DARK SUNSET by Mort

Book One: Part Six

Jax led Mulder into his new room and unleashed him. Mulder didn't even raise his head to look around. He was beginning to suspect that shock could be a drug in itself. The sharp pain in his weighted nipples had faded to a throbbing ache, his thighs and arms were trembling with the exertion of his long crawl through the ship after days of forced inactivity and his head felt so heavy that it was easier to stare down blindly at the floor beneath his feet than attempt to look around himself.

He felt a huge hand patting him awkwardly on his head and he swayed uncertainly, knowing he should pull away from the offered comfort to prove he was no animal to be petted and soothed. He had a vision  of himself spinning around and biting the Albrecx. Instead he found himself leaning into the protection of Jax's legs and trembling with relief as the alien's warmth seeped into his chilled naked body. He hated himself for his body's weakness, for the way he instinctively sought protection from the only 'person' who offered predictability amongst the fear and pain.

Mulder had no illusions about Jax. He understood that the alien saw him as nothing more than a pretty untrained pet. Mulder knew that if he fought Jax he would be punished. Yet, despite his pride, he understood that Jax *wanted* to treat him kindly, and given the current hopelessness of his own position it would be stupidity to alienate the young Albrecx. Mulder was just too damned tired and shocked to formulate any plan of defiance, but somewhere in the back of his mind a sharp insistent voice told him that if he ever was going to escape from the hell he'd found himself in, he'd need Jax's help.

Even if the only help Jax could ever offer was to kill him rather than let him suffer the living death of the milking dormitory.

So he swallowed a little of his pride and keened pathetically, nuzzling his face into Jax's legs as though burrowing for comfort.

Jax dropped to his haunches and stroked Mulder's back.

"Don't be frightened, little one," Jax soothed. "This is your new home."

He eased Mulder up until he was sitting on his heels.

"See," he said, as Mulder finally began to look around himself with dull despair. "There's nothing to be frightened of here. It's a nice room. You're very lucky. I've never known anyone who looks after his Producer as well as the Imperator does." 

There was a futon-like bed which, when Mulder realized it was thoughtfully low enough for him to crawl onto, confirmed his suspicion that the harness he wore *was* intended to be permanent as he'd suspected.  There were a number of brightly colored scatter cushions tossed around the thickly carpeted floor and by one wall there was a low table with a large bowl filled with an assortment of fruit and a pitcher of water.

His mouth watered at the sight of the fruit. For the last few days the vet had fed him by the simple but disgusting process of sticking a fat tube down his throat and pumping nourishment straight into his stomach. Mulder wasn't sure how much he could taste without a tongue, but the idea of feeling texture and substance in his mouth was enough to make his stomach growl loudly.

Jax grinned with relief at the sound. The hardest thing with wild cattle was convincing them to eat. When the initial shock of their capture had worn off, there was a period before the adaptations had taken control when the beasts were suicidal. He knew it would be at least another week before Mulder stopped being a danger to himself. Still, the hunger was a good sign. When a beast accepted the need to eat, it was the first step towards them accepting their new lives.

He crossed the room in two long strides and picked up one of the strange yellow fruits. It didn't surprise him that the Imperator had chosen to give his pet the treat of familiar food. It not only reduced resistance on the part of the Producer, but also was less likely to give the beast any adverse reactions. 

"Your master will feed you himself, of course," he said, returning to Mulder with the banana in his hands, "but your comfort is important to him. There will always be snacks and treats left in your room in case you get hungry between meals."

Mulder shuddered with outraged disgust at the implication that he would be fed in public like a lap dog. So when, instead of handing him the fruit, Jax peeled it , broke off a small piece of the soft flesh and pressed it against his lips, Mulder clamped his mouth shut in refusal.

Jax simply smiled, used his other hand to force Mulder's jaws apart, and pushed the pulp into his mouth.  Mulder's intention was to spit the offending food out. Instead his mouth filled with saliva and he found himself swallowing automatically. Then, although his eyes filled with humiliated tears and he continued to force Jax to open his mouth for each new morsel, he obediently chewed and swallowed each mouthful.

"You're a strange creature, Mulder," Jax said with a concerned frown. "You turn everything into a battle, even pleasures. Try not to be so willful with your master. He's far more likely to take offence than I am."

Mulder gestured angrily at the banana skin in Jax's hands and mimed feeding himself.

"I know," Jax agreed. "You're right. In your room you *can* feed yourself if you're alone, but you may as well get used to the idea of being fed. It's a mark of affection and something you'll learn to enjoy greatly."

It's a mark of fucking ownership Mulder retorted silently, and when Jax just grinned at his defiant glare, Mulder tore his gaze away from the huge alien and looked around the room. What he saw just increased his anger. 

Next to the bed there was a small collection of various dildos. They ranged in size from as narrow as his own thumb to almost as fat as a fist. Some were smooth, others were deeply veined and ridged. 

Jax seemed as surprised by the collection as Mulder was. He whistled and gave Mulder a thoughtful look.

"The Imperator really must be fond of you, little one," he exclaimed.  Seeing Mulder's angry incredulity, he decided to explain.

"Although you've been so well-dilated, none of your studs will be well-endowed enough to keep you sufficiently stretched for the tail your Master has chosen. Rather than your anal muscles being destroyed by the constant penetration they will strengthen, just as any muscle does when it's being constantly exercised. So it will often be difficult for you to re-insert your tail after you've cleansed yourself.

"Obviously your Master understands that he's chosen an unusually large plug and is making allowances for you. These toys," and he gestured to the dildos, "are to make it easier for you to re-insert your own tail."

He saw Mulder's angry despair and gave a gentle smile, trying not to think about *why* the Imperator had chosen to keep Mulder so widely stretched. The suspicion that was forming in his mind was not only little short of heresy, but was making his own Qwentcha and Hrraus twitch with excitement.

"Never mind, little one. I'll help you do it until you learn to enjoy the experience enough to willingly do it for yourself."

He looked away from the little beast, trying to distract himself. To his left an archway revealed a duplicate of the bathroom he'd used to begin Mulder's training.

Jax looked around the room with pleasant surprise. He'd *heard* that the personal Producers of the high castes were treated well, but he'd never before witnessed it for himself.  He couldn't imagine Mulder feeling anything but extremely fortunate, but the beast's scowling face suggested otherwise. 

His Qwentcha twitched again, suggesting a way to wipe the misery off Mulder's face for good and Jax surged to his feet in panic. 

"Get some rest while you can. The Imperator could summon you at any moment," he barked, irrationally angry at the ungrateful creature for his own sudden loss of control.

Leaving Mulder to his own devices, Jax left the room, waited until he heard the door lock shut behind him and then went to check out his own quarters.

The room was pretty much a larger duplicate of Mulder's although it was furnished with wardrobe, desk and normal height bed, had a food dispenser and, of course, he had a *real* bathroom, complete with full sized bath. 

Jax quickly dialed a request for essence. Although he was used to working with Producers, the amount of handling that Mulder had necessitated had woken a fierce appetite in the young Albrecx. As his Qwentcha grasped and drained the bottled essence, Jax daydreamed about the day he'd rise far enough in the military to afford his own personal Producer.

Unfortunately, possibly because of the day he'd just had, instead of the essence making him feel good, it made him maudlin, particularly as the bitter metallic aftertaste of bottled essence replaced the tingling satisfaction of its initial taste.

Since working with cattle wasn't exactly putting him on the fast-track to promotion, and since he had been born farmer-caste, he knew his only real chance of drinking *real* essence was if he returned to homeworld and rejoined his family on the farm. Then again, since his only siblings were three sisters, he'd be lucky if they even let him live there as a laborer now his parents were dead.

It was why he'd joined the military in the first place. Unless, like his father, you had a wife who genuinely liked you, the only opportunity for male lower caste Albrecx was to join the Harvester ships. Jax didn't blame his father for committing suicide when  his mother died. His father had been too old to be accepted into the military and no female had offered to marry him, so when Jax's sisters had inherited the farm and had thrown him out, he had been destitute.

Jax often wondered how his sisters could have grown up in a household where even cattle were treated with dignity and yet have turned out so badly. Then again, women were terrifying irrational creatures who could never be understood by a mere male. Their sheer size was enough to intimidate. He couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Mulder-beast coming face to face with a female Albrecx. He was sure the beast would quickly lose any remaining defiance.

Which reminded him that now he'd regained his self-control, he still needed to have a talk with the creature before it managed to get itself thrown into the dorm.

Mulder was fast asleep when Jax entered, curled like a fetus on the low mattress and hugging one of the scatter cushions as though for comfort. His 'tail' was sprawled out behind him and the image was so pretty that only the fact that he'd just consumed some essence prevented Jax from snatching a quick secret taste of the beast while he slept. 

He shook Mulder awake and winced in sympathy as the groggy beast forgot his chains and tried to straighten his legs. The beast yelped in pain, as he accidentally gave his cockring a brutal yank with his antics, and he curled back into a protective ball around the cushion, but at least he was wide awake.

"You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and listen to me, little beast," Jax said.

He saw Mulder's eyes flicker darkly and, satisfied he had the creature's attention, he continued.

"The fact that you've survived intact on this ship for four days proves to me that you either *want* to live, or you're at least smart enough to fear the milking dormitories. I've worked there, Mulder, and I found it so sickening that *I* don't ever want to enter it again. Believe me, you *don't* want to end up there."

Although Mulder made no attempt to rise, he rolled over on the mattress so he could see Jax's face as he talked.

"Good, you're listening," Jax said dryly. "You have a problem, little beast. To be honest, we both have a problem. Mine is that when you get yourself shorn, I'm going to lose this plush job."

Mulder gave a reluctant snicker at the alien's surprising honesty.

"But your problem is *far* more serious. Did you hear Bracx call you an "it"?"

Mulder gave a resentful nod.

"That's because he's already so sure you're going to disappoint the Imperator that he thinks it's a waste of time to think of you as a Producer. High Caste Albrecx are strange, little beast. They even have their own private language to go with their odd customs. They are so puffed with their own importance that they are very easily offended. The Imperator knows this, so he had your tongue removed to give you a chance. He wants you *now*. The problem is that your novelty will quickly wear off, and then he'll see you as just another untrained beast." 

Mulder just glared at him, but Jax could see the fear in the beast's eyes.

"I understand that you find it naturally difficult to submit. I'm not even going to try and suggest that you behave perfectly, because not only are you probably incapable of it, but to be honest, the Imperator's definition of perfection is changeable as the wind.  I know you're going to continue to fight your training, and maybe since the Imperator *expects* you to be wild, it won't matter at first. He'll enjoy the novelty. While it *is* a novelty. I don't know if you're smart enough to really understand what I'm about to say, let alone smart enough to accept my advice,  but if you want to stay out of the milking dorm, your only chance is to win the Imperator's genuine affection instead of the current fascination he has with you. Fads pass quickly, Mulder. As soon as a new interest arrives, they are put aside and replaced.

"The only way to impress a higher caste Albrecx is to adore him.  They can't resist flattery, and the Imperator is worse than most. From the moment you first meet him you're going to have to pretend that he fascinates you. You can even make it obvious that you are horrified by your own reaction to him, as long as he can enjoy watching you fighting your attraction. Actually, it will probably flatter him more if you *do* act that way and he'll enjoy the challenge of forcing you to face your feelings.

"I wouldn't say this, except you're mute which means you can't repeat it. There's a *rumor* that the Imperator prefers to take his essence the lower caste way. If that's true, the idea of owning a pet who is not only open to being intimately touched but can't give away the Imperator's secret will be very attractive to him."

Mulder blanched with horror as soon as Jax mentioned the possibility of the Imperator taking him with his Qwentcha. Jax gave a disgusted sigh.

"It's *natural*, whatever people say. You're designed to be taken that way. Do you honestly think it hurts more than the milking dorm?" he demanded, and was satisfied to see Mulder give a tiny shake of his head.

"Well maybe you *are* smart for an animal," Jax allowed. "I'll leave you to get a little more sleep and hopefully give some serious thought to what I've said."

Unfortunately, no sooner had Jax uttered the words than the door to Mulder's room opened to reveal a new Albrecx. This one was liveried in bright silks rather than a uniform and the only weapon he carried was a small innocuous looking stick. Mulder decided this Albrecx was probably a servant rather than a soldier. He also decided the stick was probably far more lethal than it appeared.

"His royal highness, the Imperator Krenzl, requests that you bring his new pet for his inspection," the servant told Jax haughtily, with a sniff of obvious contempt.

Mulder wasn't sure whether the servant's disdain was aimed at Jax or at himself, but despite his fear of meeting his new "master" he was still interested that Albrecx servants were as insufferably rude as human ones.  The more he interacted with the aliens, the more he understood that they had exactly the same flaws as humans. It seemed improbable, yet at the same time suggested that they had been telling the truth when they claimed that humans had been 'planted' on Earth.

The only explanation for the physical and psychological similarities between Albrecx and humans was if they shared some common genetic characteristics. The problem, of course, was that humans seemed to have been genetically designed to complete the Albrecx food-chain.

Although it was a surprisingly short distance from Mulder's room to the Imperator's dining hall, the crawl seemed endless. Partly it was because he was so exhausted but it was mainly because he was so damned frightened of how much he'd been changed by just four days of the alien drugs.

All he could think about was the way the Imperator had allowed all the other producers to be raped by the guards in front of him. The vet had told Mulder that the only reason he hadn't been similarly abused was because the Imperator didn't want him 'soiled' by lower caste hands and Mulder was smart enough to figure that Jax had been right when he'd suggested that the huge plug in his ass that made even crawling barely possible was hardly simply to keep him open for a stud.

Besides, he'd seen Jax's Qwentcha stiffen and twitch as the young Albrecx had explained the necessity to keep his ass well-stretched. Then the way Jax had practically fled the room had left him in little doubt of the alien's arousal.

As far as Mulder could see, the only thing that was keeping Jax's own hands (and other parts) off him was fear of the Imperator, and although Mulder had enough grasp of the intricacies of the Albrecx society to understand the Imperator was unlikely to abuse him publicly, he had little doubt that his new master had every intention of using his body in that way.

And instead of the knowledge terrifying him, the worst part of all was that he was already beginning to feel the first throbbing ache of his re-filling balls. His cock was so stiff against his stomach that it dug into his abdomen as he crawled and he was sure that without the jeweled plug that sealed his urethra, he would be dripping a snail's trail of pre-cum behind him. Instead of the plug making his ass feel painfully full, it's design simply emphasized his emptiness. It felt like the tail was concealing a hole inside him so large that nothing could possibly satisfy his vague gnawing hunger than the hot, insistent pulse of flesh.

Alien flesh.

~~~

It took the best part of two more days for Skinner, Farrand and the group of teenagers to traverse the last ten kilometers to the outskirts of Baltimore.

They had finally caught up with the tail-end of the exodus from Washington. The road was blocked by tens of thousands of refugees, many badly burned, who were limping and hobbling towards a city whose skyline looked no less ravaged than Washington's. The realization of the apparent futility of reaching their destination had seeped through the survivors like a wave of exhausted apathy. 

Many had simply given up and had sat down in the road  in a state of hopeless shock, others had seemingly walked until they collapsed and then their bodies had added to the already considerable obstruction of the abandoned vehicles. 

To either side of the freeway, people had made temporary camps and were squatting there, waving weapons at anyone who approached too closely. Traversing between the camps meant risking being shot by armed people too crazed with fear and despair to be reasoned with. So Skinner and his group had been forced to stay on the road and accept that they could progress at less than a kilometer per hour.

As they had walked, they had been joined by dozens of other refugees who were also trying to respond to the call for resistors to the alien invasion. It was heartening to see the spark of determined fire in the eyes of the otherwise rag-tag group, yet it was equally obvious that they were just an almost insignificant minority of the refugees. 

The majority of people weren't interested in resistance. Many were too shell-shocked to even understand what was happening. Others were obviously more interested in simply finding somewhere safe to hide themselves until the trouble was over, one way or the other.

"No wonder the Albrecx think of us as cattle," Farrand muttered angrily. "Most of these idiots are just sitting here waiting to be slaughtered."

Then his attention was caught by something else and he gave a loud exclamation of surprise.

"Would you look at that?" Farrand said, his voice filled with wonder as he pointed at an advertising billboard by the side of the road.

Skinner could see that writing had been sprawled over the pasteboard in thick black paint, but he couldn't focus on the words.

"What does it say?" he demanded.

"It says, 'The Airport's no longer safe. Leave the freeway at the next exit ramp and look for next instructions. R.'" Farrand read out.

"Maybe it's an alien trap," someone murmured.

"Nah, they'd just have shot us with one of those rays," another man replied. "Makes sense that the aliens have figured out the Airport is a collection point and so we've got to meet somewhere else."

"It's a very *public* secret message," Farrand remarked to Skinner, as the rest of the group argued amongst themselves as to whether the message was an Alien trap.

Skinner frowned in thought, then shrugged.

"None of the aliens have physically set foot on the planet to our knowledge, have they? It's unlikely their technology is able to monitor the surface closely enough to notice written messages at the side of roads."

Farrand acknowledged the point with a decisive nod. "Makes sense. The resistance know what they're doing."

Skinner narrowed his eyes and looked at Farrand suspiciously.

"Fortunate, you deciding we should come to Baltimore," he murmured.

Farrand just shrugged, his face carefully blank.

"Lucky guess," he replied easily, but his eyes shifted a little under Skinner's glare.

"So, who do you think is organizing this 'resistance'?" Skinner asked.

Farrand gave a tiny sigh of relief at the apparent change of subject.

"I should think there are individual pockets of resistance forming all over this country as well as in whatever other continents have been left intact. I'm hoping that *this* particular group has been set up by people who managed to escape Washington before the destruction."

"Why?"

"As far as I can tell from what Barker said, there was over a day between the time we ourselves were taken onto the Mothership and the time the aliens destroyed the city. The cars were still working at that point, so anyone who escaped the original collection, but figured out what was happening, had time to get out of the city," Farrand replied reasonably.

"Even so, the idea of them organizing themselves into a resistance so quickly is too impossible to believe, Farrand. That kind of thing takes planning and professional knowledge and the time scale is impossible."

"Well, like you yourself said, a lot of professionals probably got out of DC. The way I figure it, there were a lot of FBI Field Agents alone who would have been outside the Hoover Building at the time of the occupation, not to mention cops out on the street rather than in their station houses, soldiers off base, scientists working at home instead of in laboratories."

"Sure," Skinner agreed. "But it's still bullshit, Farrand. Why don't you tell me the real truth?"

For a moment, Farrand glared at him in apparent offense and then his face twisted into a mocking smile.

"Truth, Skinner? Do you think you even understand what the word means anymore?"

Skinner gave a deep sigh. Maybe Farrand was right. Secrets seemed to have been the currency of Skinner's life for so long that he had almost forgotten the ability to simply tell the truth without having to constantly second guess the hidden allegiances of his listener.

"I don't really know you," he told Farrand, "but it's obvious to me that you know more than you're admitting and I think you're considerably more than just a retired soldier."

Farrand gave a thin-lipped smile and reluctantly nodded the truth of Skinner's statement.

"I guess it's show and tell time," he agreed with Skinner. "I'm not retired. I'm still with Special Forces but I've been working with a project that the general public have never been made aware of."

"Operation X?" Skinner replied, his tone less of a question than a statement.

Farrand's eyes widened in momentary astonishment before his mouth twitched in a humorous grin.

"I should have known you were aware of us, Skinner. Who told you? Your friends in the Consortium?"

"They're not my friends," Skinner snarled.

"No, I don't suppose they were anyone's friends but there's no point in you denying that you had dealings with them. They obviously had some influence in a number of the decisions that you made regarding the X-files. We were never sure how deep they had their claws in you, so you were never brought into the loop."

"Then I was right. Operation X *was* a government agency working secretly against the Consortium," Skinner exclaimed. 

Farrand gave a rueful chuckle.

"I wish it were that simple, but you know how these things work, Skinner. Wheels within wheels, plots within plots. Half the time it felt like I was working *for* the consortium rather than against them. I guess you could call our relationship that of mutual parasites. The Government has known the aliens were coming for decades. The consortium thought the only way for the human race to survive was to co-operate with the Grays. Our own agenda was different because of what happened at Roswell."

"What exactly did happen?"

"We finally realized that the Grays weren't the real danger to humanity."

"You knew about the Albrecx?" Skinner demanded angrily.

"Of course we did. We just didn't expect them to move so fast. Half the so-called cold war was just a way to cover up the building of a network of completely self-contained underground operations centers for us to use as places to rally resistance in the event of the Albrecx's arrival. There never *was* any danger of a third world war, Skinner. The Soviets have been in bed with America since the sixties. Cuba, the assassination of JFK, the propaganda about global nuclear warfare, it was all just crap to keep the masses from guessing what was really going on. Since 1963, there hasn't even been a USA. We're all citizens of the GSRA. The Soviet/American alliance. The star wars program was never about nuclear defense, it was to put an early warning system in orbit."

"Which obviously didn't work."

Farrand shrugged. 

"That's a matter of opinion. I think it did work to an extent. The people who are declaring themselves the "Resistance" have to be members of Operation Foxhole. There's no other way they could have organized themselves so quickly. I think the warning was received in time for the key personnel to get into the bunkers and prepare for the invasion. We always knew we had no way of mounting a defense against their technology so we prepared to go to ground instead."

"Operation Foxhole?" Skinner queried.

"Yes, it's a pun. Frohike's little joke."

"Frohike, as in Lone Gunmen Frohike?"

Farrand grinned.

"He's one of the top Operation X operatives, Skinner. He's been hiding in plain sight. His role as Spooky Mulder's crazy friend was one of the sweetest pieces of undercover work I've ever seen. You'd be surprised how much useful stuff has been gathered from the kooks who used to contact the Lone Gunmen. Besides, it allowed us to prevent the Consortium from pushing Mulder too far in the direction they wanted him to go." 

"Frohike's here in Baltimore?"

"All the big guns will be here. The shelter built in Washington was always a red-herring. It was just to keep the politicians happy. It was never intended to withhold against the weapons of the Albrecx. The Grey we captured alive at Roswell told us all about their military capability, after we'd given him enough persuasion, of course. The main resistance center was built under Baltimore, far enough away from the main strike zone but near enough to reach quickly in an emergency."

"It's obvious that the city's been destroyed though."

"Believe me, Skinner, the shelter could withstand a dozen alien attacks. Some of the other shelters have probably been lost. They weren't all finished. Like I said, we weren't expecting the Albrecx yet. The Baltimore shelter is the best though, because it was designed to be the hub of the resistance network. It's self-powered, stocked with enough provisions to feed over three thousand occupants for five years and it is hopefully currently occupied by the best scientific and military  minds in the country."

"So the rest of us were sacrificed to buy time for them to get in place?"

Farrand grimaced. "Obviously, they never let me in on *that* part of the plan. Makes sense though, doesn't it? To throw non-essential people out as canon fodder. I'm personally pissed off at being seen as dispensable, of course, but I've got to admit that I'm just a minor cog in the wheel."

"But the Albrecx managed to capture the President," Skinner pointed out. "He's hardly a minor cog."

"You think so? The President of the so-called USA was a figure-head puppet, that's all. Poor bastard was always intended to be used as bait so that the *real* President could escape. The President of the GSRA was probably the first person into the bunkers."

"So the Aliens think they've captured the decision makers but the real power was always somewhere else?" Skinner asked.

Farrand smiled unpleasantly.

"Between the fact that they think of us as animals and their misunderstanding of who actually runs our society, the Albrecx have probably underestimated us a little too much," he said.

"Let's hope so," Skinner replied. "I'm not sure why, but I have a feeling that the deciding factor here is going to be time. The ruthlessness of the Aliens alone suggests that they are working to a tight schedule. Why else would they have struck so hard and fast? I think they want to complete their 'Harvest' as quickly as possible. Unless we move equally quickly against the Albrecx, it's going to be too late."

~~~

The dining room was so crowded that, as the soldiers on guard opened the door on their approach, a wave of sound assaulted Mulder's ears. He shuddered and trembled, slowing so much that Jax had to give an impatient yank on his choke chain. Then, as Mulder scuttled inside, the conversation within the room stuttered to a halt. Although he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, Mulder felt the eyes of several dozen Albrecx settle on him and learned that being the center of Albrecx attention was even more mortifying than being considered beneath their contempt.

Krenzl shuffled on his chair with excitement more reminiscent of a child's than that of an Imperator, as Jax dragged his new pet down the room. He gave a broad smile at his assembled guests, proud of the beauty of his new Producer. His mouth watered as he remembered the teasing taste of essence that the vet had sent him to approve. Krenzl wasn't sure whether Mulder truly tasted so much better than the other Producers or whether his perception was clouded by his anticipation of the delight the Mulder-beast would offer him.

He'd initially chosen Mulder simply because he'd liked the idea of taming a creature that the Shrenztl had declared so dangerous.  It had seemed a challenge that would compensate for the normal ennui he felt on Harvesting missions.  Yet, ever since he had tasted the beast, he'd begun to fantasize that Mulder might be more than just a temporary amusement. Mulder's taste was familiar. He reminded Krenzl of a smaller version of his much-lamented Henkan.

Henkan had been the beast who had corrupted him to his secret vice, and although he had been so terrified of discovery of his perversion that he had rendered the creature mute, he'd never regretted Henkan's sluttish ways until the day he'd been forced to surrender the beast to the Harvest when they'd moved on to the next world.

Krenzl had been too wary of discovery to use his next Producer in the same fashion. He hadn't found a reasonable excuse to mute the beast and couldn't afford for any rumors to return to Homeworld about his vice. So it had been months since he had tasted the pleasures that the lower-castes enjoyed.

As much as Krenzl appreciated the fact that his high-born position meant that even his wife accorded him a little respect, he resented the fact that all over homeworld the lower caste males were allowed to take pleasures that his own birthright denied him. It seemed ludicrous that he was the commander of an entire fleet of Harvesting ships but was denied the simple right to drink essence naturally.

The personal milking machines were supposed to be a compromise between good manners and the pleasure of untainted essence. Using the Qwentcha to extract essence was considered as disgustingly bad mannered as eating a meal without cutlery. In Krenzl's own opinion though, having tasted the forbidden fruit of Henkan, all the etiquette did was deny him a basic, natural right.

So he had jumped at the opportunity of owning Mulder.

Mulder's notoriety had allowed him to have the little beast's tongue removed without any questions being asked. His peers were already certain that the creature would prove intractable so, even if Mulder didn't turn out to be as sluttish as Henkan and resented being used in that way, no one would be suspicious if the creature seemed unhappy to be Krenzl's pet. 

The Imperator had been barely able to sleep for the last few days in anticipation.

"It's a pretty beast," Bracx said, interrupting his reverie. "But too wild to be a pet."

"*He's* a pretty beast, indeed," Krenzl replied pointedly in Albrecx. He was particularly annoyed that Bracx had spoken in English, which could only be a deliberate attempt to upset his pet.

Bracx flushed slightly, then nodded his head in reluctant assent that Mulder was temporarily a 'he',  but he continued to speak in the human tongue.

"We're bringing new cattle on board hourly. Many of them show great potential as Producers. It seems a shame to keep a wild beast like this one and send the others directly to the dormitory. Would you not at least consider a different beast? I found a quite delightful creature in today's harvest. I put him aside for you to look at, just in case you're interested."

"Oh? How delightful?" Krenzl asked in an interested tone, hiding his smile of amusement as the Mulder-beast began to tremble at his feet.

"Very similar in appearance to your pet, Imperator, but perhaps ten years younger and far more submissive. I would imagine his stamina would be greater for your pleasure."

Krenzl narrowed his eyes. Sometimes, when the Oubeflecx made comments like that, he suspected that Bracx was well-aware of his personal preferences.

He wasn't tempted by the offer. It wasn't just Mulder's physical appearance that attracted him. Still, it seemed an ideal opportunity to ensure the little beast became more receptive to being his pet.

"I appreciate your efforts on my behalf," he told Bracx smoothly. "Have the substitute adapted and trained, just in case *this* pet proves unsatisfactory. In fact, maybe you should train it for me yourself."

At his feet, Mulder shivered and closed his eyes as his head filled with images of the milking dorm. It seemed unbelievable that he was kneeling, naked and trussed at the alien's feet and was more terrified that he'd be found wanting than rejected. But the alternative was a nightmare that no sane man could choose.

Even so, when Krenzl reached down and ruffled his hair, he couldn't prevent himself from flinching away and snarling angrily at the Albrecx. Then, immediately, terror of his own actions made his bladder loosen so that only the plug in his urethra prevented him wetting himself. Torn between fear, rage and self-disgust he glared angrily again before dropping his gaze back to the floor and giving a piteous moan.

It was all Krenzl could do not to order the room cleared and turn the little beast's moans from distress to pleasure. He was sure now that he *could* tame Mulder because the constant spark of anger in the beast's eyes suggested that the creature was deeply passionate. Once his brain was no longer capable of processing any thoughts that weren't directly related to physical sensations, all of that fiery intelligence would become the weapon that would defeat Mulder. With no other outlet, Mulder's current need for constant mental stimulation would be transformed into an addiction to only relief available to him, that of sexual orgasm.

Still, Krenzl knew he had to wait a little longer. He intended to keep Mulder for the length of the Harvest, which would probably take several months at least, and so it was important that the little beast was fully adapted before he was taken too forcefully. The cattle of this world were small and physically frail. Krenzl didn't want to risk damaging Mulder and if he waited until Mulder's imperative to be milked was fully engaged, there was less likelihood of the beast fighting his attentions.

Besides, until Mulder was producing essence constantly, it would be difficult for Krenzl to milk him privately between official sessions without his low yield into the machine causing suspicion.

He gestured that Jax should put Mulder into the usual submissive posture. There was little pleasure in watching the beast huddle on his hands and knees. Krenzl liked to watch his pet's balls as they stretched and filled with their offering of essence.

Mulder struggled slightly as Jax forced him to sit back on his heels with his knees splayed wide to expose his groin, then latched his wrist cuffs together behind his back and wrapped the leash tightly around his bound hands to force him to keep his head up and  his neck fully stretched to ease the pressure of the choke chain.

"Now that *is* pretty," Krenzl stated with satisfaction, pleased to see several of the diners casting hungry glances at his pet's tumescent cock and swelling ball sac. The worst bruises of the initial adaptation were fading from Mulder's scrotum and the reddened flesh showed none of the ugly white stretch-marks that accompanied the faster adaptations of their own Producers.

"When's he due to be milked again?" he asked Jax, as his guests began to summon Studs for their own pets.

"At this stage it would be better to leave him a full day between sessions. It will speed both the physical and psychological adoption," Jax replied quietly. "So, I'd suggest you leave him until mid-day tomorrow again."

Krenzl sighed but nodded his agreement before flicking his hand at a servant to bring forth his temporary Producer. 

Mulder gave a gasp of horror as a man was pulled forward to the milking bench in front of Krenzl's chair. The stranger's balls were so obscenely swollen that it was obvious he'd been given almost as savage an adaptation as the victims in the milking dorm. The man's eyes were blind with pain and there was no longer even the slightest spark of intelligence within their depths. As soon as the servant released him, the man wailed with relief and scrambled as quickly onto the milking bench as his harness would allow.

Mulder couldn't take his eyes off the man's quivering buttocks as a stud was brought forward to service the Producer. As much as he wanted to avert his eyes and give the poor bastard some privacy, his own balls began to throb in time to the rhythm of the stud's cock. He didn't even realize he was shuffling in place and humping his own hips in excitement until Krenzl paused his sucking of the machine's outlet tube long enough to lean down and remove the plug from Mulder's cock. A small stream of blocked urine escaped and was followed by a constant bubbling of pre-cum.

No one except Jax noticed Krenzl rub his hand over the tip of Mulder's glans and then lick his fingers furtively as he replaced the outlet tube in his mouth, and Jax was too busy to comment, even if he'd dared.

He'd dropped to his knees behind Mulder, thrusting his hips against the tail plug to create a maddening but unsatisfying friction inside Mulder's ass, and he'd wrapped his arms around Mulder's waist so that he could massage Mulder's balls. The little beast was squirming in his grasp, obviously uncertain whether he wanted more sensation or less. Mulder's confusion was so delightful that many of the other diner's lost interest in their own pets and watched as the partly adapted beast writhed and groaned, obviously trying desperately to fight his own arousal, as a second stud replaced the first and continued to milk the creature on Krenzl's bench.

At a signal from the Imperator, Jax increased the pressure by wrapping one hand around Mulder's cock to pull and tease at the engorged flesh while his other hand moved to Mulder's chest and pulled at the heavy weights adorning his nipples.

"Surely just a *little* taste wouldn't hurt," Krenzl suggested wistfully, as his pet twisted and strained in Jax's arms.

Although Mulder's eyes hadn't lost their earlier expression of hatred, now the look he gave Krenzl was almost wild with angry need. The desperation in the Producer's eyes was so arousing that it brought Krenzl to his senses. A little patience now would bring huge dividends later. He'd wait until the *only* expression in Mulder's eyes was need.

"Take him away," he told Jax impatiently, before he changed his mind.

Jax looked relieved, ceased fondling Mulder and instead began to unchain his hands.

"He hasn't eaten today," he reminded the Imperator in a low voice. "Hunger will slow down the adaptation."

Krenzl flushed. He'd been so busy admiring his pet that he'd forgotten Mulder's basic needs. No wonder the creature was so unreceptive to him. On the other hand, he didn't trust himself to touch Mulder that personally while the beast was so obviously aroused.

"Have you eaten yet, handler?"

Jax shook his head.

"Then I'll tell the kitchen to send you enough for both of you," Krenzl said.

Jax's face glowed at the honor bestowed on him despite his awareness that Krenzl simply wanted the beast out of his sight before his resolve snapped. Only the most experienced trainers were usually allowed to give a Producer his first lesson in eating Albrecx style.

He rushed back to Mulder's room so quickly that he twice gave the unfortunate beast a thoughtless yank on the choke chain before guilt overcame his enthusiasm and he slowed down enough to let the exhausted beast crawl along at his own pace.

By the time they arrived the food was already waiting and Mulder was so tired he didn't even struggle as Jax fixed him back into position with his hands fastened behind his back.

"You can barely keep your eyes open, can you?" Jax asked sympathetically as he stacked a pile of cushions up onto Mulder's mattress so that he could sit reasonably comfortably with one leg either side of the swaying beast. "It's just as well though. The first feeding session is quite traumatic for Producers. I didn't describe it to you before because quite honestly it's more frightening if you think about it than if it just happens."

Mulder's eyes widened in fear but he was too tired to even think of making a pointless struggle against his chains. His shoulders drooped and he lowered his head in defeated acceptance of whatever new horror would take place.

But all Jax did was start to eat his dinner.

As the minutes passed, Mulder's stomach began to growl in protest as the huge alien munched cheerfully through the stack of food on his tray without even offering Mulder a single mouthful.  By this time Mulder was quite prepared to tolerate the indignity of being fed by Jax's fingers. He was so hungry he would have accepted the scraps off Jax's plate. Yet as the Albrecx devoured the entire double portion of food to himself, Mulder's eyes filled with betrayed tears and he glared at Jax in disbelief.

He'd actually begun to trust the alien a little, had seen him not as a potential friend exactly but as a possible ally. When Jax had reminded Krenzl that Mulder hadn't eaten, he'd been grateful to the bastard, thinking Jax actually cared about his comfort. Now it seemed that all the youngster had intended was to get himself a double portion of food.

"Wow," Jax said, sounding ridiculously human as he stretched and belched, "I've never felt this full in my life. It's really uncomfortable."

Mulder just glared at him in disbelief. His expression reminded Jax that he still needed to explain.

"I know you're struggling to understand that we Albrecx know best about the needs of cattle such as yourself, but the fact remains that it's true. We understand the designs of your bodies far more than you do, particularly since we've speeded up your evolution so greatly in the last few days."

At Mulder's look of complete disbelief, Jax sighed and shrugged slightly.

"Okay, that's not completely accurate. I keep forgetting you're a little smarter than a normal beast. We normally harvest cattle when they've reached a greater stage of evolution. You should be taller, stronger and less hirsute. The actual sexual adaptation doesn't ever happen by itself. Otherwise you'd die without an Albrecx to take care of you.  So the genetic markers that allow the adaptation to take place are deliberately recessive and have to be manually stimulated by our drugs for you to reach your true potential.

"One of the unfortunate side affects of being a Producer is that the necessity for almost constant anal stimulation means that your digestive processes interfere with your production.  We resolve that in milkbeasts by feeding them a purely liquid diet with a tube. For Producers we prefer to offer a more personal experience. As part of the symbiotic relationship between a Producer and his master, just as you are adapted to provide the essence that we need, so the Albrecx have two stomachs. One to digest our own food and one to prepare food to a consistency that a Producer can digest easily and pass painlessly."

Jax didn't wait for Mulder to panic, he wrapped his Hrraus around the terrified beast to hold him steady then raised the gaping mouth of his Qwentcha until it covered Mulder's face like a mask.  He suctioned slowly, as Mulder jerked and failed in his arms, pulling the oxygen slowly out of Mulder's body until he began to sag into near-unconsciousness, then his Qwentcha reversed its flow, giving the oxygen back.

"Just close your eyes and breathe," Jax urged, as Mulder instinctively gulped for breath and a hidden tendril emerged from deep within Jax's Qwentcha and pushed unerringly into Mulder's gaping mouth and down his esophagus.

Mulder gagged and struggled as he felt his stomach filling up from the inside. He wanted to bite down on the tendril but because the Qwentcha was controlling and regulating his breathing his body was too preoccupied with staying alive to allow him to fight the feeding process. By the time the tendril was withdrawn he was gasping for breath again as the oxygen in Jax's Qwentcha grew thin and stale.

When the Qwentcha finally released his face with a sickening squelching noise, Mulder collapsed onto his face, gasping for breath and heaving to try and void the invasion from his stomach.

"If you vomit, I'll have to do it again," Jax warned quietly then, feeling sorry for the beast as it tried to control its nausea, he rose and crossed over to the fruit bowl and collected another of the yellow fruits.  He peeled it as he walked, helped Mulder back to his knees and pressed a piece of the sweet fruit against Mulder's lips.

"Eat this, it will take the taste away," he said, understanding the first taste of the slimy surface of his lesser Qwentcha would have left a greasy, unpleasant residue in the beast's mouth. 

He stroked Mulder's head, frowning at the tears that were pouring down Mulder's face.

"Look, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I haven't done that before either, but you should start feeling it soon. Just as we Albrecx find the taste of essence intoxicating, so you should find the food prepared by an Albrecx to be addictively enjoyable."

Mulder glared at him in angry disbelief. His face hurt where the Qwentcha had suctioned itself. His lungs were still protesting his near asphyxiation. His throat felt bruised from the invasion and his stomach was churning with an almost burning sensation of heat.

Then it happened.

Like an explosion inside him, the heat burst like a nova from his stomach and flooded his whole body. With the warmth came a feeling of languor so relaxing that it chased away all fear and anger, leaving only a strange floating feeling of contentment. His brain fogged and clouded,  his eyes dilated to near black and he collapsed back onto the floor.

Jax rolled him over, noted the stoned expression of complete mindless contentment and smiled with relief. Although Mulder's body would quickly adapt to the natural drug of the Albrecx digestive juices so that instead of spacing out he'd just feel a low, happy buzz whenever he was fed, the beast would soon become almost as addicted to the taste of an Albrecx as the Albrecx were addicted to cattle.

He picked the barely sensate beast up and gently placed him on his bed.

"Sleep well, little beast, " he said softly as he stood up to leave. Judging by the small smile on Mulder's face, Jax was confident the beast would have happy dreams as the drug continued to surge through Mulder's blood stream for the next few hours until the pressure in his balls finally forced him back to consciousness.

Go to Part Seven