  some  once  he  got  into  a  master’s
home.  Lyndarum  would  probably  be  killed  as  soon  as  he
was  delivered.  In  that  moment,  he  didn’t  know  which  fate
was  worse—well,  yes  he  did.  A  quick  death  was  always  a
better option.

“Good. If I don’t get some food soon, I’ll faint. If that

Atlantica Dream

happens I’ll probably knock my head, creating a nasty bruise
which would then lower my price at auction. Not what the
trader who bought me would want, I’d wager.”

“You sure are confident, for a slave,” Lyndarum said.
“Who says I’m going to be a slave for long?”
Lyndarum let out a laugh, but not one borne from

something humorous. Rather, in reaction to Kirk’s over
confidence. “Once you’re a slave, the only release from that
is either death or if a citizen gives you your freedom. Death
is usually the more popular option.”

Kirk winked at Lyndarum. “We’ll get out of this, buddy.

You just stick with me, you’ll see.”

Right then, Lyndarum felt sadness for Kirk. The man was

delusional.  Perhaps  the  Atlantica  Dream  was  still  coursing
though  his  system  to  give  him  a  false  sense  of  confidence.
Who  knew?  Whatever  the  case,  one  thing  was  certain.
Lyndarum would be sticking with Kirk. Their batch number
was the same.

“Grub’s up!” the market worker, the same man as last

night, shouted. Seconds later, two trays with what looked
like bowls of porridge were pushed through the serving slot
of their cage.

Lyndarum eagerly grabbed one.
Kirk stood. “Hey you, worker dude, go get me your boss.

I want to tell him I’m Kirk Skelling and that I’m to be
released this instant. Oh, and tell him I’m taking my friend
here with me, as well. Now run along.”

The worker offered a crooked smile. “Yeah, sure, I will.

And while I’m in there I’ll arrange for the limo to take you.
Say, why not take your pick of two slaves boys here in the
alley to wash you before you leave, your fucking majesty.”

Kirk frowned. “Asshole.”
The man looked down at the puddle of urine Kirk had left

as a present for him to clean up. “Damn fucking pretty

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boys…they’re the worst. I hope your new master teaches
you some respect.”

Lyndarum was enjoying the exchange. Unfortunately, the

first round of potential buyers had already begun their walk
up the slave alley, traders in tow. By the time they arrived at
their  cage,  both  had  finished  their  porridge—or  whatever
the stuff was. Kirk had complained how awful it was, yet ate
it  all  the  same.  Hunger  was  hunger  and  food  was  food,
Lyndarum supposed.

Three faces peered into their cage.
“Am I led to believe that other one will be offered for free

with the pretty one?” a man asked.

The trader, Mr. Oggard, nodded his head, an effect which

made his jowls jiggle in a rather disturbing way. “Yes, yes.
You get two for the price of one here, gentlemen.”

The other man, one in a fine pressed suit, more mature

than the other, said, “I should think so at that price.”

“He is expensive, but just look at what you’ll get. You’ll

be the envy of the quadrant with a slave like that at your
every whim. Think of the attention you’ll receive when you
take it for walks. That penis alone would be a conversation
piece at the dinner table, mark my words.”

Both men nodded. The other added, “I suppose you’re

right. Still, it is a lot of money—when is the auction for the
both of them, anyway?”

Mr. Oggard replied, “First auction of the day, in one

hour.” He clicked his fingers. The market worker ambled
close. “Ray, get these two cleaned up. They’re the first off the
rank this morning and I want them both to shine—well, do
the best you can with the damaged one. There’s a good
fellow.”

The worker named Ray unlocked the cage and pointed a

light stick at Lyndarum and Kirk. The stick had an electrical
charge, sort of like a cattle prod, but wouldn’t leave a mark

Atlantica Dream

on human skin. An added blemish, especially right before an
auction, had to be avoided at all costs.

The man jabbed the stick into Kirk. He yelped. “Come

along, your majesty. Time to address your court.”

Kirk mumbled something under his breath, but he did

something Lyndarum wouldn’t have expected. He grabbed
Lyndarum’s hand, holding him tight.

The two potential buyers smiled. The first said, “Are they

lovers, Mr. Oggard?”

The trader looked surprised himself, but without

skipping a beat, or missing an opportunity, replied, “Yes.
Yes, they are.”

The second man said, “I like that touch. A good find,

trader,  getting  two  lovers  in  the  same  batch.  Sure,  the
skinnier  one  is  damaged,  all  those  freckles,  but  I  have  to
admit,  his  skin  is  a  nice  contrast  to  the  other.  Perhaps  the
price for these two is worth it, after all.”

“Oh, and they’d be happy to perform any act of

copulation for you at any time, should you  be the winning
bidders…of course.” The trader’s eyes were aglow with the
lust  of  profit.  Lyndarum  felt  sick,  getting  one  final  look  at
the  men  who  might  be  his  new  masters  before  Ray  took
them both to the shower room.

The first man smiled. “Of course.”
Ray opened a door guarded by two armed guards at the

end of the alley. Beyond the door lay a large tiled room with
open  showers  and  toilets  inside.  Lyndarum  couldn’t  help
but  notice  the  room  only  had  one  exit…the  entrance.  “Do
what  you  have  to,  slaves.  Take  a  shower,  shave,  shit,
whatever. Just be ready in an hour for your auction. Got it?”

They were shoved inside the room, the light stick used to

encourage them. The door was secured.

When Ray’s footsteps could no longer be heard, Kirk said,

“At least I get to shower. I can’t feel close to civilized unless

Mark Alders

I’ve  had  a  good  scrub  under  my  hood,  right,  Lyndarum?”
He  turned  on  the  tap,  steam  billowing  around  him  within
seconds.

Lyndarum didn’t answer. Instead, he couldn’t help but

watch—no, study Kirk while the man washed himself. How
he would love to be the soap  his cell mate held. Damn, the
way  he  ran  it  across  his  skin,  exploring  his  body  with  it,
under  arms,  down  parted  buttocks,  over  his  fine  balls  and
cock, under his retracted foreskin, up his stomach, over his
hard chest, that was something quite…alluring.

He licked his lips, stepping up to the next showerhead,

and  turning  on  the  taps.  Seconds  later,  Lyndarum  was
covered  in  warm  water.  The  heat  of  the  room  grew  in
intensity with the steam, adding more fuel to his thoughts.

Lyndarum had an erection.
Right at that moment, when Lyndarum was at his

hardest,  and  doing  his  best  to  try  and  not  think  about  his
erection  in  the  hope  it  would  ease,  Kirk  looked  at  him.
“Wow,  Lyndarum,  you  sure  have  got  some  nice  wood
there.”

“I…I…” Before he could splutter out any other words,

Kirk came close. So close, the steam created by the two
showers was nothing but a distraction.

Kirk grabbed Lyndarum’s cock. “You want me to help

wash you, buddy?”

The tight grip on his dick made Lyndarum gasp. He

replied with a whisper, barely audible over the running
water, “Yes.”

Within a blink of an eye, Kirk was massaging the length

of  Lyndarum’s  cock,  his  touch  not  only  expert,  but  oh,  so
welcome  as  well.  Again  he  gasped,  more  so  when  Kirk
retracted  his  foreskin  fully  and  began  concentrating  his
touch on and around his sensitive frenulum and head.

Before Lyndarum could blink—or say that Kirk didn’t

Atlantica Dream

have to do anything he didn’t want to do—the man was on
his knees, his beautiful, plump lips kissing his bulging head.

The water of the showers didn’t seem to bother Kirk from

what Lyndarum could tell. Seemed his dick was Kirk’s focus
and nothing, not even a thousand prods of Ray’s light stick,
could stop him from his efforts.

What an effort it was.
Kirk was soon sucking on Lyndarum like a babe at a teat.

Slurping and groaning, using the perfect amount of suction
to send shivers of delight all through Lyndarum. In fact, he
had to hold onto the taps for fear of collapsing because of the
joy. Sure, he’d had boyfriends in the past, but not one, ever,
had sucked him off without getting to know him first. Not so
with Kirk. Seemed this man, this confident, almost arrogant
man, took what he wanted and got it. Who was Lyndarum
to complain about such a thing?

After a good, long session of licking, sucking and kissing

of Lyndarum’s cock by one of the most beautiful men he’d
ever seen, he felt the pangs of climax rise up to create flutters
of joy inside his stomach.

Seconds later, Lyndarum blew his load.
Should he have told Kirk he was going to come? Was that

the proper etiquette here? Who knew? All Lyndarum could
fathom was that he’d received one of the greatest blow jobs
of his life, and he didn’t even have to ask for it.

Kirk took all of what Lyndarum gave him. When spent,

Kirk pulled away. A dribble of cum trickled down his chin
until it was washed away by the warm water stream he re-
entered,  getting  back  to  the  business  of  washing  himself
with the soap which turned Lyndarum on in the first place.
He  noticed  Kirk’s  cum  swirl  down  the  drain.  Seemed  the
man  had  pleasured  himself  while  he  enjoyed  Lyndarum’s
erection inside his mouth.

How unselfish was that?

Mark Alders

“You’re a strange man,” Lyndarum said, picking up a

cake of soap from the holder.

“How so, beautiful?”
The man called him beautiful. Lyndarum was shocked

once more. Very rare for him to be surprised, especially
twice in one day. “I mean, why did you do that?”

“Didn’t you like it?”
Lyndarum ran the soap over himself, enjoying the

sensation. “Why yes…I loved it. But what reward did you
gain from doing such a thing? I mean, you’re obviously not a
slave—or at least from what I know of slave boys born into
the trade, you’re certainly not one of those, anyway. Perhaps
you’re who you say you are, the son of a rich man. But still, I
don’t know anyone who would give something like that to
another without some sort of reciprocation…at the least.”

“You mean you think I’m a selfish prick and now you’re

wondering why I just blew you to Heaven, is that it?”

Lyndarum’s mouth fell open. He didn’t quite know how

to  reply  to  such  words—because  basically,  the  words  Kirk
spoke were the truth. He  was selfish, yet, he did one of the
most unselfish things…ever.

Kirk turned off the shower, coming into Lyndarum’s

stream. “It’s quite simple. I’m a cock sucker.”

“Aren’t we all?”
“No, no. You don’t understand. I am a selfish bastard,

always have been, but I really do enjoy sucking cock and do
so simply for the pleasure it gives me. Nothing more. When I
saw you all hard and ready, I had to have it. I mean,
enjoying your dick, tasting your goodness, feeling it throb
inside my mouth while you were consumed with pleasure,
and then getting my reward, that was more than enough for
me to bring me to climax as well. I didn’t need reciprocation.
Like I said, I’m a cock sucker.”

“I see. I think.”

Atlantica Dream

Kirk slapped Lyndarum on his buttocks, a loud, wet

thwack reverberated through the shower room. “I’m also an
arse fucker. So keep it warm for me, Lyn, buddy—can I call
you Lyn? I’ll need what you’ve got real soon.”

Then Lyndarum got it. Kirk was a conqueror, and as such,

took any opportunity to conquer what he wanted. Giving a
free, no strings attached blow job, that was a tactic. Damn,
the man was good. “You can call me Lyn…and I’m glad I’m
batched up with you, Kirk. I think….for the first time since I
got here, there’s some hope we’ll escape.”

Kirk leant over and kissed Lyndarum, square on his lips

and  with  a  good  amount  of  tongue,  too.  When  he  was
overwhelmed  with  the  tang  of  the  man’s  saliva,  and
breathless from the action, he parted.

“We will get out of here, that much I know.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, beautiful, I’ve got an enemy.”
Once more, Lyndarum didn’t understand Kirk’s words.

Not  until  he  spoke  his  next  sentence.  “If  there’s  one  thing
I’ve learned in life, enemies like to gloat. When we’re at our
darkest hour, when we think all hope is lost, that’s when my
enemy  will  show.  When  that  happens,  I’ll  be  ready  for
them—we’ll be ready for them.”

“Are you saying this so-called enemy of yours will free

us?”

“Yep.”
“Why would they do that?”
“To make sure we keep suffering, of course. After all, if

they wanted me dead, they would have done that already.
No, this enemy of mine wants to see me suffer—and selling
me to a slave trader, that’s just the beginning. I can feel it in
my guts.”

“What could be worse than being a slave?”
Kirk grabbed Lyndarum’s hand. “I don’t know. But we’ll

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soon find out. Now, are you with me or not?”

“Yes. I’m with you.” Lyndarum couldn’t believe he’d said

that. Not right off the tip of his tongue and without thought,
at any rate. Never had he been so impulsive. Again,
probably Kirk’s intention all along when he got on his knees
and let Lyndarum feed him his cock. Damn, conquerors
were crafty…and fucking sexy. “I’m with you.”

Kirk smiled. He ran his hands across Lyndarum’s cheeks.

“Good.”

They kissed again, one filled with dizzy spells, sensational

feelings and an overwhelming sense of belonging. If Kirk
was a selfish, rich bastard as he had claimed, then Lyndarum
had hit the jackpot.

Trouble was, could they survive long enough to enjoy

each other even more?

Atlantica Dream

Chapter Five

he auction went off without a hitch, as far as slave
auctions went, Kirk supposed. He had attended many—
although, never as the merchandise. The trader who

owned  them  showed  the  salivating  crowd  all  around  the
ring  Kirk’s  beautiful  body  in  all  its  detail  while  he  stood
there  like  an  obedient  dog.  The  man  even  spread  his  legs,
showed  them  all  Kirk’s  asshole  to  jack  up  the  price  even
more.

The trader even got him to kiss Lyndarum for the public’s

pleasure.

Kirk had to admit, the show tactics worked. The ring was

at a fever pitch by the time bidding had begun in earnest. All
in  all,  Kirk  went  for  five-thousand  above  his  reserve,  the
most  expensive  slave  sold  in  recent  memory.  One  buyer
even  offered  five  credits  for  Lyndarum  if  he  accepted  a
spanking from Kirk.

Mr. Oggard didn’t hesitate, as Kirk knew he wouldn’t.

Five credits was five credits. Sure, slaves weren’t permitted
under governing body laws to engage in sexual acts while
owned by traders, but spankings to get the crowd even more
excited, they were permitted.

Kirk gave them what they wanted, but made sure he

spanked Lyndarum with a cupped hand. Such a method
would create a loud spanking sound, but not hurt his latest
interest too much. Yes, Kirk had to admit, the freckled,

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skinny red-haired man who he had shared a slave cage with
last night, and who he’d given a blow job to not half an hour
earlier,  had  caught  his  interest.  So  much  so,  Kirk  couldn’t
wait  to  taste  his  arse.  He  had  a  fine  bubble  butt,  one  Kirk
would sure like to eat before he fucked him good and hard.
He imagined the man writhing and begging for more while
he sank his cock in deeper and deeper into his warmth. How
delicious such a thing would be.

Anticipation always kept Kirk’s interest. Yet somehow,

Lyndarum was different from all the others he had
conquered in his life, including Wiks. For some reason, Kirk
wanted to get to know the man on a level that was beyond
the physical. Fuck, was he falling for Lyndarum?

“That’s it, folks!” Mr. Oggard said, distracting Kirk from

his erotic…and interesting thoughts. The crowd had started
to dissipate, moving onto the next trader’s ring and the next
auction.  Mr.  Oggard,  in  a  voice  more  akin  to  normal
conversation,  said,  “The  winning  bidders,  congratulations
on your purchase—Ray, take these two slaves to the holding
pens  ready  for  collection  will  you?  I’ll  be  in  my  office
finalizing the sale.”

Kirk and Lyndarum were taken to another cage, one a

little  larger  and  more  comfortable  than  the  previous  one.
Because  they  had  now  been  sold,  they  were  treated  better.
After  all,  nothing  worse  than  damaging  goods  a  trader
didn’t own.

“Do you know who bought us, Kirk?” Lyndarum asked.
“I think it was some ugly dude in the front row, why?”
“Just asking.”
“I would have preferred to have been bought by the two

who looked at us this morning, if you want to know,” Kirk
said, admitting his feelings to Lyndarum. Again, something
quite weird for him. He never let anyone he conquered
know how he felt.

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“Why’s that?”
“Because they wanted us to be together, that’s why. I

think us fucking would have amused them—all fine with
me. But this other bloke, the real buyer…I think he’s not so
into us being together.”

“He’ll probably get rid of me before we even see our new

home. I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly the handsomest
bloke you’d ever want to set your gaze upon, am I?”

“No, you’re not—”
Lyndarum was taken aback. “Thanks. Way to make me

feel better.”

Kirk reached over and grabbed Lyndarum’s hands to

hold  them  close  to  his  chest.  “If  you’d  let  me  finish,  I  was
going  to  say,  no,  you’re  not  handsome,  you’re  fucking
stunning,  and  if  anyone  even  touches  you  to  harm  you,
they’ll have to go through me.” Again, Kirk couldn’t put into
cohesive thought why he would say such a thing. Every time
he looked at Lyndarum, he got flutters in his stomach. Every
time he thought about him, even in a non-sexual way, he felt
happier.  In  fact,  he  thought  about  Lyndarum  a  lot.  Ever
since he’d blown him. Every other guy he had done that to
would have then wanted more. Not Lyndarum. He seemed
to be satisfied with anything Kirk did. Whether it be a gentle
kiss  or  a  deep,  hard  suck  of  his  cock.  That  was
something…different.

Lyndarum gasped, his eyes wide. “I don’t know what to

say.”

“Don’t say anything.” Again, this was totally new for

Kirk.  Even  Wiks  had  acted  when  he  made  moves  on  him,
boyfriend or not. Lyndarum didn’t lead on, or tease, or try to
seduce. He only looked at Kirk with those lovely blue eyes.
Were  those  eyes  filled  with  lust?  Kirk  wasn’t  sure.  All  he
knew was, he liked the stares.

The cage door rattled.

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Kirk turned to see Mr. Oggard and their new master

glaring at them. “Here they are, your eminence. All yours for
the taking.”

The man the trader referred to as eminence, said, “Deliver

them to my house within the hour. I have plans for them.”

“Yes, sir.”
Their buyer turned away, his disinterest in spending

another second in the holding pen area clear. The trader got
Ray to lift the cage with them still in it and loaded onto a
truck. Darkness found them when the doors were closed.

“Looks like this is it,” Kirk said.
Lyndarum came to embrace Kirk, snuggling into him.

Again, this was something new. Kirk had never known a
man to want nothing more than to be held…not unless he’d
just fucked him, in any case. To embrace without any chance
of sex, in the near or distant future, that was…weird.

Kirk ran his fingers through Lyndarum’s hair to comfort

him,  whispering  words  like,  “It’ll  be  all  right,”  and  “Don’t
worry.”  Fuck!  Was  Kirk  really  falling  for  this  man?  One
thing  he  knew,  he  didn’t  want  to  see  Lyndarum  come  to
harm.  That  was  a  first  for  him,  as  well.    Then  again,
Lyndarum  was  something  different.  Sure,  he  wasn’t
classically  attractive,  his  features  more  unusual  than
anything.  But  Kirk  supposed  that  was  part  of  his  charm.
Lyndarum, as a result, wasn’t up himself.

“There’s something you should know about me,”

Lyndarum said, breaking their hold to look at Kirk.

A small light had been turned on. Sure, it was like being

lit by candlelight, but still, at least they could see each other.
“What is it?”

“I’m not….I’m not a human, Kirk.”
Then it struck Kirk. No wonder Lyndarum’s looks, as

plain as they were, had him by his short and curlies. The
man was an alien. How fucking hot was it getting now that

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he had a chance to get his end wet inside an alien man?
Damn, he was good at picking some damn fine arse.

Kirk kissed Lyndarum on his forehead. “I don’t care what

you are. I think…I think I’m falling for you and…fuck…if
the truth be told, I don’t want anything to happen to
you…ever. We’ll get out of this, I promise.”

Lyndarum smiled, one filled with nerves and worried

looks. “I’m a shifter.”

Now it was Kirk’s turn to be taken aback. “You’re a

what?”

“A shifter…a platypus shifter, to be exact…and the bond

that  you  think  you  feel  toward  me,  that’s  because  I’ve
become  grounded  to  you.  You’re  now…you’re  my  human
template  for  when  I  shift  back  into  human  form  from  my
natural state. You’re the person I need to solidify my hold on
this form.”

For all that Lyndarum had said, Kirk didn’t feel one shred

of  anger.  Normally,  he  would  have  been  furious,  a  raving
lunatic by now for discovering such a thing. Not now. Was
that all part of the voodoo? Or was it something else? Was it
a  true  bond,  as  Lyndarum  had  said?  Or  was  it  something
more  powerful?  Was  it  love?  Then  again,  it  couldn’t  be
love—could  it?  Kirk  only  loved  one  person.  Kirk.  “I  think
that explains a lot.”

“I’m sorry to tell you like this, but if this is to be my last

hour  alive,  because  our  buyer  didn’t  look  at  me  the  same
way he looked at you, then I want you to know the truth. I
want you to know that I chose to become a slave to help save
my colony from the Schism.” Lyndarum looked down, a tear
fell  from  his  eye.  “But  I’ve  done  something  terrible,  Kirk.
I’ve  traded  one  atrocity  for  another.  I  thought…I  thought
you  were  a  shifter—one  from  the  colony  the  Schism  have
been  looking  for  because  you  were  just  too  perfect  to  be  a
man born to a Boonta woman. Those boys always have some

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sort  of  imperfection,  mainly  because  of  the  environment  in
which they have grown up, being taken at birth and trained
as  slaves  then  sold  as  soon  as  they  get  pubes.  I…I  told  the
trader  as  much…when  you  slept  last  night,  right  after  the
shutters closed in the alley and Ray locked up for the night. I
called him over and told him what I suspected. He went and
told the trader. If we survive our new master, even a minute,
I don’t think we’ll survive when the Schism come to kill me
now that I have served my purpose.”

Kirk remained silent while Lyndarum spoke his mind.

When the moment was right, and the truck came to a halt, he
said, “All the more reason for me to get you out of here, isn’t
it?”

“You’re not mad then?”
Kirk squeezed Lyndarum’s hands tight. “I’ve never had

shifter  arse  before.  I  like  a  challenge.”  Sure,  the  words  he
spoke might have sounded cocky, but the truth of the matter
was simple. Kirk  did feel something for the man. What that
was,  a  spell  or  not,  such  a  thing  didn’t  matter.  Kirk  was
curious  how  such  a  man,  full  of  freckles,  as  skinny  as  a
Boonta beggar, and with red hair that seemed to glow, could
gain  his interest  in  such  a  complete way.  Such  a  thing  was
rare and special.

Lyndarum embraced Kirk. “Then you’ll be with me…for

as long as I’m alive?”

“Longer.” Kirk ran his hand over the man’s skin.

Surprisingly, it was smooth. Seemed all those freckles didn’t
affect texture as he would have thought. Then again, when
he sucked him off, his lips had passed over his shaft without
any bother. “Now, all we have to do is think of a way to get
out of this mess before the Schism come to collect you, or my
enemy decides me being a slave is only the start of my
worries.”

“What if your enemy is also the Schism?”

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“I’m not a shifter, why would they care about me?” Kirk

almost laughed at such a suggestion.

“Then why were we put together?”
“I don’t know. Some random chance perhaps.”
“There’s no such thing as random chance.” Lyndarum

held Kirk tighter, running his hands across Kirk’s back.

Kirk liked to be held, especially by Lyndarum. “Then

why?”

“Perhaps your father’s stock is a lot more than just Boonta

bovines as you believe?”

Kirk laughed. “Are you saying my father’s cattle are

shifters?”

Lyndarum, without hesitation asked, “Where do you

live?”

“On Mjae—a moon that’s thankfully far away from the

central planets. Why?”

“Does it orbit a planet with a strong magnetic field and

asteroid belt?”

“Yes. But hang on, if my father’s cattle are shifters, how

come I don’t know about it? How come we haven’t seen
them change into human form?”

“I don’t know—maybe because you’ve been so self-

centered you haven’t noticed anything beyond the view of
your own dick or where you’re going to put it.”

“What? I don’t look at my dick. Not all the time.” But

before  Kirk  could  ask  more  questions,  like  how  the  Schism
would believe their cattle stock could be shifters in the first
place,  the  doors  to  the  truck  opened.  Bright  light  streamed
in, blinding them both for a moment. Kirk held his hand up
to  shield  his  eyes.  “Turn  off  the  fucking  lights,  you
bastards.”

Ray stepped into the truck, connecting the grapples to the

cage which would lift it up off the now open trailer and
deliver them into their master’s cellar. “Get ready to have

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your arses pounded, gentlemen. Your new master is a real
animal when it comes to his slaves. He’s gone through seven
this month alone.”

Kirk felt anger rise up. All he wanted to do was protect

Lyndarum, at all costs, even if the man didn’t think highly of
him…as he found out only moments ago. Besides, he had to
know if what he had discovered was the truth. If his father
had been harboring a colony of shifters he was a better man
than he gave him credit for. In a way, Kirk felt nothing but
respect for his dad right now. A far cry from how he’d felt
about him while he lived under his roof. Had he been a fool
all his life, blinded by his wealth?

Atlantica Dream

Chapter Six

hey  were  stuck  in  a  cold,  dark  cellar  for  what  seemed
like  hours.  No  water.  No  food.  No  toilet  facilities.  A
couple  of  times  Kirk  couldn’t  hold  it  any  longer  and

pissed  onto  the  floor,  making  sure  the  stream  didn’t  run
back to the cage and soak their straw lining by aiming away
from  the  door  toward  the  decline  in  the  room.  Nothing
worse  than  having  to  sit  naked  on  urine  soaked  bedding
material.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Kirk spat.
“We’re sold slaves now. What did you expect?”
“To at least be given some water. I’m fucking thirsty, not

to mention my hunger and how tired I am.”

Before Lyndarum could add anything more to their

conversation,  something  sarcastic  perhaps,  the  cellar  door
clanked  open.  Into  the  dank  room,  a  portly  gentleman
entered,  whip  and  collars  in  hand.  He  was  all  lust  filled
smile and then wicked grin. The smile was directed at Kirk.
The grin at Lyndarum.

Kirk had a nasty feeling about how the next few moments

would play out. The first words out of their new master’s
mouth confirmed his fears.

“Well, well, looks like I’ve bought myself something quite

handsome indeed—and something which shouldn’t be
breathing.” Kirk was about to give the man—the fat fucking
bastard—a piece of his mind, but Lyndarum must have

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anticipated such a thing from him. He grabbed his hand. An
action which indicted he should remain silent—for the sake
of them both, he’d wager. When the man unlocked the cage,
two other young men entered. Kirk assumed they were the
house  trained  slaves  the  man  had  purchased  earlier  and
would  be  their  mentors  or  something  similar.  “How
interesting  that  you  are  both  into  each  other—a  promise  I
saw at the auction which I didn’t believe. How is it someone
as  handsome  as  you  finds  this…this  damaged  thing  so
attractive?”  The  man  brushed  his  hand  over  Kirk’s  cheek,
one done with affection. Within a blink of an eye, he placed a
collar  on  Kirk,  one  which  was  electro-magnetically  sealed
and  forced  the  wearer  to  learn  very  quickly  to  obey  his
master.  A  nasty  electric  shock  the  result  if  he  didn’t.  An
effective training tool.

He placed a collar onto Lyndarum as well, then said,

“These two slaves will clean you both up, feed you and
show you where you’ll sleep. You both stink of market filth,
so make sure you get scrubbed up real good. Report to my
lounge room when you’re done. I want to have my way with
you both before I take my supper.”

Kirk winced, but tried to hide his disgust. Now wasn’t the

time to be a hero. That time would come.

Suffice it to say, being cleaned in a bath was something

Kirk hadn’t experienced before, even more so considering he
was  washed  with  Lyndarum  in  the  same  water.  The  two
slaves who cleaned them didn’t speak, so Kirk didn’t start a
conversation.  On  closer  inspection,  one  of  the  slaves  had
multiple whip scars on his back. The other seemed to cower
when Kirk did something sudden, like raise his hand.

When done, the two slaves left.
“I think the sooner we get out of there the better, Lyn.”
Lyndarum, now out of the water and drying himself,

came over to Kirk and embraced him. Their cocks touched,

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sending a shiver of delight through him which he wished he
could do something about. Unfortunately, they weren’t left
alone for long.

The two slaves returned, food tray in hand.
What was on the tray didn’t look too appetizing, more a

meal  of  necessity  than  enjoyment  as  far  as  Kirk  could  tell.
Still,  food  was  food,  and  even  though  what  was  offered
wouldn’t  win  any  awards  for  culinary  excellence,  he  ate
heartily. Again, all without a word, particularly considering
the two slaves watched them both with intense interest.

Finally, once Kirk gave the whipped slave the tray back,

the man said, “You must be careful here.”

Without thought, Kirk said, “What’cha mean?”
The other slave, the one who cowered like a beaten dog at

his  master’s  feet,  replied,  “Our  master  does  not  tolerate
disobedience in any form, and even to look at him when not
invited  is  to  incite  punishment.  Just  look  at  Char,  here.  He
has  suffered  many  times  for  all  of  our  mistakes.  That’s  the
thing  with  our  master.  He  does  not  punish  the  one  who
committed  the  crime,  but  the  one  he  feels  deserves  to  be
beaten because he’s the most expendable.”

Kirk then had a dark, terrible thought. “He’s probably

going to move his punishment fetish onto Lyndarum now,
isn’t he?”

Lyndarum looked straight into Kirk’s eyes, the effect of

what was said a pained expression, and Kirk couldn’t help
but  feel  responsible  for  the  man,  even  though  they’d  only
known each other a short while. Perhaps it was his beautiful
blue  eyes  which  melted  his  heart.  Perhaps  it  was  his
imperfections,  his  flaws,  which  made  him…wonderful,
made him worth protecting. “I don’t want to be punished for
someone else’s mistake, Kirk.”

The whipped slave, the one named Char, said, “You will

be punished whether you like it or not and for whatever

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reason, no matter how trivial. I’ve been whipped over
twenty times in front of all the other slaves, once because the
glass of water Matvey fetched for our master had five ice
cubes in it instead of his desired four.”

Kirk felt his anger rise up inside him again. “The fucking

prick.” In that moment, he not only wanted to save
Lyndarum, he had to get Char and Matvey out of this place
as well—heck, he had to get all of this bastard’s slaves out of
his house and to freedom. How? He wasn’t sure. One thing
at a time, and for the here and now, Kirk was only interested
in one thing. Making sure Lyndarum was safe from the whip
of their new master.

A chime sounded.
“That’s the signal that our master has entered his lounge

room. We don’t have much time to present you both to him.
By the time he’s drank his first drink, he’ll want to have you
both at his feet.”

“You mean he’ll want to fuck me until I pass out,” Kirk

corrected.

Matvey, the blond, smooth bodied, more muscular one,

nodded. “He’ll probably try you both out, but yes, from
what I’ve seen and heard so far, he certainly favors you—
um, what was your name?”

“Kirk. Kirk Skelling.”
Matvey’s eyes widened. “That name…are you Arton

Skelling’s son? But you can’t be…you’re a slave.”

Char added, “Arton is a great man…a great, great man,

and you are blessed to bear the same name as his son.”

Kirk snorted. “Yeah, if you say so.”
Lyndarum said, “Are you the Kirk Skelling, as you’ve

claimed all along?”

Kirk nodded. “The one and the same, beautiful.”
Matvey said, “Wow, how did you end up as a slave?

You’re a rich aristocrat, aren’t you?”

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Kirk once more gave a sign of revulsion “No, I ain’t’ rich,

aristocrat  or  otherwise.  The  great,  great  man  who’s  my
father is rolling in it, not me.” Kirk was laying  the sarcasm
on  thick,  although,  to  tell  the  truth,  this  was  the  first  time
he’d  heard  any  good  word  being  said  about  his  father.
Somewhat  bizarre  how  such  praise  had  come  from  slaves
out  here  on  the  central  planets.  Kirk  had  certainly  never
thought of his old man as being great, not at any  stage. But
why he was considered as such was a mystery to him? Then
again, he had been busy drinking, taking drugs and having
sex  with  anything  that  moved  for  as  long  as  he  could
remember. Perhaps Lyndarum was right. Perhaps he needed
to  stop  looking  at  his  dick  and  open  his  eyes  to  the  world
around  him.  “I  haven’t  got  a  dime  to  my  name—even  less
now that I’m owned.”

Char said, “We must get them to our master now,

Matvey.”

“Are you two a couple?” Lyndarum asked.
Matvey smiled. “We are companions.”
“What does that mean?” Kirk questioned. Either they

were having sex or they weren’t. Why say companion?

Matvey said, “When you’ve been a slave all your life, the

chance  of  mating  with  the  opposite  sex  to  procreate  is
virtually  nonexistent.  Instead,  slaves  find  comfort  with  one
another in times of need—a slave couple who stay with each
other exclusively are known as companions. The things we
do  with  each  other  are  more  out  of  necessity  than  sexual
orientation, if you get my meaning.”

“I understand,” Lyndarum said.
Kirk nodded. “Yeah, being around all blokes all your

lives, no wonder you take the dick over loneliness. I know I
would.”

A second chime sounded.
Char added, “We must go now.”

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They were escorted to the lounge. The house was large,

but  not  too  large  considering  Kirk  had  grown  up  on  a
sprawling  ranch  home  full  of  many  rooms,  including  a
private  ballroom.  Their  new  master  was  sitting  on  a  large
chair.  He  was  in  his  underwear,  his  bulge  giving  away  the
fact he had been waiting for his new acquisitions to arrive to
pleasure him.

“You know you must not make me wait, Matvey,” the

man said. “I am quite disappointed you made me ring the
bell twice for you to bring me my new acquisitions.”

Matvey bowed, “I’m so sorry, my master. It won’t happen

again.”

“Indeed it won’t.” With those words, he picked up a whip

from  the  side  table.  The  man  obviously  prepared  in  more
ways  than  one  for  his  new  toys.  “Get  over  here,  damaged
one.  I  want  to  teach  you  a  lesson  you  won’t  forget  for
making me wait longer than usual and for making me tell off
my favorite slave, Matvey.”

Lyndarum looked at Kirk, but was forced onto his hands

and  knees  by  Char  and  Matvey.  It  wasn’t  their  fault,  Kirk
assumed  they  had  no  choice  but  to  do  as  their  master
commanded, for fear of being punished themselves. Seemed
the man ruled his slaves with an iron fist. All Kirk could do
was watch the following events unfold, the rather disturbing
joy the man seemed to inflict on those he owned.

With his cock hard, poking out from his underwear, and a

delighted expression on his face, complete with evil grin and
maddened glint in his eyes, he began whipping the freckled
flesh  on  Lyndarum’s  back  and  buttocks.  Each  lash  of  the
twisted cord that struck his back was met with an agonizing
cry  of  pain  from  Lyndarum  and  a  chortle  of  laughter  from
the man.

Kirk couldn’t watch any longer.
He decided, right there and then to act. He grabbed

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Matvey, whispering, “We’ve got to do something about this.
He’ll kill Lyn if he gets half the chance.”

“You care for him, even though he’s damaged, don’t

you?” Char asked.

“Of course I fucking do.” At that moment, Kirk realized

for the first time in his life, he did care for something other
than  the  comforts  of  his  lifestyle,  like  booze  and  drugs,  or
where  he  would  be  sticking  his  cock  next.  He  blinked,
blocking  out  the  sights  and  sounds  before  him  as  best  he
could  for  a  brief  moment  so  he  could  think,  so  he  could
contemplate  the  reasons  why  he  found  himself  here  and
what he was going to do about it. If he didn’t act now, force
fate to be on his side, then he wouldn’t be any better than the
man doing the whipping. In fact, he wouldn’t be any better
than what he had achieved all his life, the spoilt, useless son
of a rich man. Kirk didn’t want people to tell stories of how
he  was  a  loser,  walking  in  the  shadow  of  his  father.  They
had already said such a thing to him, his father was a great
man. They didn’t say, Kirk was a great man.

Time for Kirk to be great.
Another cry pierced the air. This time, not from the whip

of  his  new  master,  but  because  the  man  had  pierced
Lyndarum’s  asshole  with  his  thick,  bulging  dick.  No
lubricant. No warning. Just a slam of his cock inside the man
who was blubbering on the floor, tears streaming down his
face.  The  man  grabbed  Lyndarum’s  hips  and  pulled,  an
action which pushed him in deeper and deeper. More cries
of pain rang out.

Kirk felt sick. Lyndarum’s back was bleeding from the

punishment he received, yet he was now forced to endure
rape. Slave or not, in Kirk’s eyes, that’s what it was.
Lyndarum was being raped right in front of them all.

“Well, if you two aren’t going to do anything about this, I

certainly am.”

Mark Alders

Kirk ran.
He came to a room, which for all intents and purposes,

served as a sort of kitchen. On a marble bench there was a
knife, large and glinting in the light. Without thought, Kirk
picked up the knife. He didn’t know the how or the why of
it, but it was like the blade was calling to him, begging him
to dispense the justice he knew should be dealt.

Seconds later, Kirk was back in the lounge room.

Lyndarum was still being fucked, Matvey and Char having
no option but to watch, the fear obvious in their eyes. Their
new  master  was  reaching  climax,  his  eyelids  shut  tight,
sweat beading down his forehead and his body tensing. Kirk
had  a  matter  of  moments.  Without  further  delay,  he  came
over the man who was raping his man. Yes, Lyndarum was
his  man.  No  doubt.  Sure,  they’d  only  met,  but  really,  Kirk
believed  in  many  things  and  the  turn  of  fate  was  one  of
them.

Perhaps he had to become a slave to find his love.

Perhaps  he  had  to  become  a  slave  to  discover  himself.
Perhaps he needed to be a slave to become a man. Maybe all
three,  in  reality.  Whatever  the  reasons  for  the  way  his  life
had  changed,  he  would  now  take  matters  into  his  own
hands.

At the exact moment their master reached climax, the

moment when the familiar cry most men released the instant
their balls tightened and their cock shot their sperm deep
into their conquered flesh left his lips, Kirk sunk the knife
deep into the man’s back.

The blade went in easier than what he would have

imagined.

The effect was instant. The man flopped onto Lyndarum,

like a ragdoll that had been thrown to the ground. No sound
came from the man’s lips other than those of his previous joy
created by his ecstasy. No movement resulted other than to

Atlantica Dream

collapse. In a way, killing someone—no, murdering
someone in such a way, was anti-climactic. The silence after
the kill was deafening.

Then, when Kirk withdrew the knife, blood dripping off it

to stain the expensive rug of the lounge room, Matvey cried
out  in  distress.  Perhaps  up  until  the  moment  where  he
showed  the  blood-stained  knife,  those  who  stood  witness
couldn’t  fathom  what  had  transpired.  But  instead  of
showing  concern  for  his  fallen  master,  when  he  did  speak,
Matvey  yelled  something  quite  unexpected.  “Where’s
Lyndarum!”

Mark Alders

Chapter Seven

yndarum couldn’t stand the pain any longer, both of his
punishment and of the man’s joy in delivering it. He had
to get away. He had to save himself. The only way he

knew how to do such a thing, to give himself even a remote
chance of surviving the near future, was to shift form.
Something he could now do because he had a template.
Because he had Kirk.

In his natural state the wounds on his back would heal

and the tearing of his ass by the disgusting, thoughtless man
who owned him, wouldn’t hurt as much. In platypus form,
he would be safe. He could even defend himself, because
being a male, his poisonous barbs would protect him.

When he decided to transform, more out of need than

want, a great weight came upon him. Darkness followed. He
became suffocated and panic rose up inside him to consume
his thoughts. Was he already dead? Had the man succeeded
in killing him, his wish all along from what Lyndarum
sensed when they met. If he wasn’t dead, what had
happened?

Lyndarum had feelings. If he had been killed, surely he

wouldn’t be able to sense any more pain, different to that of
a moment ago or not. He clambered to try and find the light,
get away from the suffocation now surrounding him like
plastic film. Then it struck him. From what he could tell, his
master’s body had fallen on top of him, the odor of his sweat

Atlantica Dream

stained skin unmistakable.

He gasped, clawing his way out of his flesh prison.

Wetness and darkness consumed him in equal measure, but
at least he had changed form and was no longer burdened
by the sting of the whip.

A reverberation, like the ground was moving underneath

him,  but  deeper,  overcame  Lyndarum’s  next  thoughts.  He
had  no  choice  but  to  wait  and  see  how  events  transpired.
After  all,  a  platypus,  male  or  not,  was  no  match  for  a  man
who would have easily weighed over one-hundred and fifty
kilograms. Lyndarum, it would seem, was trapped. Trapped
no matter how much he struggled. At least he discovered the
cause of the reverberation. The man, his master, had passed
away. The sound was the last breath of life escaping out of
his lips to join his soul in the afterlife.

According to his people’s beliefs, the soul was eternal, but

could  only  be  re-born  into  another  if  the  breath  of  the
deceased  person  joined  it  in  the  house  of  souls.  When
someone  passed  away  in  his  culture,  their  mouth  was
opened so their breath could be one with their soul. Not that
Lyndarum  was  religious,  but  still,  sometimes  beliefs  and
superstitions, borne from either religion or of not being able
to  understand  the  world  around  them,  turned  out  to  be
based on a truth.

What the truth was in regards to someone’s breath being

required to cross to the house of souls—if such a place
existed—was anyone’s guess. Before Lyndarum could
contemplate such matters or delve into the deep meaning of
his culture and their customs, either to agree or not, a bright
light blinded him.

“Lyn!” A voice said, piercing the light.
Lyndarum scurried to freedom, but not before exposing

his poisonous barbs at the back of his legs just in case his
master wasn’t really dead and he needed to defend himself.

Mark Alders

He  needn’t  have  worried,  though.  A  gentle  hand  came  to
pick  him  up.  Lyndarum  knew  it  couldn’t  have  been  his
master,  mainly  because  his  eyes  had  now  adjusted  to  the
flood of light that had struck him and he recognized both the
touch and the voice as belonging to Kirk.

“Kirk,” was all Lyndarum said in reply when he changed

back  into  human  form.  Although  to  say  Kirk  was  his
grounding was harsh in a way, the man was more than that.
He  had  proven  such  a  thing  already.  Lyndarum  had  to
admit, Kirk was someone he could easily fall in love with.

“Yes. It’s me, buddy. I thought I’d lost you.”
Lyndarum embraced his lovable template, his savior.

How did he know Kirk had saved him? Simple. How else
was he able to get out from under a dead man? A man who
had apparently been killed by a rather large knife, which lay
at Kirk’s feet.

Again, to come to this conclusion was an easy one. When

Lyndarum scanned the room to help him confirm what had
transpired while he was in his flesh trap, he noticed the two
other slaves, Matvey and Char, looking as though they had
seen  a  ghost.  They  simply  couldn’t  have  acted—they  were
too  conditioned. No,  Kirk  had  murdered  their  new  master.
Perhaps  to  save  Lyndarum  from  any  more  punishment.
Perhaps  to  get  rid  of  him  so  Kirk  could  make  a  run  for
freedom. Whatever the motivation, the result was the same
to Lyndarum. Four naked slaves now had no master.

Matvey asked, “What do we do now?”
The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, and

Lyndarum believed it was more about the man’s fear of not
being a slave to this particular master any longer—he was a
favorite. The question was more about who would look after
him. Someone better or someone worse? After all, he was
still a slave, and a slave, even with no master, would be seen
as something to be bought or bartered for or taken—usually

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to give more status to the one doing the acquiring.

Throughout history, slaves had been acquired in far more

brutal  ways  than  a  murder.  Sometimes  they  were  acquired
in  spoils  of  battle.  One  time,  in  the  great  Trade  War  of
twenty  years  past,  hundreds  of  masters  fought  each  other,
using  their  own  slaves  as  a  sort  of  private  army,  sending
them out in space fighters…to their deaths. The winners of
such  a  battle  were,  ultimately,  the  slave  traders,  even  if  it
was only to provide cannon fodder for their enemy.

The war ended because stock became so low. Not one

owner had any slaves left for their own pleasure. In the case
of  the  Trade  Wars,  pleasures  of  the  flesh  soon  outweighed
the  pleasure  of  power.  Boonta  girls,  along  with  improved
Genopills  to  help  produce  boys,  were  then  given  incentives
like  family  allowances,  jewels  and  gold,  to  encourage  them
to get pregnant.

“We get the fuck out of here, that’s what,” Kirk said,

knocking Lyndarum from his reverie. He couldn’t help it.
Being in Kirk’s arms, holding him tight, had that effect on
him.

“But…but we must alert the authorities we have no

master,” Char said.

“Fuck that shit! They’ll see the man has been stabbed and

then who do you think they’ll blame? Us, of course.” Kirk let
go  of  Lyndarum.  He  went  over  to  the  dead  body  of  their
former  master,  examining  it.  “We’ve  got  no  choice.  We  get
rid  of  our  collars,  get  some  clothes,  then  we  run—say,  do
you think he’ll have some clothes in smaller sizes for us?”

Lyndarum said to Matvey, “And property that commits

murder isn’t given a trial. They are dispensed with without
question.”

Matvey swallowed hard. He looked at Lyndarum and

Kirk in turn. “You are the real Kirk Skelling, aren’t you?”

Kirk winked. “Whatever clued you in?”

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“No slave conditioned from birth to serve would have

even contemplated doing what you just did.”

Kirk returned to his previous train of thought. “So…those

clothes, do you think he’s got some that’ll fit four skinny
guys like us?”

Char said, “I doubt it. Our master has always enjoyed the

finer things in life.”

“In other words he’s always been a fat bastard.” Kirk

smiled. “Now, are you two with us or not? I mean, don’t get
me wrong, but if you’re going to weigh me down, you’d
better stay here and meet your fate. Lyn and I have got some
business to finish, starting at my old man’s ranch.”

This time, Matvey’s lips formed a quiver of a smile.

“We’re with you, Kirk Skelling.”

“Yes, we’re with you,” Char added, grabbing Matvey’s

hand to hold it. For the first time since Lyndarum had seen
the two slaves, they had hope in their eyes. Hope for
tomorrow and their future under Kirk’s guidance.

When Matvey and Char had left the lounge room to go

fetch the keys to their collars and fresh clothes, Lyndarum
said, “I believe you’re a hero today, Kirk,”

Kirk rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Great. Remind

me never to take Atlantica Dream again…ever.”

“If you hadn’t become inebriated with that recreational

drug of the rich, then you would have never met me,”
Lyndarum offered.

Kirk stood in thought for a moment, rubbing his stubbled

chin. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right. Sure, finding out why I
got here in the first place has been playing on my mind, but
then again, there have been many questions which have
remained unanswered for me about what has happened of
late.”

“Like whether or not your father is harboring a colony of

shifters, you mean?”

Atlantica Dream

Kirk nodded. “Yeah…which I do believe may have

something to do with why I was put out of the way all of a
sudden.”

“Are you saying someone wanted to get rid of you so

they could gain access to your father…and the ranch
without hindrance?”

“Perhaps.” Kirk shrugged his shoulders. He then turned

his  attention  to  Lyndarum,  his  eyes  bearing  down,  causing
Lyndarum  to  believe  a  different  thought  had  entered  his
man’s brain.

The next words out of Kirk’s mouth confirmed

Lyndarum’s suspicions. “Say, I really do have a hankering
for a good fucking right about now. How about it, Lyn? You
want to get yourself some rich boy tail or what?”

“Are you asking me to have relations with you?”
“Whatever you want to call it is fine with me, so long as I

get to taste some Lyn love juice real soon, I’m happy.”

In that moment, Lyndarum struggled between his desire

and his instincts. Making love to Kirk, a man he had used as
a template for his shifting abilities, would cement him as his
life-long partner…until death do they part. “You do realize,
if we make love right now, especially after what’s happened,
you’ll be stuck with me forever. That’s the shifter way.”

Kirk smiled. He came over to Lyndarum and planted a

kiss upon his forehead. “Haven’t you got it yet? I want
you…you’re different. If that means forever, then what the
hey? I’m willing to make a few sacrifices to be with the man
I have feelings for.”

Lyndarum was taken aback. Seemed the rich boy from the

Skelling clan wasn’t such a spoiled, self-centered brat, after
all. “Are you saying you want to be with me?”

Kirk nodded. “Yeah…that’s what I’m saying.”
“Are you also saying you have feeling for me that go

beyond lust…or looks?”

Mark Alders

Before Kirk could answer, Matvey and Char returned to

the lounge room. They had bundles of clothing in their arms.
“We found these garments,” Matvey said with pride imbued
in his voice.

“Perfect,” Kirk said, sliding his gaze away from

Lyndarum.  Lyndarum  couldn’t  help  but  get  the  feeling
Matvey  and  Char  had  interrupted  at  a  crucial  moment.
Seemed  to  him  they  wouldn’t  get  an  opportunity  to  get
physical  with  each  other  until  they  at  least  got  off  Ardross
Major. He imagined it wouldn’t take the authorities long to
discover  there  had  been  a  murder  and  four  slaves  were
missing. No prizes for guessing what conclusion they would
jump to. Which, in a way, was the truth anyway. Sure, Kirk
had  killed  the  man,  but  by  running  with  him,  Lyndarum,
Matvey  and  Char  were  as  guilty.  They  really  did  have  to
run.

Kirk grabbed one of the garments. It was a sort of coverall

with a hood. Perhaps something the man would have worn
over his clothes to keep him warm in cooler weather. “Is this
all there was?”

Char replied, “All that would come close to fitting us,

yes.”

Kirk frowned. “Wearing these we’ll be even more

conspicuous than if we remain naked.”

“If we remain naked, all will know we’re slaves,”

Lyndarum said.

“How?” Kirk asked. “Plenty of folk go round with

nothing but their skin on, even the rich. It’s fashionable at
the moment. That and wearing lace-look man panties, which
I draw the line at, I must say.”

“We’ve all been branded,” Char said, turning around to

show  the  back  of  his  neck.  On  the  skin  below  his  hairline,
small  as  ever,  there  was  a  number  tattooed.  The  numbers
were  ones  which  Kirk  now  knew  all  too  well.  They  were

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serial numbers, giving lot number, age, and reserve price at
time of auction.

“Do we all have those?” Kirk asked.
“Sadly we do.” Lyndarum said. “But we also have

ultraviolet ones tattooed onto our buttocks and ankle, just in
case slaves decide to try and elude the authorities.”

Matvey said, “The city is populated with numerous

scanners. Any slave passing through one without authority
will be instantly detected if they aren’t wearing clothing.”

Kirk sighed, “And I suppose the authorities know that no

slave can own anything, so they won’t be looking for clothed
slaves no matter how ridiculous they look wearing winter
coveralls with fur-lined hoods in the height of summer.”

“Let’s hope so,” Lyndarum said.

Mark Alders

Chapter Eight

hen all four were attired in their disguise, one which
would set them apart from the nakedness of a slave or
the culturally elite, they headed out the door.

Hopefully, they would blend in with the rest of society until
they got off Ardross Major.

The world outside was approaching dusk. Steel and glass

buildings  were  lit  with  the  liquid  orange  glow  of  Ardross
Major’s  relatively  young  star  to  give  the  city  a  sense  of
serenity before the madness of night crept across the streets.
The  three  mega  cities  that  orbited  Ardross  Major,  the  Metro
Super  Ring,  Ganymede  Tuesday  and  Junction,  glinted  like
jewels in the sky above. The sight of them was familiar and
welcome,  because  Ganymede  would  be  their  port  of  call
once  they  got  to  one  of  the  numerous  spaceports  on  the
outskirts of the city.

Lyndarum hailed for a taxi when they arrived at the

closest rank.

Thankfully, Kirk had suggested they borrow some money

from  their  dead  master  to  help  them  escape.  Although,
pleased with their plan so far, Kirk itched already and he’d
only been attired for less than ten minutes. He preferred to
be  naked  or  dressed  in  very  little  so  as  not  to  hide  his
attributes. Still, if these outfits got them off the planet, then
he’d  endure  the  small  discomfort  for  as  long  as  was
required.

Atlantica Dream

The taxi took them to the spaceport without incident.

Once or twice the driver eyed them carefully, using the rear
vision mirror to get a good look, but didn’t seem to be
bothered by four young men in winter coveralls and nothing
underneath but their skin.

Kirk slipped the heavy coverall up to reveal his leg a bit

more—right up to his groin—as if to emphasize the fact he
knew  the  driver  was  staring  at  them  and  perhaps  it  was
because he fancied a bit of cock with his evening meal when
he  got  home  from  a  day  of  taxi  work.  Or  perhaps  because
the driver suspected they were slaves. Perhaps both.

Seemed the man didn’t take the invitation Kirk was

offering. Good thing, too. He didn’t fancy having to suck a
stranger’s dick to help get him off the planet right now. He
wanted to be with Lyndarum. That private shuttle ride up to
Ganymede Tuesday couldn’t happen soon enough in Kirk’s
mind.

“This is it,” the driver said with a half interested chime.
Lyndarum paid their fare and all four found themselves

standing  at  the  main  terminal  building  of  Ardross  Major’s
second  biggest  spaceport.  In  front  of  them  was  a  huge
holoVid  screen.  Images  of  all  four  of  them  were  splashed
across  it  with  a  news  caption  scrolling  across  the  bottom—
Slaves murder their master in sordid sex party.

Kirk looked at Lyndarum. “I didn’t think what we did

could have been considered a party. Trust me, I’ve been to
plenty and what we did couldn’t have been further from a
party even if we had entrees.”

“What if there were a couple of grams of Atlantica Dream

thrown  in?  Would  it  have  been  a  party  then?”  Matvey
questioned, finding his voice and a rather droll one at that.
Kirk  liked  him,  had  since  they  first  met.  Matvey  had  his
head  on  right.  Nothing  more  attractive  than  a  bloke  who
knew where he was at. Char on the other hand…Kirk didn’t

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get that instant connection with him. Perhaps because Char
never  seemed  to  lead  a  conversation.  Perhaps  because  he
wasn’t  as  attractive  physically,  when  compared  to
Matvey…or even Lyndarum.

Kirk let out a laugh. “It just might have been, Matty. It’s

just might have been.”

Char asked, “What are we going to do now? We can’t get

clearance for departure with our images plastered all over
every screen in the known universe, can we?”

As if to emphasize Char’s concern, the news caption

changed. Kill these slaves on sight to receive one-thousand credit

redemption per skin. Redemption via Trader’s Guild and can be

used to purchase new Trader endorsed slaves to add to your house
stock.

“Char’s right, especially seeing as they’re offering our

dead bodies in return for more slaves for masters to do as
they please with,” Lyndarum said.

Kirk frowned. Right now, being stuck as a slave didn’t

seem  to  be  a  great  idea.  “Lyn,  shift  into  platypus  form.  I’ll
carry  you  through  customs  like  a  pet.  Perhaps  I  can  get
through any security checks because my image isn’t that of a
slave but of Kirk Skelling. Hopefully, and with a good dose
of  luck  on  our  side,  we  have  some  dull  lads  in  charge  of
customs  right  now  and  they  won’t  put  two  and  two
together.”

“What about Char and I?” Matvey asked, holding his

partner’s hand.

“You guys get out of the city and over to the old Trader’s

station  out  in  the  desert.  The  one  where  the  old  slave
markets  used  to  be  before  Mattock  was  opened.  Don’t  ask
for directions, just follow the old 1044 highway heading west
and you can’t miss it. Get there however you can. Heck, give
an old desperate bloke a blow job he won’t forget so you can
borrow  his  keys,  I  don’t  care.  Just  get  there,  but  do  it  so
you’re  not  spotted  and  don’t  arouse  any  suspicion.  Don’t

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speed. Don’t even drive under the limit—that’s just as much
a  red  light  to  the  authorities  as  anything.  Means  you’re
probably  moving  illegal  slave  stock  and  you  don’t  want  to
damage  them  when  you  go  over  a  pothole.  We’ll  pick  you
up  in  four  hours.”  Kirk  smiled  when  he  was  done.  If  they
were smart and used their talents as trained pleasure givers,
then  maybe,  just  maybe,  they  would  be  there  waiting  for
them when Kirk landed the shuttle he’d acquire in about an
hour’s time…or less. Hopefully.

“What if we’re not there?” Char added, his question

perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances.

“We leave without you. Now get going.” Kirk moved so

he  could  shepherd  Lyndarum  into  a  quiet  corner  of  the
terminal  entrance,  one  where  baggage  trolleys  were  stored
for those who cared to use them because they couldn’t afford
slaves to carry their belongings.

Before he told Lyndarum to shift form, an action which

would  put  his  plan  into  effect,  he  craned  his  neck  to  make
sure  Matvey  and  Char  had  high-tailed  it  away  from  the
public’s  prying  eyes.  All  they  needed  right  now  was  an
observant  citizen  matching  a  holoVid  image  to  a  real  life
person. Kirk found pleasure they had at least listened to him
when he couldn’t see them. He hoped they would soon be in
someone’s bed wooing the man out of his belongings.

By the time Kirk returned his attention to Lyndarum, the

man  was  already  a  platypus.  He  picked  him  up  with  care.
Now,  the  second  part  of  his  plan was  ready.  Although,  for
the  life  of  him  he  needed  to  ditch  the  coveralls—they  were
all  the  evidence  someone  would  need  to  connect  the  dots,
especially considering their images wore them.

Kirk looked around.
By a side shop, one which sold curios for the traveler

coming to Ardross Major for the first time, a woman stood.
She had by her side two travel bags. The look on her face

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gave Kirk the impression she was expecting someone.

He went to her.
“Can I help you?” she said with disinterest, not looking at

Kirk in any meaningful way other than to scan him for signs
he was someone she recognized.

Kirk decided to swallow his pride. He said, “My master

has departed his private jet but I can’t seem to locate
terminal sixteen. I’m going to get punished for sure, I know
it. Please, do you know where that is?”

She looked at Kirk again. “Oh, a fine young man like you

shouldn’t be punished, slave or not. Say, why don’t I get my
driver to take you there?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”
“What is that you’re carrying?”
“It’s my master’s prized platypus. It wins all the awards,

you know, and if I don’t get it to him as soon as he steps out
of his private jet, I’m going to have to sleep out in the barn
with all his other furry possessions.”

She eyed him up and down. “I thought you said that your

master had already departed?”

Kirk felt his throat dry and his tongue stick to the roof of

his  mouth.  That  was  the  trouble  with  lying,  you  have  to
remember  what  you’ve  said,  even  in  a  short  conversation.
He  smiled.  “You  got  me.  I’m  not  a  slave  at  all.  I’m  Kirk
Skelling,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and  I’ve  been  partying  all
night and I seemed to have lost my way. Woke up here on
Ardross,  and  boy,  this  platypus  saved  my  skin,  let  me  tell
you.”

She smiled in return. “I knew you weren’t a slave. Your

skin is too perfect to be owned. Now, you must tell me of
your adventures, my man. I’m sure they’re filled with all
sorts of excitement.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe, ma’am, trust me. But do

you think you can lend me some clothes? All my friends left

Atlantica Dream

me was this coverall as some sort of cruel joke to remind me
of my intoxication.”

“If I do give you more appropriate attire, will you tell me

your story then?”

“Sure thing.”
She reached down to pick up a travel bag. Seconds later,

she retrieved a beautiful pair of translucent silk shorts.
“These belong to my son, Brake, and I think they’ll fit you
perfectly, Mr. Skelling.”

Kirk eyed the flimsy garment she held with increasing

interest between her thumb and forefinger. What choice did
he have? He couldn’t go through customs wearing a winter
coat. That would make matching his wanted notice too easy,
even for a disinterested customs officer on the late shift.

Right there and then, Kirk placed Lyndarum on the floor

and disrobed. The lady’s eyes lit up when she feasted on his
nakedness. Kirk didn’t care about showing his dick in public
or  even  for  a  private  show  for  that  matter.  He  always
waggled  his  cock  around  to  entertain  friends,  strangers  or
prospective  fucks.  What  he  did  care  about was  the  woman
catching a glimpse of his slave tattoo at the back of his neck
now that his collar restraint was gone.

She handed him the shorts and Kirk slipped them on.

They  did  nothing  to  hide  his  bulge  and  really,  shaving  his
pubic  hair  and  scrotum  to  baby  bottom  smoothness  would
have been desirable with such a garment. As it was, he had
to take the good with the bad. What were a few black hairs
poking  out  from  under  silken  cloth  to  look  like  crushed
spiders when it came to being a fugitive?

“That’s certainly better than that coverall, I must say.”
Kirk picked up Lyndarum again and tucked him under

his armpit. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you do know that you’ve got a slave tattoo, don’t

you?”

Mark Alders

Kirk’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, another gift from my

over enthusiastic friends,” he offered with a half-hearted
laugh.

She reached into her bag once more, pulling out a

compact.  “Here.  Let  me  rub  this  on.  It’s  an  opaque  skin
matching  foundation  and  it’ll  last  until  you  get  off  this
planet anyway.”

Kirk didn’t know what to say. Seemed the woman, even

though showing disinterest at first, seemed to be well aware
of all around her. “Did you want to come with me…so I can
tell you my story, of course.”

She let out a giggle. “Oh, please, I’m old enough to be

your mother, as flattered as I am by your proposal.” She
finished applying the make-up, and patted Kirk on his
backside. “Now, smooth talker, get out of here and take your
shifter symbiote with you.”

“How…how did you—”
She winked. “Your image has been displayed all over the

holoVids  for  the  last  hour,  and  I  saw  you  arrive  with  your
handsome friends while standing here waiting for my absent
minded  son  to  get  our  car  back  from  the  valet  parking
automaton. Sometimes I wish I had two sons, at least then I
know  things  would  get  done.”  She  winked.  Kirk  thought
that strange. Was she trying to tell him something? Before he
could contemplate such things any further, she gestured for
Kirk to get going. “Besides, I know you’re Kirk Skelling and
not a slave and when you sort out what’s happened to you, I
want to know every juicy detail, you hear me?” She handed
Kirk her business card. On it were the words, Freedom Party
and a holoVid number.

Kirk didn’t know what to say. She was one of those

political agents who fought for equality for all, Boonta girls,
the slaves, the workers, and the rich alike. She was an
activist, if Kirk was to describe her. No wonder she didn’t

Atlantica Dream

have a slave to carry her bags or fetch her car. She didn’t
believe in them.

He left her.
More than once he examined the card as he made his way

to the customs checkpoint. Thankfully, he had remembered
to retrieve their former master’s wallet from the coverall so
he could pay for passage on a shuttle to Ganymede Tuesday.
Although  the  only  place  he  could  put  the  thing  was  down
the front of his newly acquired body contour and see-though
shorts. Many folks stared at him as he strutted past, oozing
confidence which came naturally to him. They either stared
at  him  because  of  his  bulge,  or  because  he  was  carrying  a
platypus.  He  supposed,  even  though  spaceports  saw  many
weird  things,  a  well  built  man  in  his  early  twenties  and
wearing man panty-come-shorts while holding a small furry
Ornithorhynchus anatinus would gain at least some attention.

The first checkpoint was a breeze.
Kirk bought a ticket for a shuttle ride without fuss. He

even  had  plenty  of  time  to  sip  on  a  drink  in  the  viewing
lounge. He imagined Lyndarum would be getting impatient
with  his  shenanigans,  though.  Many  times  he  scratched  at
Kirk’s leg, as if to emphasize his thoughts.

“All right. All right. I get the message, Lyn. We’re

leaving.” Kirk couldn’t blame Lyndarum, really. The sooner
they got off Ardross Major the better. Besides, they had to
convince the shuttle pilot to make a stopover at the old slave
markets to pick up extra passengers.

At the shuttle’s entrance, the pilot came into view. He was

a  weedy  man,  all  leers  and  long  teeth  which  looked
misplaced  in  his  mouth.  He  grabbed  the  rail  which  would
have  helped  passengers  board  in  zero-g.  With  a  gasp,  he
muttered,  “Help  me.”  With  that,  he  stumbled  and  fell  onto
the deck, a gasp of air telling Kirk in no uncertain terms the
man was dead.

Mark Alders

From behind the pilot and out of the shadows, a large

man  stood  on  the  gangway.  He  was  someone  Kirk  knew.
Dodger, the meat fisted fuckwit who got Kirk into this mess
in  the  first  place.  “Well,  fucking  well,  look  what  we  have
here,”  Dodger  said.  “If  it  isn’t  our  little  rich  boy  Kirk,  the
man I’m going to crush like a bug right now because he’s too
stupid  to  realize  he’s  been  given  a  lifeline  so  he  keeps  his
fucking nose out of my business.”

“You mean this was all a set up, you dirty prick?” Kirk

uttered,  anger  welling  up  inside  him.  Seemed  Dodger  had
indeed wanted to get Kirk out of the way. Maybe there was
truth  in  what  Lyndarum  had  said,  after  all.  His  father  was
harboring  a  shifter  colony  and  the  colony  had  been
discovered. Why else would someone go to so much trouble
getting  Kirk  out  of  the  way?  After  all,  a  colony  would
interest  the  Schism,  and  the  Schism  would  do  anything,
including  hiring  human  mercenaries  like  Dodger,  to  get  to
them.

All the pieces fit together now.
Seemed Dodger was influenced by the Schism, either

through their promise of money or power, or both, to rat his
dad out, perhaps even using Wiks in his plan to distract Kirk
at  his  birthday  party.  Which  made  Kirk  think  of  one  thing
and one thing only—the safety of his old man. Strange that
he would do such a thing right now. He’d never thought of
his  father  in  any  way  other  than  as  a  supply  line  to  his
lifestyle. Right now Kirk was concerned for his  father. Very
strange.

“You got it, princess.” Again, Dodger’s fist came toward

Kirk.

This time, Dodger didn’t count on one thing. The

protective  platypus  shifter  Kirk  was  clutching  in  his  arms.
Everything  happened  at  once.  Kirk  dodged  the  punch,  and
the  scene  became  a  kaleidoscope  of  flailing  arms,  shouts,

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swearing,  and  frantic  grabs  to  get  the  animal  off  him.  One
thing  was  certain  after  the  kerfuffle,  Dodger  wouldn’t  be
able to see his dick in too much of a hurry.  Lyndarum had
clawed  at  his  eyes  after  he  attached  himself  to  the  man’s
face,  the  cause  of  all  the  commotion.  He’d  also  dug  his
poisonous barbs into the man’s cheeks. Didn’t take too long
for the poison to work, either.

Dodger fell to the floor like a wet sack of shit.

Mark Alders

Chapter Nine

yndarum shifted back into human form once Kirk flew
the shuttle beyond the city limits. Their goal, the old
slave markets in the desert to pick up Matvey and Char,

as promised.

The man who had killed the pilot, the one Kirk referred to

as Dodger—and boyfriend to one of Kirk’s past infatuations,
as  he  told  Lyndarum—was  somehow  linked  to  Kirk’s
sudden appearance at the  Mattock Markets. Suffice it to say,
once  more  information  was  pumped  from  this  Dodger
fellow,  because  Lyndarum  only  gave  him  a  small  dose  of
poison  so  they  could  question  him,  he  was  rolled  off  the
gang  plank  and  left  on  the  tarmac  to  rot  before  the  shuttle
took  off.  The  man  was  most  uncooperative…and  rude.  No
better justice could have occurred, in Lyndarum’s eyes.

Lyndarum watched Kirk with intense interest as the man

piloted the shuttle with expert precision. Perhaps being rich
meant one could learn how to operate things, because they
had  both  the  resources  and  the  time,  which  was  quite
contrary to what Lyndarum would have thought. Normally
rich folk got others  to do such things for  them. That’s why
the  slave  trade  roared.  Rich  folk  preferred  the  control  of
flesh over the control of anything.

He moved closer to Kirk.
Lyndarum hovered his hand within a hair’s length of

Kirk’s slender yet toned shoulders. He wanted to touch him

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in more ways than he could count. He wanted them to be
entwined in the way only lovers could be, as Kirk had
suggested not that long ago. He wanted to roll his foreskin
over Kirk’s bulging head so their most intimate parts could
be joined in a gesture of acceptance, like all males of his clan
did when they were more than friends.

With a lick of his lips, Lyndarum was about to

compliment his template—no, his man on how wonderful he
looked in his borrowed silk shorts, when Kirk said something
that stopped him dead in his tracks. Words that made him
cease the urge to massage those commanding shoulders as a
precursor to even better things.

“None of this adds up, Lyn.”
Lyndarum withdrew his hand. “What do you mean?

Aside from the fact you’ve now discovered your father has
been harboring a colony of shifters and everyone you
thought you knew has been bought by the Schism so that
same colony can be eradicated.”

Kirk pressed a few buttons on the cockpit’s instrument

panel.  The  shuttle  came  down  closer  to  the  desert  ground,
skimming  the  surface.  Dust  swirled  and  sand  that  hadn’t
moved for eons gave way to pulsating thrusters. A building,
dark  against  the  golden  sands  and  dilapidated  beyond
repair, loomed ahead. Two figures could also be seen, hand
in hand. Lyndarum smiled. At least Matvey and Char were
safe.

“Yeah, Lyn, there’s all that of course, but what I’m talking

about is how everything seems to be fitting into place a little
bit  too  nicely  for  my  liking.  Why  was  Dodger  at  my  party
the other night? He wasn’t invited—heck, neither was Wiks
for that matter. I wanted some fresh action,  not old flames.
Why  do  you  think  I  spent  a  small  fortune  on  a  couple  of
grams of Atlantica Dream? Certainly not to suck on cocks I’d
already  had,  that’s  for  sure.”    Kirk  paused,  seemingly  in

Mark Alders

thought.  Again  he  pressed  more  buttons.  The  shuttle
accelerated. “Actually, now that I think about it, how come
that woman, the one from the freedom party, so happened to
be  waiting for  us  right  after  our  wanted  notices  flashed  up
on  the  city’s  holoVids?”  Again,  another  pause.  “And  don’t
get me started on the coincidence of Dodger knowing what
shuttle we had hired and him being there at the right time to
surprise us. All seems too convenient, if you ask me.”

Lyndarum also thought deep and hard about recent

events. But before he could say that perhaps these chains of
events had all been happy chances, the instrument panel lit
up with warning lights.

Through Kirk’s “Holy fuck!” and the loud incessant

noises the shuttle made, Lyndarum caught a glimpse of the
air ahead of them being ripped open. A dark crack, like
negative lightning, stained the sky, as if the atmosphere
itself had been wounded. From the tear in the sky, a Schism
vehicle emerged, all black and foreboding with harsh angles,
smoke and menace. The thing was massive, at least the size
of the building they were approaching, if not more.

Kirk frantically pressed panels and numerous buttons to

maneuver  the  shuttle  to  get  out  of  the  path  of  the  Schism
which  had  materialized  in  front  of  them.  Lyndarum  was
forced to hold to the back of the pilot’s chair for dear life as
their  little  shuttle  veered  to  the  left  with  enough  force  to
make the engines groan in complaint. Kirk was magnificent.
One, he avoided a collision. Two, he managed to get around
the Schism vehicle and get closer to where Matvey and Char
were standing. Actually, scratch that. Matvey and Char were
running toward them. A few Schism had landed, the marks
bleeding  through  space  from  their  dark  matter  universe  as
they appeared, an all too familiar sight for Lyndarum.

More swearing coursed from Kirk’s lips, but even

Lyndarum couldn’t see how he was going to pick up their

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two friends, avoid the Schism and do it all at speed and with
agility. To Lyndarum the situation was desperate, especially
considering  the  Schism  vehicle  was  in  hot  pursuit,  its  gun
turrets firing angry bolts of dark matter at them which tore
the  sky  and  sizzled  anything  they  touched—air,  sand  and
rock  alike.  The  old  slave  trading  building  was  wiped  from
existence  in  a  matter  of  moments.  Gone,  like  it  had  never
existed.

“Fuck indeed,” Lyndarum added, again thrown around

while  Kirk  asked  the  shuttle’s  engines  to  do  the
unfamiliar…and  the  impossible.  He  had  turned  the  shuttle
one-hundred  and  eighty  degrees  so  that  they  were  now
flying  backwards.  All  this  had  been  done  while  Kirk
maintained their speed.

The unfortunate thing about their new flying position was

the terrifying fact they got an up close and personal view of
the Schism vehicle behind them. The thing filled their view
screen and more.

“Now this is where things get tricky,” Kirk yelled, along

with more choice swear words.

Lyndarum didn’t doubt Kirk’s words. Not only were they

flying backwards, trying to avoid beings from another
universe, ones who could bend the laws of physics to their
will, creating havoc in mind baffling ways, they still had to
pick up Matvey and Char.

The moment Kirk pressed the shuttle bay door opening

button,  Lyndarum  came  to  realize  the  full  impact  of  Kirk’s
plan. One which he hoped wouldn’t come to fruition, if only
because  he  didn’t  fancy  wiping  Matvey  and  Char  off  the
shuttle’s cargo bay back wall. “Are you mad?” he said with a
gasp.

“Hang on!”
Lyndarum did as he was told. He didn’t just grab the

pilot’s chair to keep him upright, he bear hugged it. That

Mark Alders

instant,  Kirk  took  off  the  inertial  dampeners  and  killed  all
engines,  mid-flight.  The  result  was  instant  and  terrifying.
Not  only  did  the  shuttle  came  to  a  dead  stop,  dropping  to
the  desert  ground  like  a  stone,  but  Lyndarum’s  stomach
wanted to occupy the same space as his brain. He felt sick as
a result.

Thankfully, they were flying a few inches from the sand.

Otherwise,  a  fall  from  any  other  height  would  have
shattered the shuttle like glass on concrete. Another benefit
of  Kirk’s  crazy  maneuver was  the  Schism  vehicle  whizzing
past like a dark phantom, their pilot not yet aware of what
had happened, or not yet able to compensate for the sudden
change  in  their  prey’s  path.  Which  meant  one  thing.  They
only  had  seconds  to  pick  up  Matvey  and  Char  and  get  the
fuck out of there, if not less.

Lyndarum raced to the shuttle’s cargo bay once he had

regained his senses.

The sight which befell him was awesome. Matvey and

Char,  although  looking  shaken,  were  on  board.  Kirk  must
have stopped the shuttle within inches of their feet, because
the dust and heat off the desert clung to the cargo bay like a
poignant  reminder  of  how  close  things  were.  Lyndarum
slammed the door close button, and not too soon, either. The
view outside the back door darkened as a shadow fell over
them. Seemed the Schism had realized Kirk’s ploy.

They were above them.
“We’ve gotta fucking go, and now!” Kirk screamed.

“Brace yourselves!”

Before Lyndarum could answer, even to agree or to react,

Kirk  re-started  the  engines  and  accelerated.  Unfortunately,
inertial  dampeners  take  time  to  kick  in.  The  sudden
acceleration meant one thing. Lyndarum, Matvey and Char
became a tangle of limbs at the back of the cargo bay, flat on
their  backs  and  cursing,  elbows  and  knees  in  unwelcome

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places. One thing Lyndarum appreciated was the fact the
cargo bay door was as quick as Kirk, otherwise they’d be
kissing sand right about then.

A few moments later, normality returned and Lyndarum

could  get  to  his  feet.  No  longer  did  the  effects  of  extreme
acceleration  affect  his  body.  He  helped  his  friends  get  up.
“Are you all right?” he asked to no one in particular.

Matvey offered a weary nod. “I think so. Although I don’t

know what’s scarier, the Schism or how the hell we got on
this shuttle.”

Lyndarum said, “How you got on the shuttle was a stroke

of genius, I must say.”

“This ain’t over yet,” Kirk called. “I think you all need to

get in here to the cockpit, guys. I’ve got some more fancy
flying to do yet before we can shake these Schism bastards.”

Sure enough, fancy flying wasn’t the half of it.
Kirk dived and weaved the shuttle around the millions

upon millions of orbiting flotsam and jetsam that indicated
Ardross  Major  was  a  technological  world.  Satellites  old  and
new,  transmitters,  defense  stations,  space  stations,  and  of
course,  the  three  major  ring  cities,  Metro  Super,  Ganymede
Tuesday  and  Junction,  along  with  all  the  paraphernalia  that
went with them, crowded the space between the atmosphere
and freedom.

“Almost there,” Kirk said. Ganymede Tuesday loomed like

a metallic specter, haunting and brilliant against the eternal
black backdrop of the universe beyond.

Kirk had already gained clearance to land when

Lyndarum noticed for the first time the Schism no longer
followed them. “Where did the Schism go?”

“They gave up as soon as we passed the secondary

defense satellites,” Kirk replied, pressing buttons and
readying the shuttle for landing.

“Or they’ll be waiting for us when we leave, like a spider

Mark Alders

waiting patiently in its web, you mean,” Matvey said.

Lyndarum didn’t reply. He knew the Schism. He knew

Matvey spoke the truth. They never gave up in their hunt of
the shifters. Their one advantage was patience. Whether
today or tomorrow, they would return.

For the here and now, Lyndarum felt a sense of relief.

Seemed  they  would  live  another  day.  He  placed  his  hands
on  Kirk’s  strong  shoulders.  No  words  needed  to  be  said
between  them.  Lyndarum  wanted  Kirk,  even  more  so
watching  him  pilot  a  shuttle  unlike  anyone  he’d  ever  seen
before.  In  Lyndarum’s  eyes,  his  template  was  now  more
than that. Kirk was his protector, as well.

Char said, “I think we should all get some rest before we

leave. Although getting around Ganymede Tuesday without
being noticed as fugitive slaves will be just as difficult as if
we were back on Ardross Major.”

Kirk turned to look at them. Sweat was beading down his

forehead. Seemed his flying had been a bit stressful for him.
“Well, after I’ve fulfilled a promise to Lyn, I have a plan.”

“You do?” Lyndarum questioned.
“Yeah. I plan to take you three right up to the authorities

and get away from this planet without so much as a
scratch.”

“How are you going to achieve such a thing?” Char

asked.

“Easy, Char, my buddy, I’m going to see a couple of old

acquaintances,  and  then,  when  I’m  back  to  officially  being
me, I’ll buy you all at a bargain price. Fugitives or not, slaves
need to be owned, and if I promise the Trader’s Guild you’ll
all  be  punished  for  killing  your  former  master,  they’ll
practically give you three to me. After all, who would want
to own murdering slaves, hmm?”

“That’s brilliant,” Lyndarum said.
Kirk smiled, running his hand over Lyndarum’s. His

Mark Alders

Chapter Ten

irk went to his family lawyer on Ganymede Tuesday first
of all. The man, instantly horrified by what had
happened to him, cleared all digital records of him

ever  being  a  slave.  Matters  sure  were  helped  by  Kirk’s
master,  the  one  who’d  paid  a  small  fortune  for  him,  being
six-foot under.

The next port of call was a tattoo removalist. Kirk, now

restored  as  a  member  of  his  family,  had  access  to  his
accounts. He paid for Lyndarum, Matvey and Char’s tattoos
to  be  removed  as  well.  After  that,  he  paid  for  them  to  be
clothed, and once he had finalized their sale to him, happily
handed  over  the  money  for  their  freedom  at  the  Trader’s
Guild.

They were now citizens.
As such, anything they did while they were property,

including murder, was wiped from any record. They were
free in every sense of the word, yet, in a move which baffled
Kirk, decided to stay with him.

“You’re wonderful, you know that,” Lyndarum said,

twirling in front of a mirror, admiring his new satin-like see-
through  suit  with  electric  blue  glitter  and  adornments.
Matvey  and  Char  were  trying  on  various  outfits,  as  well,
including garments which helped enhance their genitals, like
Kirk’s borrowed shorts.

“I’m nothing but a spoiled brat of a rich man, remember

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that, Lyn,” Kirk said, settling into the boutique’s easy chair.
He was admiring Lyndarum’s buttocks in the new outfit
he’d paid for, then thought about removing it…slowly.

Having said those words made Kirk take stock of his life

so  far.  To  be  honest,  other  than  lusting  after  anything  that
moved, and only learning something—like pilot lessons—if
it  would  impress  his  latest  interest,  he’d  achieved  more  in
the  past  couple  of  days  as  a  nobody,  done  more  to  tell  the
truth, than at any other time in his life. Seemed taking a few
grams of Atlantica Dream in this case had been a good thing.
He  wouldn’t  have  met  Lyndarum  or  even  the  two  men  he
considered friends, Matvey and Char.

“You’re a lot more than that, Kirk. You’re my grounding,

my template.” Lyndarum ran his hands over the cloth which
covered his freckled skin, again admiring what had been
bought for him.

Kirk was taken aback for a moment. Did Lyndarum’s

influence  make  him  do  things  he  would  have  never
considered?  Still,  influence  or  not,  Lyndarum  hadn’t
punched  him  in  the  face  to  the  point  of  unconsciousness
then sold him to a slave trader who sided with the Schism,
had he? “You didn’t know me last week. You wouldn’t have
been so generous with your words if you had.”

Lyndarum sat on Kirk’s knee and embraced his man.

“Last week you were a boy lost in the woods. Now, because
of fate, you have become a man. A man who stands proud
and tall on the mountain.”

Again Kirk was surprised…yet not so. “Are you saying

that because of what has happened to me recently I’ve
realized I’ve wasted my life up until this point?”

Lyndarum smiled. “You know that’s what I’m saying. I

can see it in your eyes. You’ve become something more,
something better. Someone your father can be proud of.
Someone you can be proud of. Now, take me away from here

Mark Alders

and make love to me, my dear sweet Kirk, and I will prove
to you how much you have matured.”

Kirk felt his groin stir. Emotions rose up inside him he’d

never  thought  he’d  experience  as  his  blood  engorged  his
cock more and more. Not only was there lust, but something
deeper.  Something  more  than  want  and  satisfaction  and
pleasure  combined.  He  didn’t  desire  Lyndarum,  he  needed
him. Through all the lovers he had acquired over the years,
Wiks  included,  Kirk  had  never  been  so  smitten,  so  taken
with  another  that  to  breathe  was  a  labor  when  Lyndarum
wasn’t near. All he thought of was Lyndarum, and influence
or not, he was one of the most beautiful beings he had set his
gaze upon. To be with him always would have him shouting
in victory from that mountain Lyndarum had told him about
only a few short moments ago.

He had hired a room at one of the hotels near the largest

spaceports on Ganymede Tuesday while they secured a ship to
get away from Ardross Major, but never did he imagine he’d
be utilizing its facilities so soon, especially considering the
four of them had been enjoying their freedom in many other
ways, buying clothes one of those pleasures.

Matvey and Char were left at the boutiques, Kirk’s

account details theirs to enjoy. This too was something Kirk
would have never imagined doing only a few short days
earlier. Thinking about this confirmed what Lyndarum had
told him, and what he already suspected

–

Kirk was now a

different man. For better or worse, such a thing was yet to be
determined.  He  had  a  long  way  to  go  before  he  could
consider  himself  half  the  man  his  father  was.  Strange  he
thought  like  that.  How  things  had  changed.  Maybe
Lyndarum was right. Maybe Kirk was now a man, taking on
responsibility all a part of that change.

Lyndarum lay on the bed, the sight knocking Kirk from

his reverie. His lover’s breathing was heavy, his smile the

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most enticing Kirk had ever seen on anyone.

Without hesitation, Kirk shuffled up to be above his man,

running his hands all over his body, exploring him.  For the
first time in a long time, he didn’t want to take a man’s cock
into  his  mouth  and  enjoy  the  sensations  of  his  hardness
sliding past his lips. He wanted to make love.

“May I?” Kirk asked. After Kirk had turned Lyndarum so

he was on his hands and knees and rimmed his sweet hole
until  his  man  was  begging  to  be  penetrated,  he  applied
lubricant  in  all  the  right  places,  not  wasting  any  time.  He
was  now  at  Lyndarum’s  hole  with  his  fingers,  preparing
him.  More  groans  of  delight.  More  gasps  of  air  from
quivering lips, most from Lyndarum.

Lyndarum groaned louder, opening his legs wider. “Yes.”
Without hesitation, Kirk came so he was in position to

penetrate his lover. But instead of just a wham bam thank you
sir kind of thing, Kirk wanted to savor every moment, feel
every touch, enjoy every breath Lyndarum exhaled, and feel
every inch of his heated skin.

He came over his man, moving him back so he was lying

on the bed once more. He lavished hot, passionate kisses all
over  his  man’s  neck,  face  and  lips.  More  moans,  this  time
accompanied  by  wriggles  of  ecstasy  as  Lyndarum  enjoyed
what Kirk was doing to him.

Kirk pushed his hardness into his lover.
Lyndarum jumped and Kirk soothed him, whispering

sweet words of encouragement into his ear. The time wasn’t
long before Lyndarum relaxed again, getting into the spirit
of the moment, letting Kirk take control, dominate him.

For ages, they danced the dance of love all over the bed

covers, not caring where the pillows landed. Limbs
entwined, embracing each other tight. They kept on with
their kissing, something which spurred Kirk on even more,
because Lyndarum knew how to kiss. Not too much tongue

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to gag, but enough to enjoy the sensation and the tastes his
lover gave him.

With Lyndarum’s hard cock pressed against his stomach,

Kirk  gained  more  and  more  rhythm.  To  be  inside  another
man,  to  have  him  writhe  with  pleasure  by  his  actions,
nothing  could  be  better.  This  was  real,  not  a  drug  created
fantasy.

Kirk soon felt the pangs of ecstasy rise up to consume

him. Still, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Wild Boonta cattle
couldn’t drag him away from this moment. The moment
when he was one with his lover. The moment when nothing
mattered in the universe except completion by another.
Lyndarum was such a man.

With more passionate kisses, dizzy spells and an

overwhelming sense of wanting to be like this forever and
ever, Kirk moved himself so he could get deeper inside his
man.

Again, Lyndarum moaned. Again, he opened his legs

wide, holding himself below his knees to make sure he was
as receptive as possible so Kirk could have all of him and as
much of him as he wanted. No man had ever done such a
thing with Kirk before.

With even more kisses, the heat of their skin on skin

contact  making  Kirk  sweat,  a  sheen  covering  him  while  he
made  love,  he  finally  blew  his  load.  Every  muscle  in  his
body now concentrated on one goal, to give his  lover all he
could  give.  When  he  had  done  so,  almost  collapsing  onto
Lyndarum, his body weak for the effort, he held Lyndarum
tight,  pulling  him  up  so  he  could  embrace  him  proper,
breath the same air as he breathed.

Without any words, without anything other than their

continued touch, Lyndarum ejaculated, warming Kirk’s
stomach with his fluid. Such a thing made Kirk take stock of
all the other times he had been with others. He had to say,

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this was the most special, and all done without drugs,
alcohol or the promise of money.

Lyndarum let him make love to him simply because he

wanted Kirk to be his lover. Nothing more. Nothing less. In
Kirk’s  mind,  that  was  amazing.  Actually,  it  was  beyond
amazing.  Lyndarum,  he  had  to  admit,  was  perfect.  His
perfect man.

Kirk sat up, the effects of his ecstasy still coursing though

his  body.  From  now  on,  he  knew  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he
didn’t  need  Atlantica  Dream  anymore.  Lyndarum  had  done
something  the  drug  could  never  do.  Lyndarum  completed
him. Made him feel needed.

A chime rang out.
Lyndarum got up off the bed, his cock jiggling with his

movement.  To  watch  his  lover’s  firm  buttocks  while  he
walked  to  the  door  to  answer  it  was  another  joy  he  would
have  never  believed  would  give  him  pleasure.  Most  times
when  he  had  fucked  someone,  he  rolled  over  and  went  to
sleep,  not  caring  if  they  stayed  or  left.  Not  so  with
Lyndarum.

“Who’s there?” Kirk called.
“Someone who says you’ll know him,” Lyndarum

replied.

Kirk sighed deep, scooting off the bed. The person who

stood in the doorway was a man he thought he’d never see
the likes of, not after what had transpired lately, at any rate.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wiks? You’ve got

some nerve.”

Wiks, without offering a smile or form of greeting other

than a sly look, said, “I see you’re still up to your old tricks,
Kirk.” He shifted his gaze over to Lyndarum, then back
again. “Although, damn, you’ve lowered your standards.”

Kirk saw red. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t

slam this door in your face, your backstabbing bastard…or

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better yet, why I shouldn’t beat the shit out of you where
you stand.”

“Because I know you won’t until you’ve heard what I

have to say.”

Kirk grabbed the door handle. “I’m not the same Kirk I

was when I was busy fucking your ass behind your
boyfriend’s back.” And with that, Kirk slammed the door
shut. He turned to Lyndarum and said, “You know, I think
we’ve got something to do before we head off to Mjae.”

Lyndarum looked shocked. “Aren’t you going to hear

him out?”

“Let him stew for a moment. He’s not going anywhere

until he tells me what it is he came here to tell me. I know
him too well. He’s too much of a self-important prick to
leave without being heard.”

“I see.” Lyndarum looked at the door. “So what’s this

thing we’ve got to do before we go to your home on Mjae?”

“I’m going to buy me a slave trader ship, and with it

we’re going to gather as many shifters as we can, including
your  colony,  Lyn.  Then,  when  we’ve  got  all  we  can  hold,
we’ll go to Mjae. You said it yourself, my home moon has a
magnetic field which repels the dark matter creations of the
Schism. What better place to find sanctuary for shifters? My
old man knew that, that’s why he harbored  a colony there.
Time I followed in his footsteps and became someone more
than  a  drug  sniffing,  self-absorbed  rich  kid who  only  cares
about himself.”

Lyndarum grabbed Kirk’s hand, holding it tight. Again,

shivers of delight radiated up through Kirk from the touch.
Again, he felt the need for Lyndarum rise up inside him
with his growing interest. “Shall I open the door now?”

“Sure. Let the bastard see how much I care for you.”
Kirk put on his cheesiest smile as Lyndarum opened the

door. The sight which would confront his ex-lover would be

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his perfect white teeth and an erection that could gag even
the most enthusiastic. Perfect, as far as Kirk was concerned.

The reaction by Wiks was as Kirk predicted. The man was

stunned…and jealous. The look in his eyes a clear indication
of that. “You’ve changed, Kirk,” the man stammered.

“Now you’re getting it.” Kirk led Lyndarum back into the

room. Both sat on the nearest sofa, still hand in hand. Kirk
ran his touch along his lover’s skin. “So hurry up and get it
off your chest, Wiks. I’m busy here.”

Wiks stepped beyond the door’s threshold, entering the

room proper. “I came to warn you about Dodger.”

“Yeah, I’ve already bumped into your dickhead of a

boyfriend, thanks. A bit late for a warning, isn’t it?”

Wiks looked around the room. “I’m not talking about

that.”

“Then spit it out.” Kirk’s patience was wearing thin,

especially considering his touch down Lyndarum’s stomach
had reignited his interest as well. Lyndarum, foreskin
retracted to reveal his perfectly shaped head, was as hard as
ever and ripe for the sucking.

“The Schism…they know about your father’s shifter

colony.  They  know  about  everything,  and  Dodger,  he  got
paid  some  heavy  credits  for  getting  you  into  the  slave
markets to get you out of the way while he collected on his
promise.  The  man’s  gone  mad,  Kirk.  He’s  obsessed  with
shifters, just the way the Schism are.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Wiks. You’re

boring me to tears and I’ve got more important matters to
deal with right now.”

Wiks swallowed hard. “You’re just too pretty, Kirk. Too

pretty…to be wasted. If it wasn’t for me bending Dodger’s
ear, you wouldn’t have been sold to that slave trader at all.
You would have met the same fate as your father.”

Kirk’s stomach turned and the erection he had gained

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deflated within a matter of moments. “What the fuck did
you say?”

A tear fell onto Wiks’ cheek. “Everyone has their price,

Kirk.  What  I’m  saying  is  that  Dodger….Dodger  murdered
your  father,  and  right  now,  as  we  speak,  he’s  rounding  up
the  shifters  your  old  man  had  protected  for  so  long.
He’ll…he’ll  transport  them  off  the  moon,  take  them  out  of
the protective magnetic umbrella and from there…they’ll be
destroyed  by  the  waiting  Schism  armada  in  orbit  around
Mjae. Dodger is going to be a very rich man.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Kirk said through

his teeth. He stood up, going to Wiks to grab the scruff of his
collar.  “And  you…my  friend…you  are  going  to  help  me
make this right because  even though I will never get to tell
my father how much I misjudged him, how much of a brat
I’ve  been  while  all  along  he’d  been  risking  everything  to
save a species who were threatened with extinction, I will be
able to carry on in his absence, to try to be half the man he
was.”  Kirk  felt  his  emotions  begin  to  affect  his  words,  his
voice hoarse. He didn’t have time right now to mourn for a
man he never knew, but learnt of his greatness because for a
day  he  became  someone  other  than  Kirk  Skelling.  He
became  a  nobody—actually,  lower  than  a  nobody.  He
became a slave.

Wiks nodded, fear, respect, and admiration emblazoned

in his wide-eyed stare, one which never lost focus on Kirk.
“I’m a dead man anyway. I’ve got nothing left but to help
you, Kirk.”

Lyndarum asked, “Why are you a dead man? The Schism

reward all those who help them, directly or indirectly.”

Again Wiks swallowed hard. “Because I betrayed them,

that’s why.”

“How?” Kirk barked. He was trying to come to terms

with all that had been said. Sure, it would take him a long

Atlantica Dream

time to get his mind around the fact he wouldn’t see his
father again, but even so, he was now the head of the
Skelling clan. Seemed whether or not he was responsible, it
had been thrust upon him. Thankfully, he had now gained
some experience, all thanks to Lyndarum.

“I sabotaged a slave trader’s cargo ship a few days ago—

one  that  had  landed  on  a  moon  orbiting  Boonta  to  pick  up
the  remaining  colony  of  platypus  shifters  who  had  been
hiding there.”

Kirk grabbed Lyndarum before he could react. They

looked deep into each other’s eyes. Lyndarum relaxed.
“Easy, Lyn. Let him finish. Then we can pound the shit out
of him…all right?”

Lyn nodded.
Wiks continued, but not before licking his lips, “I piloted

the stolen ship to Mjae after I spaced the crew, believing the
shifters would be safe. Unfortunately, little did I know
Dodger was watching me from a Schism vehicle lurking in
the darkness behind the ship. I led them to what your father
was doing, and as the slave trader ship was boarded I was
given a choice. Help the Schism destroy both colonies now
residing on Mjae or be killed myself.”

“So you sold me and my father out, hey Wiks?” Kirk saw

red again, his heartbeat loud in his ears while his anger rose
more and more.

“What choice did I have?” he muttered, nervousness clear

in his voice. “Have you seen a Schism? They’re mother-
fucking scary and that’s before they approach you.”

Kirk wanted to strangle the life from Wiks right there and

then, watching the last breath of his life leave his body.
Much to his surprise, Lyndarum came between them. “Kirk,
listen. We can still make this right.”

Seeing the love, the beauty that was Lyndarum stare deep

into his soul with those perfect blues, Kirk relaxed his grip

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on the man he now despised the most in the whole universe.
He snarled. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill
this fucker right here where he stands? I’d say he’s not
telling us the whole truth, you know, Lyn. He’s a lying
fucker only interested in saving his own sorry arse.”

Wiks said, “I’m not lying.”
Lyndarum interjected, “We’ve got to get to Mjae to stop

Dodger from transporting the shifters off the moon. Killing
this man won’t change what has happened, but together we
can change what will happen.”

Kirk stepped back for a moment. “Fine.” After

Lyndarum’s words rolled around in his mind for a moment,
while  he  ruminated  about  the  meaning,  he  agreed with  his
lover’s  logic.  He  grabbed  Wiks,  leading  him  toward  the
door. “You’re a real nasty piece of work, Wiks. I suggest you
take your sorry ass out of my sight before I change my mind
about what I want to do to you. I can’t believe you came to
my  birthday  knowing  all  this.  I  can’t…I  can’t  believe  how
much of a fucking jerk you really are and that I chased your
tail  all  those  years  just  so  I  could  get  a  taste  of  your  cock.
You make me sick to my stomach. Now fuck off and never
cross  my  path  again,  otherwise  you’ll  wish  you  did  let  the
Schism kill you, you hear me?”

“Wait.” Wiks screamed. “Before I go, there’s something

else you’ve got to know.”

“What?” Kirk’s impatience was now at its thinnest point.

He’d heard enough, but decided to give the man one last
chance to see if he could redeem himself. A tall ask.

Wiks stuttered, “I saved you from death, Kirk, because I

love you.”

Those were not the words of his redemption Kirk wanted

to hear. A sorry, anything would have been better than what
he did utter. “Fuck off!” Kirk slammed the door.

He turned to Lyndarum.

Mark Alders

Chapter Eleven

yndarum  decided  to  wear  a  pair  of  fashionable  shorts,
the  ones  like  Kirk  had  been  given  what  seemed  an
eternity  ago,  all  sexy  and  strangely  comfortable.  Kirk

continued  to  wear  his  gifted  pair,  and  Lyndarum  would
have to admit, seeing his wonderful template, the man who
had  made  love  to  him  in  such  a  special  way,  back  in  the
exotic cloth he was given made Lyndarum think of how he
acquired them.

Was the woman at the spaceport terminal someone other

than  who  she  said  she  was?  Not  that  she’d  revealed  much
about  herself.  Still,  so  far  folks  Kirk  had  known  all  his  life
had  turned  out  to  be  backstabbers…or  worse.  Wiks  was  a
prime example of such a thing. Why not a similar connection
with  the  woman,  too?  Seemed  everything  was  a  set  up,
anyway.

“Who was that woman we met on Ardross Major, Kirk?”

Lyndarum asked. They had picked up Matvey and Char and
were  heading  through  the  spaceport  on  foot.  Lyndarum
enjoyed  that  they  seemed  to  be  enjoying  their  new  found
freedom. Certainly, if the wild clothes they had chosen were
any  indication  of  their  joy,  then  they  were  purely  ecstatic.
Char  was  in  a  garish  bright  red  sequined  jacket  and  not
much else, while Matvey chose a contrasting green number.
They  looked  perfect  together,  cocks  waggling  hypnotically
while  they  strutted  hand  in  hand  behind  them,  their  new

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found freedom a beautiful glint in their eyes. The boutique
attendant called the jacket outfits nudity with style.
Lyndarum liked that description.

They were at the spaceport because Kirk had organized a

sleek looking space fighter to transport them to Mjae. Sure,
their  original  plan  was  to  purchase  a  slave  trader  ship, but
seeing as Wiks had already transported the platypus shifters
to  Kirk’s  home  moon,  there  seemed  no  need  to  buy  such  a
large  cumbersome  ship  now.  Besides,  all  agreed,  a  fighter
might  be  a  better  option,  especially  considering  the  Schism
now knew what they were doing and were more than likely
waiting  patiently  for  them  to  arrive  at  Kirk’s  home,  like
spiders waiting in their webs.

“A friend of my father’s, I believe.” Kirk said

nonchalantly.

“You’re not sure?”
Kirk stopped in his tracks. “Lyn, you’ve got to

understand, before I came into your life, I never gave a shit
about anything. I think I’ve seen her here and there, but I’m
not sure. Perhaps at some fundraiser or fancy do. I really
don’t know. Why?”

Lyndarum shook off his thoughts. “Nothing. Never

mind.”

The fighter craft Kirk had purchased loomed large on the

landing pad. It had four turrets, large protrusions out of its
slimline hull, two which fired plasma-magno projectiles and
two  for  standard  lasers.  Sure,  not  a  heavy  military  vehicle,
but  one  that  was  far  better  for  their  needs.  The  ship  had
speed and agility, and from previous experience, those traits
were  more  important  than  firepower  when  it  came  to
dealing with the Schism.

All four approached the craft.
Kirk let them all enter before he did, a true gentleman. He

spanked Lyndarum on his buttocks and a loud thwack

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echoed through the corridors of their new home for the next
day or so while they travelled to the sanctuary moon of
Mjae.

As soon as they were settled in, Kirk radioed control and

they  were  given  permission  for  takeoff.  After  a  rather
traditional  countdown,  one  which  wasn’t  really  necessary,
they  were  soon  outside  the  artificial  pull  of  Ganymede
Tuesday  and  immersed  in  the  eerie  beauty  that  was  space
between  the  planets.  The  view  was  spectacular,  especially
considering the Ardross system’s yellow star was created out
of a previous star that had gone supernova eons before. The
remnant  gasses  and  dust,  reds  and  greens  and  blues,  left
dancing trails across the cosmos, ones that helped navigators
find their way across the vastness like sailors used the stars
to guide them on the oceans of old back on Earth.

Lyndarum became lost in his thoughts while he watched

the view screen, his mind swept away like the many gasses
that were once held together to burn for an eternity as a life-
giving star before gravity won and it ripped itself apart.

All of a sudden, a beep sounded and Lyndarum was

knocked from his reverie.

“What’s that?” Matvey asked, reiterating Lyndarum’s

thoughts.

“We’ve been followed,” Kirk stated matter-of-factly while

he pressed buttons and a rear view presented itself. The ship
that  had  followed  them  was  of  smaller  configuration  than
the  ship  they  were  on.  The  thing  was  obviously  built  for
stealth and according to what Kirk punched up on the navi-
computer,  was  only  detected  because  they  were  passing
through an oxygen stream left by the star of old and the ship
had left a visible wake though the trailing cloud. “They look
like Trading Authority to me,” Kirk added.

“Why would a Trading Authority ship be following us?”

Char asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. Sure the

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question was obvious, but warranted.

“Perhaps they are only on the same course as us,”

Lyndarum said. “After all, these gas lines are like highways
through the system, aren’t they?”

Kirk harrumphed. “Seems like too much of a coincidence

if you ask me.”

“The story of our lives, lately,” Lyndarum said.
Before any more conjecture could be added to the

conversation,  a  voice  boomed  through  the  two-way
communications  device.  “Ship  with  registration  Z-775,  I
know  you  are  aware  of  my  position.  By  the  authority
invested in me by the Slave Trading Council, please prepare
yourselves for boarding.”

“Under what grounds?” Kirk commanded.
Without delay, the man answered, “Under grounds of

suspicion of harboring wanted criminals.”

“Fuck off, the only people onboard this ship are free

citizens of Ardross,” Kirk snapped, his impatience clear. “I
can transmit the data as proof if you like. I know you’ve
scanned us.”

This time there was a delay. If Lyndarum wasn’t

mistaken, he could have sworn he heard another voice in the
background. A familiar voice. “The man who has laid these
claims is right here with me. What he has told me is proof
enough for boarding. Now, prepare yourself. You will get no
further warning.”

Kirk flicked some more switches. “Listen, you authority

prick,  you  can  tell  Wiks  he’s  a  fuckhead.  Oh,  and  you  can
board us if you can catch us, you fucker.” With those words
Kirk  slammed  on  the  hyper-acceleration  drive.  Seemed  he
would  need  to  muster  all  of  his  piloting  skills,  and  real
quick. Thank goodness he fancied the taste of a pilot’s cock a
couple of years back. Amazing what a man could teach you
when he was getting blow jobs on demand.

Mark Alders

Everything became a blur of swirling color and

Lyndarum’s  eyeballs  wanted  to  occupy  the  same  space  as
his toes.  Then Lyndarum found he was flat on his back on
the  cockpit  floor  with  Matvey  and  Char’s  limbs  enmeshed
with his own once his vision returned to normal. One thing
about  nudity  with  style,  it  was  still  nudity  and  Lyndarum
could  have  sworn  his  balls  had  become  so  parted  by  the
sudden  weight  upon  him  they  were  now  on  different
hemispheres  of  his  body.  A  loud  cracking  sound  also
accompanied this new found agony.

Thankfully, the noise wasn’t the sound of breaking bones,

but rather the pilot’s chair being snapped out of its housing,
bolts shorn. Kirk found the floor as well.

All four of them became a rolling ball of laughter on the

cold, hard cockpit floor. Kirk said, “Pity this isn’t a swinger’s
party, hey?”

Before Lyndarum could chastise Kirk, after all, Kirk was

his and his alone right now, a light on the cockpit
illuminated. A light that didn’t bode well.

“Seems the authority can catch us,” Matvey said. He had

got to his feet and was helping the others, making especially
sure his Char was all right.

Again, before another word could be added, a clank of

metal  on  metal  reverberated  throughout  the  ship.  The
authority  craft  had  attached  itself  to  their  fighter’s  hull.
There  would  only  be  a  matter  of  moments  before  the  man
would be in the cockpit with them firing his gun and asking
questions later.

Lyndarum shifted.
Not a moment too soon, either. Seconds after Lyndarum

scurried under the protection of his Kirk, the cockpit door
was blasted open. Matvey and Char let out a scream,
backing away, while Kirk stepped forward, protecting them
all.

Atlantica Dream

The amazing thing was, Kirk didn’t have a weapon, but

that didn’t stop his bravado. He picked up the broken pilot’s
chair,  and  as  soon  as  the  smoke  cleared  enough  for  him  to
get  a  good  aim,  he  threw  it  with  all  his  might  at  the  first
person to enter the cockpit from the blast hole.

A loud metallic thud and a muffled moan later, the chair

struck the floor in a tangled mess and the authority guard
was on the floor, blood pouring out of a wound on his head.

“Take that, you fuck stain!” Kirk said.
Unfortunately, guards don’t travel alone. Another guard

entered, as did Wiks. With the appearance of Kirk’s ex-lover,
Kirk changed from being a protective hero to a salivating
monster. Lyndarum couldn’t blame him, either. Wiks had
sold them out…again.

This time, Matvey and Char ran forward, rushing the

guard.  He  was  stunned  to  have  opposition  to  his  actions,
and if it wasn’t for the fact he had to step over the body of
his fallen comrade, he might have readied his blaster sooner.
Good  thing  for  Matvey  and  Char  he  didn’t.  They  piled  on
top  of  him,  causing  a  roll-around  tussle  on  the  floor
complete  with  choice  swear  words  and  limbs  akimbo.
Watching  them  was  kind  of  surreal  in  a  way.  There  they
were,  two  former  slaves,  still  naked…mostly,  fighting  for
their  lives  to  continue  their  new  found  freedom,  cocks  and
assholes everywhere with the poor guard at a loss as to what
to do other than defend his life.

Which left Wiks.
Kirk let out a snarl, then balled his fists. He took on a

boxer’s pose. “I’m going to enjoy punching those pretty
features off your face, Wiks.”

Wiks readied himself, as well. “Just you try it.”
Then it happened. Kirk and Wiks fought each other, bare-

knuckled and holding nothing back.

Lyndarum took a moment to take stock of the situation.

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To  his  left,  Matvey  and  Char  had  ripped  off  the  guard’s
clothes,  scratches  and  gouges  all  over  his  bare  skin,
punching,  biting  and  kicking  him  without  remorse.  On  his
right,  Wiks  and  Kirk  were  punching  the  crap  out  of  each
other, both dodging and diving as each punch was thrown.

Seemed to Lyndarum the fighting was too even and their

battles could go on forever. Not a situation he wanted to see
perpetuated for much longer. Time to act.

He scurried over to where Matvey and Char had cornered

the authority guard. Sure, they had him where they wanted
him, but the man knew how to defend himself. All three
men wore battle scars, Matvey the worse affected.

Without delay, Lyndarum launched himself off the

cockpit control table, landing slap bang in the middle of the
authority guard’s hairy chest. With a squeal that pierced the
melee sodden air, he dug his poisonous barbs deep into the
man’s  skin.  Before  the  man  could  react,  other  than  to  grab
Lyndarum  and  pull  him  off  his  flesh,  tearing  his  skin,  he
sank  to  the  floor.  The  poison  which  coursed  through  his
veins  had  done  its  work,  especially  since  Lyndarum  gave
him an extra strong dose.

Matvey let out a cheer, as did Char.
Lyndarum shifted back to human form. His ribs had been

crushed and he swore a couple had been broken when the
guard tried to pull him off his chest. Still, a small price to
pay for victory, really.

A muffled groan from Kirk made Lyndarum well aware

the battle wasn’t over yet. Another groan and then a skin on
skin thud that sent shivers of disbelief through Lyndarum as
both  men  continued  to  fight.  Kirk  and  Wiks  looked  worse
for wear, even after a short time of bare knuckle action. Kirk,
sporting  a  black  eye,  a  cut  lip  and  blood  all  over  his
knuckles, stood the steadiest at least. Wiks had a swollen left
cheek  along  with  a  black  eye,  his  face  caked  with  blood,

Atlantica Dream

most running from his nose.

Lyndarum was about to rush forward to help his man

tackle his enemy, when Matvey grabbed him. “I think it’s
their fight and their fight alone.”

“I suppose,” Lyndarum said. He was reluctant to not go

and offer help to his lover, but Matvey was right. This was
something Kirk had to do, if only to help erase the demons
of his past.

The fight lasted another ten minutes or so. With a final

punch to Wiks’s stomach, winding his opponent so he
doubled over to try and catch his breath, Kirk said, “Had
enough, fucker?”

Tears were in Wiks’s eyes. He looked angered, but even

so,  had  to  admit  defeat  considering  he  was  out  numbered.
Besides,  he  couldn’t  even  stand  up  straight,  his  breath  not
coming  to  him.  He  looked  a  sorry  sight.  “You
win…Kirk…for now.”

Kirk stood over Wiks. “Lyn, space the two authority

guards.”

“What about Wiks?” Char asked. “You can’t space a man

in cold blood. He’s still alive. He’s still—”

Kirk offered his hand to Wiks. When the man was on his

feet,  Kirk  turned  him  around  with  no  delicate  action  and
pushed him into the storage locker, bolting the door. “Wiks
isn’t  going  anywhere.  I  have  plans  for  him  now  that  we’re
almost even.”

At that moment, the cockpit’s proximity warning light

ignited and a crackling sound could be heard over the
intercom. Lyndarum rushed over to press the button, see
what else could go wrong with their journey to Mjae.

A voice, smooth and confident, said, “Hey guys, I’m

Brake,  Lady  Evermore’s  son.  I’ve  been  instructed  to  escort
your  lot  to  Mjae,  seeing  as  you  may  have  to  deal  with  a
Schism  problem  or  three.  My  mum  sends  her  wishes  and

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hopes you found my shorts comfortable, Kirk Skelling.”

Lyndarum looked at Kirk. “Lady Evermore?”
Kirk smiled, then winced. A fresh trickle of blood stained

his  lips  from  the  movement.  “Your  shorts  are  fine,  Brake.
Tell  your  mother  we’re  thankful  for  your  assistance,  but
wished  you  got  here  sooner.  As  you  can  see,  an  authority
ship found us first.”

“I saw. Sorry I’m a bit late, but mum had me running

errands before I could take off from Metro Super” There was
another crackle. “Besides, I knew you could handle them,
Kirk. Now, when do I get my shorts back?”

Again, Kirk smiled. “Come on board and I’ll take them off

for you.” Lyndarum glared at Kirk. “But my boyfriend
might not appreciate me flashing my dick to strangers. He’s
only coming to terms I’m wearing another man’s gear—
given to me by his mother, no less.”

Brake laughed. “Never stopped you before from what I’ve

heard.”

Kirk paused. He seemed deep in thought for a moment.

“I’ve changed.”

Atlantica Dream

Chapter Twelve

fter they had dispensed with the dead guards by
spacing their bodies, the corpses to join the gas lanes,
Kirk headed back to the cockpit, Brake and Lyndarum

in tow.

“Who’s your mother, really?” Kirk asked Brake, not

standing  on  ceremony.  Lyndarum  was  right  before—
nothing  here  lately  had  happened  by  chance.  Kirk  now
needed  to  know  the  truth.  He  needed  to  know  the  real
reason why events had turned as they had since his birthday
because  things  certainly  weren’t  as  black  and  white  as  he
had first thought back in his drinking, drug-taking, sex-filled
life  of  a  few  days  ago.  Yes,  he  had  changed,  protecting
Lyndarum the catalyst for that, but he still needed to know
about the past.

“That’s easy, buddy,” Brake said with a slap of his hand

on Kirk’s shoulder. “You’re my half-brother.”

Kirk almost choked on his own tongue. “Say what?”
“Yeah, let’s just say my mother got around in her day and

leave it at that.”

Lyndarum said, “No wonder she was so willing to help

you at the terminal—and why she knew who you were.”

Kirk was dumbfounded. He stopped, turned to look

Brake in his eyes. “Well, seems my dear old dad did a lot
more than hide shifters from the Schism, hey?”

“Your father is a legend,” Brake uttered with an almost

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quiet reverence.

Again, Kirk was stunned. “Why didn’t I ever see that side

of him?”

Brake looked away from Kirk, turning to continue their

journey toward the cockpit. “Because you were too involved
with yourself to notice anything beyond your dick, that’s
why.”

Lyndarum let out a laugh. “That’s what I said. Funny

how being a slave for a day changed all that, right, Kirk?”

“No, Lyn, you changed all that for me.”
Brake said, “Ah, love sure does have a way of opening

one’s  eyes,  doesn’t  it?  And  you  sure  caught  well,  Kirk.
Lyndarum, you’re a stunner if I ever saw one—not a pretty
boy,  all  vacuous  and  concerned  with  stupid  things  like
whether or not your skin is smooth and blemish free or your
hair isn’t out of place, but a true, down to earth bloke. One
space  brain  Kirk  sure  needed,  that’s  for  sure.  Mum  was
right, Kirk here needed a good kick up the backside before
he could become a man, and you sure helped with that.”

Kirk once more stopped. “You didn’t pay Wiks to sell me

to that slave trader did you, Brake?”

“Not me.” He winked.
“Then why the fuck did I end up there? It’s not Wiks’s

style  to  think  of  that,  let  alone  go  through  with  it.  I  mean,
he’s  too  hypnotized  by  Dodger’s  thick  blue-collar  cock  to
have  even  sprouted  such  a  concept,  no  matter  what  he
claims.”

“I never said my mother—your step-mother didn’t have

anything to do with it. Anyway, she never lets us in on what
she schemes. That’s her business. But let me tell you one
thing, you would have never been in danger, either of you.
The man who bought you would have met his fate, anyway.
She would have seen to that. You would have always come
to this point, mark my words.”

Atlantica Dream

Kirk smiled. “This is just getting better and better, isn’t

it?”  But  everything  made  sense  now.  The  only  thing  that
bothered him out of all of this was the fact he hadn’t picked
up on all this earlier. Now he knew who his mother was—
she  didn’t  die  at  birth  as  he  was  led  to  believe.  Still,  his
father  would  have  had  good  reason  to  keep  such  a  secret
from him. Perhaps because he wanted Kirk to discover all of
this on his own, like he was now. Maybe because he wasn’t
ready to hear such revelations until now. Whatever the case,
Kirk,  strangely,  felt  more  complete.  He  had  a  half-brother
and a mother who had been looking out for him all his life,
but at  the same time knew he needed a reality check. Why
the fuck did he ever start taking Atlantica Dream? The drug
sure had fucked him up, in more ways than one.

Brake said, “Mother is a legend, too.”
Lyndarum grabbed Kirk’s hand. “Seems you’ve now

become a part of a very large family.”

Kirk thought about Lyndarum’s words. He was

right…again. By becoming Lyndarum’s boyfriend, not only
had  he  become  a  part  of  the  colony  of  platypus  shifters—a
colony  he  had  to  save  from  the  likes  of  Dodger  and  the
Schism—he also had a legacy to fulfill. The legacy his father
had started well before his birth. “Well then, I think it’s time
you went back to your heavy cruiser, Brake, and we’ll get on
with  this.  Something  tells  me  we  aren’t  out  of  the  woods.
Not yet.”

“Might be right there, brother,” Brake said. He was

heading down the corridor to the airlock. “I’ll see you on the
other side—oh, and you can keep my shorts. They look
better on you anyway.”

“Thanks,” Kirk said.
Within moments, they were back inside the cockpit.

Matvey and Char had cleaned themselves up and done the
best job they could to get the place back in order, including

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bolting the pilot’s chair back in place.

Kirk sat down.
He pressed a few buttons. Within a heartbeat the fighter

was cruising as fast as it could go through the gas and dust
lanes  toward  Mjae,  Brake’s  ship  at  their  side.  If  they  were
ever  going  to  be  ready  for  the  Schism,  now  would  be  that
time.  In  fact,  as  Kirk  thought  about  it, if it wasn’t  for Lady
Evermore, Kirk would no doubt be dead. He knew Wiks was
a lying fuckwit.

The ship came to a stop a few thousand kilometers from

the electro-magnetic field that protected the Moon of Mjae.
Asteroids and all manner of debris marked the border of the
field. Kirk didn’t need to look at the view screen to know the
Schism were waiting for them.

When he did look, what he saw defied even what he

could conjure in his mind. There were three Schism vehicles,
all menacing and ugly, and about a half a dozen other ships
flanking them.

Kirk imagined the other ships belonged to Dodger and his

salvage crew. The Schism couldn’t approach the Moon, the
magnetic field strong enough to send them back to the dark
places of the universe from where they came.

Still, that left half a dozen problems. Dodger’s ships had

no  such  restrictions  and  to  add  more  holy  fuck  this  can’t  be
happening  to  the  mix,  the  Schism  vehicles  would  probably
waste  them  before  they  even  got  close  enough  to  engage
Dodger and his men. One thing Kirk did notice, one of the
ships  that  belonged  to  Dodger  was  a  slave  trader  ship.  No
doubt  the  thing  was  full  of  shifters  taken  from  Mjae—
shifters Kirk’s father had protected all his life.

Kirk saw red.
With deft hands over the controls, he directed their

fighter at the nearest ship, laser turrets blazing. Brake, in the
heavy cruiser, followed suit. Within seconds, the first few

Atlantica Dream

ships were nothing but burning flotsam as they fell into
Mjae’s atmosphere. This, of course, led to another problem.

The Schism became active.
With a blur of movement, the Schism came for Kirk and

Brake’s  ships,  like  black  hands  of  death  reaching  out  to
touch  them.  The  space  around  their  vehicles  distressed  a
mess  of  matter,  both  dark  and  of  the  normal  universe,
collided when they accelerated. Kirk swallowed hard. “Here
we go, gentlemen!”

Lyndarum sat next to Kirk, holding him. Matvey and

Char  took  similar  refuge,  preparing  themselves  for  the
onslaught to follow. All the while, Kirk never let his finger
off  the  firing  button,  sending  salvo  after  salvo  into  the
waiting death that approached them.

Brake’s heavy cruiser fired Magno-missiles, something he

would have known to be the best weapon to combat the
Schism. With a line of fire traced through the debris of rock
and dust and gas, the first Schism vehicle took a direct hit,
the explosion blinding.

When the fire and light and convergence of matter had

subsided,  the  other  two  Schism  vehicles  came  around  their
disabled  comrade.  The  problem  with  Magno-missiles,  they
were  too  slow  to  load  between  salvos.  Kirk  had  no  choice
but to try and buy Brake some time.

He bought the fighter into the path of the approaching

Schism.

Lyndarum stood. “This is it, I think.”
Right then, Kirk decided to put his plan into action. After

all, Wiks had got them into this mess, whether he was
attracted to Lady Evermore’s money or not. If Kirk knew his
ex, Wiks would have sold them out no matter who paid. To
see him dead was a wasted opportunity. Far better to make a
gain, and what better way than to sell Kirk to a slave trader?
“Matvey, you want to release our prisoner, buddy?”

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100

Matvey and Char did as asked.
Seconds later, Wiks was released. He was a blubbering

mess  on  the  cockpit  floor,  no  doubt  his  mind  working
overtime  about  what  Kirk  would  do  to  him.  The  man
shielded  his  tear  stained  eyes  from  the  lights,  and  from
Kirk’s  wrath.  Sure,  being  locked  up  for  hours  would  have
caused his eyes to have trouble with the sudden change, but
Kirk would bet the man was more concerned with his own
skin. The selfish prick. Such a thought amused Kirk. Only a
few  days  ago  he  was  like  Wiks,  and  if  it  wasn’t  for  the
fucker,  he  might  still  be.  Then  again,  Lady  Evermore
obviously  wanted  Kirk  to  be  taken  to  safety,  so  who  knew
what  might  have  happened  had  things  been  different.  The
one truth—Kirk’s life would never be the same again.

“Well, Wiks, time for you to shine so you can redeem

yourself  in  my  eyes.”  Kirk  flicked  some  switches  and
pressed buttons. In the view screen, the looming Schism got
larger  and  larger,  the  darkness  of  their  vehicles  like  black
holes,  releasing  their  weapons  to  weaken  the  fighter’s
protective energy shield.

The cockpit shuddered.
“What are you going to do to me?” Wiks asked. His voice

weak, like his spine.

“Give you the same chance you gave me.” Kirk grabbed

Lyndarum, gesturing for Matvey and Char to follow him.
“Good luck, buddy.”

With that, he led them to the only escape pod on board

the fighter—one which held four. Kirk’s plan was to create a
distraction by sacrificing the fighter. He had to buy time for
the cruiser to ready its missiles for a second salvo, as well.

Why not kill two birds with one stone?
Seemed Wiks was the perfect candidate to pilot the fighter

while they made their escape. If he was lucky, he might get
out alive. If not—well, he would soon join the authority

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101

guards whose bodies added to the floating debris around the
Ardross system that sometimes interfered with navigation.

When the pod was ejected, an affair that wasn’t as smooth

as  Kirk  had  hoped,  with  plenty  of  banged  heads  and
cursing, he steered it toward Brake’s cruiser. An airlock door
was  open,  the  light  of  it  like  a  beacon  of  hope  waiting  for
their arrival. The battle was well and truly underway, with
Wiks  firing  all  turrets  at  the  oncoming  onslaught  that  was
the Schism. The view screen on the pod was a blaze of colors
as  the  Schism  surrounded  the  fighter like wolves  circling  a
wounded deer.

Kirk was thankful he had made sure his half-brother was

involved in his plan from the get go, because to be honest, he
knew  something  like  this  would  have  been  the  result  of
them  coming  here.  Again,  he  was  thankful  when  the  pod
docked.

Within seconds of the hatch opening, Kirk ran as fast as

his  legs  could  carry  him  to  Brake.  He  would  need  all  the
help he could get to make sure they got out of this mess and
only  had  a  matter  of  moments  to  take  advantage  of  the
situation he had created. Lyndarum, Matvey and Char, were
close behind.

Kirk shouted, “Each of you take a turret and give the

Schism and anything else that moves everything you can.
We need to get this cruiser to full fighting capacity if we’re
ever going to get out of this alive.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.
Lyndarum went to the left laser turrets, switching on

manual so he could get better control than what an AI would
give. Matvey went right. Char took the lower. Kirk decided
to continue on his path and give Brake a hand at the Magno-
missile controls.

When at the Magno-missile controls, freeing up Brake to

control the ship, the cruiser turned about to face the action

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102

proper. The sight of the Schism firing upon the fighter as it
burned into oblivion filled the screen. Now was the time.

“Do it, Kirk!” Brake said. The excitement in his voice

clear.

The heavy cruiser released everything it had all at once,

sending the two remaining Schism vehicles back to the dark
matter universe to hopefully never come back. Kirk cheered,
but one short lived. Another ship approached, one built by
human hands. On the communications array, Dodger’s
stone, cold face appeared. “Say your prayers, shifter lovers.
Time to meet your maker.”

The ship fired upon the cruiser.

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103

Chapter Thirteen

he shields of the cruiser held.

With Lyndarum, Matvey and Char at weapons, Kirk

and Brake concentrated on one thing and one thing only,

making sure the forward protective array stayed in the line
of  site  of  the  enemy.  They  were  the  most  powerful  shields
and  could  take  the  most  hits.  The  last  thing  they  needed
right now was a side swipe from a stray missile to weaken
their defenses.

The only problem with concentrating on one enemy at a

time  was  the  fact  there  were  more  than  one  enemy  about.
Two  other  ships  and  the  slave  trading  vessel  entered  their
view.  Kirk  knew  they  had  to  do  two  things,  destroy  the
ships, but not damage the one carrying the shifters Dodger
and his crew had taken from Mjae. Shifters, by rights, who
belonged to his father.

If Kirk was now the new owner of his father’s ranch, then

by all the gods in the universe he was going to make sure he
kept everything his father had left. It was the least he could
do.  He  would  also,  through  his  new  sense  of  belonging,
provide  a  home  for  Lyndarum  and  his  clan.  Matvey  and
Char  could  choose  their  own  path,  although  Kirk  had  a
hunch they would stay, making their home on Mjae.

In other words, for the first time in Kirk’s life, he had too

much to lose.

“We’re ready to fire another salvo of missiles,” Kirk said.

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104

Brake, concentrating on piloting the cruiser, said,

“Magno-missiles won’t be as effective on these ships, Kirk.”

A huge crash reverberated throughout the cruiser, the

bolts which held it together shaking in their housings. Kirk’s
worst fear had been realized. The other ships had taken
position on either side of them, firing at the weaker shields
on the sides. They were sitting ducks.

“The bastards!” Kirk slammed his fists onto the controls.

A volley of magno-missiles blasted from the forward
weapons array.

The ship in front took damage, but wasn’t destroyed. The

reply, a full on laser assault from all ships that surrounded
them.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Brake yelled. He pushed

on the thrusters and the cruiser lurched forward. The inertial
dampeners  must  have  been  damaged  in  the  last  attack.
Sparks flew, and over and over, the ship seemed to shudder
like it  was going  to  fall  apart.  Still,  with  Kirk’s  heart  in  his
mouth, they made it past Dodger’s ship.

In fact, Brake didn’t worry about avoiding asteroids. His

goal was the surface of the moon where they could land. The
ranches defenses could then be activated—ones that had
been disabled while Dodger pillaged Kirk’s land.

Two of the ships followed.
The first, Dodger’s vessel, flanked the slave trader to

protect  it.  Seemed  no  matter  what  happened  next,  the
shifters  on  board  were  lost  to  them.  Kirk  hoped  there
weren’t  many.  He  hoped  the  cargo  hold  was  empty,  that
they  had  not  yet  begun  stocking  it  up.  He  felt  like  he  had
failed. A strange feeling, considering before his twenty-first,
all he’d wanted to achieve was to be the best cocksucker this
side of the Ardross rift.

More fire found them, this time from the aft.
The two ships didn’t give up.

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105

“I think we need to play dirty, Brake,” Kirk suggested.
“What did you have in mind, brother?”
Kirk went over to the controls, gesturing for Brake to let

him be seated. No questions were asked. “I learned this
move from a pilot I used to suck on a regular basis. It’s
called the double-grav whammy and if I can pull it off, we’ll
be home and hosed.”

Brake patted Kirk on his back. “I’m sure glad you love

sucking cock.”

“Don’t thank me now. I haven’t got us out of this mess

yet.”

With all the concentration he could muster, Kirk prepared

the engines for what he was about to do. Not that they could
really be prepared.  All he could try and do was make sure
they  remained  cool  throughout  the  maneuver,  otherwise
they’ll toast themselves from the inside out.

Kirk pressed the internal intercom button. “Hang on,

gentlemen. This is going to get rough.”

Then, with a deep breath, Kirk directed the ship to the

largest  asteroid  he  could  see  in  his  view  screen.  He  hoped
with  all  his  heart  the  thing  had  at  least  some  gravity,
otherwise they’d soon be a very messy pile of debris to add
to  the  protective  electro-magnetic  shield  which  surrounded
Mjae.

With the engines on full burn, he took the asteroid head

on.  At  the  last  possible  moment,  he  swung  about,  but
making sure he directed the cruiser to the high atmosphere
of  Mjae.  In  effect,  if  he  played  it  right,  the  following  ships
wouldn’t  be  able  to  compensate  for  the  dramatic  shifts  in
gravity  between  the  asteroid,  the  shield,  and  Mjae.  The
cruiser  would  because  of  its  shields  and  armor—well,  that
was the theory.

Kirk knew there was only a small window where the

cruiser could pass between all those variables without

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106

breaking  apart,  even  considering  its  protection.  As  he
piloted, the ship let him know in no uncertain terms how it
disapproved  of  what  was  going  on.  After  all,  spaceships
didn’t fair too well in an atmosphere, whether they buffeted
it or not.

The metal inside the cruiser groaned. Bits were sheared

off, and a trail of flotsam was soon left in their wake. In fact,
everything shuddered and Kirk’s brain felt like it was being
shaken inside his skull.

More sparks flew as pipes and parts left their housings,

but overall, despite the forces now being applied to the hull,
the cruiser did all right. Kirk couldn’t say the same for the
two ships who followed.

Right then, Lyndarum entered the cockpit, his face a mask

of surprise. “What’s going on?” he asked with a gasp as he
took in the view of the fiery atmosphere of Mjae
surrounding them while they skimmed it.

Kirk stood up. “I believe we’ve done it.”
“Done what?” Again, Lyndarum’s look of surprise failed

to leave him.

“We’ve pulled off the double-grav whammy, that’s

what,” Brake said.

Kirk smiled, coming over to embrace his boyfriend. “And

as a reward for pulling off the piloting move of the century, I
want to take you into the back room, Lyn, and suck your
cock until you faint. Clear?”

Lyndarum nodded slowly. “So…are the shifters all

right?”

Brake pressed the communications button. “Dodger, you

scum, give up. We’ve found you out.” From the corner of the
view, a ship blasted into hyper-acceleration, leaving the
trading vessel behind.

Kirk let out a laugh. “I take it that’s your answer,

brother.” He then planted a kiss right on Lyndarum’s

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107

forehead. “Now, how about getting that tasty dick of yours
out of your pants so I can have my reward for getting rid of
not only three Schism vehicles, but saving your clan, too.”

Lyndarum seemed to blush. “You’re incorrigible, you

know that, Kirk.”

“I know. Now…let’s get on with it. I’m practically

salivating for you.”

“Will everything be all right now, Kirk?” Lyndarum

asked, running his hand over Kirk’s back, moving his hands
down so he could feel his hard, well formed buttocks.

“I don’t know, but I can tell you one thing, Lyn.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve made me a new man and because of that I’m

going to do everything I can to make sure your clan is safe as
well as what my father left me. I’m a rich man, remember,
and as such, I can spend money on making sure my wishes
are fulfilled. Besides, why wouldn’t I want to keep
protecting you, Lyn? You’re my boyfriend.”

“I am?”
Kirk pulled Lyndarum close, planting more affectionate

kisses  onto  his  cheeks,  forehead  and  lips.  He  tasted  of  salt
from  his  perspiration  and  Kirk  couldn’t  help  but  become
aroused. “You are. Now, give me what I asked for so we can
let Brake land this baby and we can all get on with making
sure the ranch is protected. The first thing I’m going to buy
with  my  new  inheritance  is  some  huge  mother  fucking
battery  guns  to  blast  anything  out  of  the  skies  that  might
threaten us.”

Lyndarum let out a gentle laugh. “That sounds perfect.”
Kirk led him to one of the back rooms. When in private,

and with Kirk already on his knees and freeing Lyndarum’s
hardening cock from his fancy shorts, retracting his foreskin
so he could taste even more of his manhood, he couldn’t
help but think how fantastic things had turned out.

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108

When Kirk took Lyndarum’s cock deep into his mouth,

maneuvering himself so he didn’t gag, sucking him off with
an  expertise  he  could  have  only  acquired  from  a  lifetime
giving  blow  jobs,  he  relaxed.  Sucking  on  cock  did  that  to
him, made him happy, and for the first time since Lyndarum
and he had lain down together what seemed an eternity ago,
Kirk’s mind became clear. All his worries melted away.

He now knew with certainty the path he had to follow.

He  knew,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt,  as  the  new  and
rightful land owner of the ranch, he had a responsibility. A
responsibility to not only make sure Lyndarum was always
safe, from the Schism and the likes of fuckheads like Dodger,
but to his new family, his mother, the Lady Evermore, and
his  brother,  Brake,  and  to  make  sure  his  father’s  colony  of
cattle shifters thrived under his care.

Moments after Kirk began his sucking actions, complete

with his hands fondling Lyndarum’s ripe balls, Lyndarum’s
cock spurted a hot, sticky mess down his throat. The shifter
let out a delighted groan, running his fingers through Kirk’s
hair,  massaging  his  scalp.  A  sign  Kirk  had  given  a  perfect
blow job.  Reward enough.

With the taste of his lover’s tang on his tongue, the feeling

of  his  cock  pulsing  while  it  delivered  more  and  more  love
juice  into  his  mouth,  Kirk  felt  like  a  real  man  for  the  first
time  in  his life. How  he  had lived  his life  before,  he didn’t
know. All he knew was, right now, he was alive.

He ran his hands over Lyndarum’s buttocks, pulling him

closer so he couldn’t pull his cock out of his mouth. Kirk was
going to keep on sucking until his man got hard and blew
again. Then he’d do it again, sucking his balls dry if he had
the chance. Right now, all he wanted to do was suck cock, he
was that happy.

Who needed Atlantica Dream to make love? Not him.
Lyndarum was already growing hard again. Again,

Atlantica Dream

109

Lyndarum moaned. Again, Kirk couldn’t be happier. He
knew everything was going to be all right from now on. He
could feel it in his bones, just like he could feel his lover’s
cock press hard against the back of his throat.

Kirk sucked and sucked on Lyndarum, slurping sounds

and saliva enhancing his action.

“By the gods, you’re good,” Lyndarum uttered. His voice

was  nothing  more  than  a  waiver  of  delight  as  he  grabbed
onto  the  nearest  support  rung  while  his  whole  body
shuddered  from  the  attention,  his  cock  throbbing  in  Kirk’s
mouth while he sucked harder and harder.

Kirk was in Heaven.
For a split second Kirk pulled away, a smacking sound

and a dribble of pre-cum and saliva down his chin the result.
He missed his lover’s cock in his mouth already. “You and
me forever, Lyn. Don’t you worry about anything from now
on, I’ll always be there for you. You and me forever, all
right?”

Kirk returned to his work. There. He had said it. He had

told Lyndarum he wanted to be with him always, through
thick and thin, hardships and joy.

Now only the future lay ahead.

About the Author

I’m  Mark  and  I  live  in  Melbourne,  Victoria,  Australia.  By
day I am a public servant, but by night, when I get in front of
my computer, I can be anyone. I let my imagination go. I can
go  anywhere,  from  the  farthest  reaches  of  space,  to  the
dilapidated house at the end of the street, and anywhere in
between.  I  write  about  people  from  all  walks  of  life,  from
teenagers finding out what’s it’s like to be an adult to adults
who  discover  what  it’s  like  to  become  a  child  once  more.
Characters move my stories just as much as they move me.