Authors: Aubrey Ross
Undercover Embassy, Book One
In a future where women have few choices, Autumn fears
she’ll never again know the pleasure of a man’s touch. Then General Ra’jen Noirte
rescues her from a whipping gone wrong. The sexy alien captivates her,
reawaking dormant desires. On the surface he radiates deadly aggression, but
Autumn has glimpsed his tormented soul. Though he commands the occupation army,
she suspects they have similar goals.
Ra’jen returns from combat to find a woman bound, abused and
abandoned. His healing touch soon turns to hunger as she stirs beneath his
hands. With milk-white skin and flame-red hair, Autumn tempts him to abandon
his responsibilities and indulge long-neglected needs. Every kiss, every caress
distracts from his mission, and the fate of Earth depends on his success. More
than love is on the line as they form an uneasy alliance and fight their mutual
Naked except for a black lace thong, Autumn knelt on a
mirror-topped table with her wrists bound in leather cuffs and suspended above
her head. A blood-red scarf had been slipped between her teeth. It crossed at
the back of her head, and then covered her mouth completely. She stared
straight ahead, focusing past the leering stares and lust-hardened expressions
of the soldiers crowded into the briefing room. None of these men were allowed
to touch her. She was a whipping girl, part of the entertainment, yet not
available for sexual interaction.
“Isn’t she beautiful, gentlemen?” Rebecca purred. The short,
braided strands of her velvet whip whooshed as she brought it down in a
dramatic arc, barely missing her thigh. “Her skin is perfect and so white. It’s
almost a shame to mark her.” She laughed, the sound light and playful.
Even knowing the blow was coming didn’t prepare Autumn for
the sting. Rebecca slapped the strands against Autumn’s tight belly and she
inhaled, clenching her teeth against the gag. Bright red marks lined her fair
skin as heat spread through her abdomen, collecting between her thighs.
Training to become a pleasure ambassador had been intensive and long. Autumn
had discovered many unexpected facts about her body. One of the most surprising
had been her affinity for pain.
“It’s all so sad for poor Autumn,” Rebecca went on. “I do
anything I want, I misbehave constantly, and she receives my punishment.” She
whipped one of Autumn’s breasts and then the other, spreading the heat and
anticipation. The older woman’s control kept the strokes sharp enough to draw
blood to the surface without breaking the skin.
Autumn’s nipples peaked as her body processed the
stimulation. Rebecca grabbed the edge of the wheeled table and carefully turned
it around. The cables securing Autumn’s arms twisted, drawing them even higher.
“And look at this ass.” Rebecca squeezed one cheek, her long
nails dragging across the smooth skin as she pulled her hand away. “Have you
ever seen an ass more in need of spanking?” She slapped Autumn hard with her
open hand and waited for her skin to react. “A perfect handprint. Very good,
Autumn. You’re the best whipping girl I’ve ever had.”
Muffled chuckles peppered the room but Autumn tuned out her
surroundings. A large mirror had been set up near the wall, allowing the men to
see her front while Rebecca worked on her back. Rebecca spanked Autumn’s other
cheek, making it appear as if bloody hands had squeezed her ass. It was all
orchestrated, a practiced routine they had perfected in training.
Rebecca ran the whip handle up the inside of Autumn’s thigh
and rubbed it against the scrap of lace covering her folds. “She’s wet, boys.
Shall I see if I can make her come?”
“I can make her come,” one of the soldiers bragged. “Let me
touch her, and she’ll be dripping in a minute or less.”
Rebecca’s laugh was low and sensual this time. “She’s
dripping now.” She slipped her fingers inside Autumn’s panties and gathered
some cream. “See?”
“Rip off the thong,” someone else suggested. “Let her juices
pool on top of the table.”
Staring into the mirror, Autumn tried to catch Rebecca’s
gaze. They weren’t supposed to deviate from the routine. It was designed to
excite while keeping Autumn objectified, unattainable.
“Sorry, boys. The thong’s there to remind you that she’s not
cleared for fucking.”
Autumn’s relieved sigh was premature. Rebecca swung the whip
with punishing force, blanketing the small of her back with needling pain.
Autumn gasped and arched, but the next lash was even harder. The whip was made
of velvet, for God’s sake! How was Rebecca making it hurt so badly?
Unlike the teasing strokes Rebecca had delivered to her
breasts, these lashes seared and burned. Autumn twisted, writhing helplessly,
her screams muffled by the gag. Tears blurred her vision then anger flared
through her shock.
She demanded that Rebecca stop, but her words were garbled
by the material between her teeth. Why was Rebecca doing this? They were
supposed to be a team. The whip connected again and again, the surrounding
noise escalating with each swing. Cheers and whistles, and the occasional gasp
as blood trailed down Autumn’s back. Shame crept through her anger. Did they
believe she deserved this pain? Why was no one questioning Rebecca’s
“She’s had enough.” A deep voice cut through the others and
the next lash never came.
Autumn shifted her weight and fire rolled from her shoulders
to the bend of her knees. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes, and she
“Poor, precious Autumn,” Rebecca whispered bitterly. “Are
you still too good to fuck?” She threw the whip onto the tabletop and stepped
away. “Come on, boys. That always makes me horny. Who wants to go first?”
Three of the soldiers rushed forward. Autumn watched them in
the mirror through a haze of pain. One of the men reached for the whip but
Rebecca stopped him. “No one touches her but me.”
Autumn whimpered at the belated mercy. He stepped back but
remained near the table, staring up at Autumn as he rubbed the bulge in the
front of his pants.
There were five pleasure ambassadors scattered about the
room, but there were eleven men. Autumn grasped the cables connected to her
wrist cuffs, suddenly wishing she were not bound. Even with two embassy guards
overseeing the action, they were outnumbered.
The trainers had assured Autumn abuse was not tolerated. The
embassies were the only game in town, so no one in the Protectorate wanted to
The Protectorate. Autumn shuddered. They were the occupying
army, the henchmen for the mysterious Gathosians who now controlled Earth. In a
few short months the Protectorate had reduced Earth to a subjugated mining
colony. They struck North America first, subduing the “superpower” as an
example to the rest of the world.
The first designer virus targeted those not strong enough to
work. The second wiped out most of the female population. The third killed
anyone who had not yet gone through puberty. The Gathosians wanted their
workforce unencumbered by sentimental distractions, and they weren’t interested
in longevity. Once the oceans had been stripped of their salt, the Gathosians
would move on to another planet.
The women and children unlucky enough to survive the
pandemics were rounded up and taken to training camps, while the devastated men
were forced to deal with the bodies.
Hundreds of millions of bodies.
Allowing her physical pain to burn through the memories,
Autumn returned to the present and her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.
This situation wasn’t much better than the devastation she’d been remembering.
Laborer or whore. Those were the choices left for human
females. Or breeder, the most degrading choice of all. Even if she’d chosen to
subject herself to the back-breaking work and toxic environment of the sodium
refineries, she would have been fighting off the unwanted advances of her
coworkers. Rape had become so common it was no longer considered a crime.
Females were so rare it was unthinkable to go anywhere without protection. The
human concepts of morality and fidelity had been eroded by this new reality.
Rebecca’s rhythmic cries drew Autumn’s attention to her
tormentor. The first soldier had bent her over the conference table. Autumn
gritted her teeth and looked away from Rebecca, but everywhere she looked it
was more of the same. She had no idea why the “fuck-fest” had been arranged for
these soldiers. Had they performed unusually well, or had they simply been in
the field for an unusually long period of time? The briefing room wasn’t large,
so no one bothered with modesty.
And Autumn found it all repulsive.
Was this really her fate? Not every party requested a
whipping girl, so eventually she would have to allow members of the
Protectorate access to her body. Her blood ran cold at the thought. Could she
really shut down her mind and become a passive vessel for the monsters that had
ravaged her world?
Autumn closed her eyes, tension knotting her stomach. It was
all so mechanical, so impersonal, so…meaningless. How did the ambassadors stand
it night after night?
“You’ve never done it. Have you?” Soldier Three faced her
again, dark eyes gleaming with desire. “You’re always the whipping girl. No one
ever gets to fuck you.”
She glared at him, saved from replying by the gag covering
“She’s new.” Rebecca panted. “And she’s the trainer’s pet.
Whatever Autumn wants, Autumn gets.”
Soldier Two pulled Rebecca away from the table and urged her
to her knees. “Come on, Bret. You can have her mouth.”
Bret’s dark gaze swept over Autumn with obvious longing,
then he skirted the table and joined his friends.
The double doors on the far side of the room burst open and
a red-faced soldier shouted, “Get them out of here! Noirte just set down.”
The men righted their uniforms as the ambassadors
frantically gathered discarded clothing. Autumn yanked on the cuffs and cried
out behind the gag, trying to draw anyone’s attention.
Rebecca looked at her and smiled, a cruel bowing of her
painted lips, and then she ran for the nearest exit.
Panic seized Autumn as the room emptied. She tried to stand,
but the table started to roll, and she sank back to her knees.
They’d deserted her here to face… She hadn’t recognized the name, but the
person was obviously a superior and obviously feared.
Trembling with dread and frustration, Autumn watched the
open doorway in the mirror. A man strode into the room, his sleek armor
gleaming with subtle iridescence. Silver and blue, with a touch of mauve. Was
armor supposed to be beautiful? A matching helmet dangled from one fist, and
she lifted her gaze to his face.
His skin was pale, almost ashen, with the faintest hint of
blue. With a high forehead and slashing cheekbones, his features were so
fiercely elegant he didn’t seem real. His hair was pulled back from his face
and tucked down inside his armor, the strands combining silver, blue and black.
Their gazes locked in the mirror and awareness arced between
them, tangible and tingly. None of the Protectorate were human, though most
were humanoid. This man looked particularly alien. His eyes were large and
slanted, and they shimmered. The color was impossible to define. It changed
from blue to gray to silver, like smoke trapped inside his irises. His
expression, however, required no speculation. He was furious.
“Are your injuries as bad as they look?”
Concern for her was the last thing she’d expected from him.
She started to shake her head, but her muscles were tight, and the slightest
movement sent a fresh wave of fire across her back. She gained nothing by
lying, so she nodded instead.
Careful not to touch her, he reached up and released the
hook which secured her cuffs to the cables. The cuffs were still locked
together, restraining her hands. She swayed as she lowered her arms,
instinctively reaching for something solid. He extended his arm, and she
grasped the cool alloy armor, keeping it away from her tender skin. With his
other hand he untied the gag and unwound the scarf from around her head. She
sighed and licked her lips, amazed there was any moisture left in her mouth.
“Who did this to you?” His autocratic tone brooked no refusal.
“My partner got a little carried away.”
“A little?” He fingered the strands of the whip where it
rested between her knees. “There is something hard embedded in each strand. Was
the whip meant to be this damaging?”
“No. The one we practiced with was just velvet.” She’d had
no idea Rebecca was so resentful. “Would you please unlace the cuffs so I can
get down?” He moved directly in front of her as he opened the cuffs. His
fingers were long and deft, his nearness disconcerting. “Are you their commanding
The corner of his mouth quirked and he looked up from his
task. “You don’t know who I am?”
“This is my first assignment. I mean no disrespect.”
His features relaxed while his gaze darkened to smoldering
charcoal. “Your first night out of training and one of your fellow ambassadors
beats the shit out of you? Does she not play well with others, or was she
jealous of your role?”
He held the cuffs as she lifted her hands free. Then she rubbed
her wrists, unable to contain a blissful sigh. “I didn’t realize she was upset
about the arrangement.”
“Which was?” He offered his arm and steadied the table while
she climbed down.
“I volunteered to be the whipping girl, so I wouldn’t have
to…” Her legs wobbled and he guided her hands to his chest, then he lowered his
arms and stood still, offering support without touching her further. He was
taller than she’d realized, and bigger. How much of his shape was armor and how
“Was enduring this pain really better than giving pleasure
to my men?”
He’d inadvertently answered her question. Obviously he was
their commanding officer. “Yes. I’m not sure I was cut out for this line of
work.” She offered no more explanation.
“Can you walk?”
Turning to the side, she steadied herself against him and
took a small step. He moved with her, his hand cradling her elbow. Her second
step made her back throb, and her third sent the room spinning around her.
“I think I…” She turned toward him and rested her forehead
against his chest as she fought back a sudden wave of nausea.
“The worst of the damage is on your back, so I can’t pick
you up. If you wrap your arms and legs around me, can you hold yourself up?”
“The table rolls. Maybe we should use that.”
“Let’s try this first.” His voice took on a sensual
undertone that made her look into his eyes.
“Where are you taking me?” He’d been kind and courteous, had
barely glanced at her breasts. Was he more interested in her physically than