ALIEN PET (M/M/M)

Stories

### Chapter 1: Chapter 1

I am currently editing this on Wattpad. Once it is finished there I will update here with the edited version.

Book 2 "ALIEN PREY" is also live on Wattpad for anyone interested.

{Book #1 of the Kohai Chronicles}

While hiking the snowy peaks of Colorado, twenty-five-year-old, Bennett Michelson wakes up to find that the universe he thought he knew is a whole lot bigger and colder than any fourteen thousand footers...

Abducted by strange ugly-looking creatures with beady eyes, misshapen bodies, speaking a language he can't understand, and forced into an alien trafficking ring. Bennett is thrust into a whirlwind of events he never thought possible. Everyday he struggles to survive amid the fear and isolation that grips him the longer he is held in captivity.

Will a mischievous alien duo be what finally breaks Bennetts spirits for good or will becoming their pet be the beginnings of something else entirely?

Complete Chapters 23

Rating 5.0 ( 6 reviews ) Age Rating mature

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BENNETT

.1

I knew I had royally fucked up the moment I opened my eyes. My head swam, the room tilting around me as blurred shapes slowly sharpened into a place I didn’t recognize. The air carried a sharp antiseptic smell that turned my stomach.

The last clear memory I had was stumbling through the Colorado mountains. It had been cold enough to numb my hands and dark enough that every step felt like a gamble. Above me, low clouds smothered the stars, leaving only the jagged outlines of the peaks. The wind howled down the slopes, cutting through my clothes no matter how tightly I wrapped my arms around myself. My teeth chattered, and with every mile my legs felt heavier than the last.

If I’d been rescued, then maybe I was lying in some tiny ER on the outskirts of Denver—or at least in some ranger station made to patch up idiots like me. But another, darker possibility lodged itself in my head: maybe I was dead . The thought carried a strange weight, like an echo I couldn’t shake. Still, if that were true, if this really was the afterlife, then it seemed odd that I would wake up with my tongue sandpaper-dry, a desperate thirst clawing its way down my throat.

Dead people didn’t get thirsty. Did they?

I rolled onto an elbow and pushed myself upright. The movement was awkward; my body slow to respond. Then something snapped taut around my neck. Pain lanced through me, and a startled gasp escaped my lips.

The sudden clang of metal rang through the room, far too loud in the stillness, and my hands flew to my throat. My fingertips met cold iron, thick and unyielding, and a broken whimper slipped free before I could stop it.

Heavy. Solid. Locked tight around my neck.

A short length of chain—maybe three or four feet—ran from the collar to an eyelet bolted into the wall near the floor. My stomach lurched as I grabbed the links and pulled with everything I had. The chain didn’t budge. The tension shuddered through my arms until my muscles gave out and I slumped back, panting.

I let it fall from my hands, my gaze dragging to the wall itself. It had the thickness and stubbornness of concrete, but the surface wasn’t quite right smooth in places, strangely seamless, with none of the porous grit or jagged edges I expected. Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural stone. And whatever this place was, it wasn’t anywhere I was meant to be.

Definitely not a hospital. Which meant—dead then. I had to be. There was no other way to rationalize being chained to a wall like some medieval prisoner.

My mother—though I hardly considered her worthy of the title anymore—had finally been right, after all. I had gone to hell. Not for murder, not for treason, not for anything grand or headline-worthy, but for the petty, ordinary sins she’d warned me about since childhood. For the stack of dog-eared porno mags I thought I’d hidden well enough under my mattress. Or maybe it was for the sex before marriage, the shots of cheap liquor, the smokes bummed off strangers behind gas stations. Take your pick. Any one of them—or the sum total of twenty-five reckless years—apparently added up to eternal damnation.

The thought barely had time to settle before a sharp series of clicking chirps sounded somewhere above me.

Pain detonated through my body.

Every muscle seized at once. My back arched off the floor, fingers locking into claws as a strangled scream tore from my throat. For a heartbeat I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except endure the agony racing beneath my skin.

Instinct took over. I scrambled away from whatever hit me.

Pain flared through my throat as the tether wrenched me backward. Stars burst across my vision, and I crashed hard against the floor, coughing and clawing at the iron band around my neck.

Towering above me was the ugliest monster I had ever had the displeasure of dreaming up, a grotesque silhouette that eclipsed the dim light. Too tall, too wrong, with a shape that my mind scrabbled to make sense of.

Because that’s what this had to be, right? A dream. A nightmare. Proof that I hadn’t survived the mountain, that I’d finally crossed over. I had gone to hell, and this thing was waiting for me to show me the way into its depths.

Yet as I stared at the thing looming over me four-foot-tall, lizard-skinned blimp of a nightmare with six beady, lightless eyes, I knew this was far too vivid to be something I’d conjured in my own head. Its greyish-purple skin looked leathery and diseased, pocked with welts that oozed a sluggish, greyish fluid, each drip leaving a sour tang in the air.

Its eyes were small, black, and bead-like, set on either side of the massive vertical mouth like those of a fish. The slit ran from brow to chin, opening and closing with a wet, sucking sound that reminded me of something dragged from the bottom of the ocean. Inside, rows upon rows of needle-like teeth flexed and shifted, grinding against one another with every shuddering breath it took.

Its body made even less sense, a grotesque patchwork of wrong parts. The upper half looked as though an orangutan had been twisted inside out, long arms dangling low enough for its clawed, four-fingered hands to rake the ground. Its torso sagged into a swollen potbelly, heavy and distended, the skin stretched taut and mottled. Below that, it stood on a pair of spindly birdlike legs, each ending in three hooked toes that dug into the floor with a click, click, click as it shifted its weight.

It shouldn’t have been able to exist, but there it was—breathing, dripping, watching me.

I shuddered as another harsh, buzzing chirp rattled from the leathery thing’s vertical mouth, the sound vibrating in my teeth. From an open orifice along its arm, the gray, viscous substance dripped steadily, each drop striking the floor with a wet spat that made my stomach churn. In its other hand, four clawed fingers curled around a long black rod. Twin prongs jutted from one end, curving toward each other like fangs, while a trigger sat beneath the grip.

Before I could brace myself, the creature jabbed the prongs into my side again.

White-hot agony ripped through me. My body locked up, a strangled sound tearing out of my throat before I even realized I’d made it.

Then it moved, grabbing at the chain.

A violent yank snapped my world sideways. For a second, there was nothing but pressure crushing my throat and the raw panic of not getting air.

The thing—my brain offered up something ridiculous like monkey-chicken abomination, and I didn’t have the strength to argue—ripped the chain free from the wall.

I was lifted. Not carried. Not supported. Just... hauled by the collar, my feet scrabbling on the floor looking for purchase and finding none.

I tried to move. I think I did. It didn’t feel like anything worked right. My hands found the collar, then lost it again as the hallway smeared into dark shapes and motion.

Every breath scraped on the way in. None of them felt like enough.

Then the endless corridor opened into a much larger chamber.

My vision cleared as the tears and shock fell to the wayside, and what I saw made my stomach drop.

Lined along the far wall were creatures—dozens of them—each bound by the same chain threaded through collars at their throats. They stood in silent rows, shackled like livestock.

They weren’t like me. Not even one.

Some had gills that pulsed faintly with each breath. Others bore wings that hung limp and useless against their backs. There were claws like blades, scaled hides, twitching tails, and forms so wrong they made my headache just trying to process them.

None of them looked at me. Not one lifted its head. They stood bowed and still, as if even the act of noticing was dangerous.

It was storage. I was being added to the collection.

Once I was shoved into place along the wall with the other captives, the chain clinking as it was threaded back through another eyelet on the wall, more of the chicken-monkey things descended on us.

They moved with brutal efficiency, jerking heads forward, ripping at clothing, stripping every captive of whatever scraps they still had left. Systematic. Impersonal. Like it had been done a thousand times before.

When one of them turned its fishy black eyes on me, something in my chest snapped.

I don’t even remember deciding to.

My hands caught at leathery skin, my foot kicked out, and I was screaming—words I couldn’t even make out—while it barely reacted at all.

Its four-fingered hand tightened around the black rod.

The prongs touched me and my world detonated for the third time since waking up.

Pain wiped everything clean. My muscles locked so hard my joints ached. Sound vanished into a ringing void. I think I hit the wall again, but I couldn’t tell where my body ended and the shock began.

A jolt ripped through me, short-circuiting every nerve. My body convulsed, seizing so violently I dropped like dead weight to the floor. My chest heaved in shallow gasps, but the collar bit so tight I could barely drag air in at all. Every muscle twitched helplessly, my fingers curling and uncurled in rapid, jerky spasms, my legs kicking against stone like they belonged to someone else.

By the time the current faded, I was nothing but a shuddering, breathless heap, tears and spit stringing down my chin. I wanted to scream, to curse, to fight again—but all I could do was lie there, body betraying me, while leathery hands stripped away what little dignity I had left.

Once we were gutted of what little we had left, the chains were unhooked from the eyelets in the walls. One by one, they dragged us forward again, forcing us into motion through sheer tethered pressure.

We were herded into another room packed so tightly with cages that some looked barely large enough to hold a body at all. The air inside was thick and hot, metallic with something sour I didn’t want to think about.

I didn’t particularly try to resist this time, but even so, it was hard to get myself to comply. My muscles shook with exhaustion, every step uneven and weak, reflex more than defiance now. The fight had already been beaten out of me.

Then the black rod came down again, this time unprovoked.

White-hot pain swallowed everything. My body locked and convulsed, a sound tearing out of me that I didn’t recognize as my own. My vision fractured into white static and heat.

When it finally faded, I was still standing—but barely—and my bladder had let go of what little it had left, running down my legs in shameful rivulets.

A cold, distant thought surfaced through the wreckage that was my mental: how many more of those could a body take before it simply stopped?

Hands gripped me by my hair, hauling me onto my knees. My fingers scraped and clawed at the cold, unforgiving floor as I was shoved toward the cage, my body slamming against the metal with a hollow clang . My feet slid across the slick surface, legs trembling under the strain, as the creature jerked me hard again, shoving me headfirst inside. The impact drove the wind from my lungs, the low ceiling pressing down, walls biting into my shoulders and back.

I crumpled to the floor, my body still spasming from the shocks, skin smarting where the rod had struck. I curled instinctively into the farthest corner I could reach.

My sobs were small and choked, barely audible over the chorus around me. From the cages beside me came a sickening symphony of suffering: low guttural groans that vibrated through the metal floor; high, broken screeches from creatures packed too tightly in their cages; the wet, squelching press of bodies against cold steel; claws scraping, chains rattling, teeth gnashing.

Every sound stabbed at my nerves, a relentless reminder that I was not alone in my misery—but that I was surrounded by it.

The grey monsters moved methodically between the cages, cattle prods flashing and crackling in their hands, but the noise of the creatures themselves—whimpers, cries, and suppressed howls—filled the room far more terrifyingly than the prods ever could.

I curled tighter into my corner, hugging my knees to my chest as the cold metal bars pressed in from every side. The cage was barely large enough to sit in, and each shallow breath felt like it scraped against my ribs. A heavy, sick helplessness settled into my bones.

If this was a nightmare, I prayed silently—desperately—that I would wake up soon. But deep down, something cold and certain told me what I didn’t want to admit: this wasn’t a dream.

Time blurred inside the dim, windowless warehouse-like space. Every second was filled with the chaotic noise of the cages around me—chirps, gurgles, rattles, and hisses blending into a suffocating, alien symphony. And amid the sensory chaos, my mind drifted—inevitably—to memories I hadn’t touched in years.

The Banty’s—that’s what I’d started calling them, thanks to their vile personalities, strange chirping language, and those unsettling three-toed chicken feet—reminded me too much of the banty roosters that had tormented me one awful summer at my grandfather’s farm in Texas.

I hadn’t been close to the man—rest in peace, I suppose—but I could still remember those birds chasing me across the yard like it had happened yesterday, their spurs scraping at my legs, their wings battering my face. That memory clung to me now, bitter and unwelcome, every time I looked at the creatures around me.

For what I guessed had been a day or two, they had largely ignored us. They moved through the cages in their routine patterns, but none of them lingered, none of them intervened.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go without food or water, but hunger wasn’t the worst of it. The cold was. With no clothes, I couldn’t stop shivering. It ran so deep it felt like it might crack my bones. Sleep was impossible. The noise and faint humming lighting was never ending.

And still they passed by, again and again. Even if I had tried to get their attention, I wasn’t sure what I would have said. They were more likely to eat me than help me.

I tried to accept the idea of just waiting, to hold still and endure, but fear has a way of unraveling logic. And I had never been good at handling being afraid.

So when a door suddenly shimmered into existence on the far wall—just far enough out of my line of sight through the bars that I couldn’t see it clearly—I felt a twisted rush of relief. Movement meant something was happening, and anything was better than the waiting. Three Banty’s waddled in, chirping and oozing in that grotesque way I knew I’d never get used to, their vertical mouths snapping open and shut in a maddening, insectile rhythm that chilled me more than the metal on my bare skin. They worked their way down the line with mechanical indifference, popping cages open just long enough to hurl in buckets and containers sloshing with some kind of liquid.