Alien Games

Alien Games

Claudia Rose

Athlete Jenna Walsh has spent the
last several years emotionally isolating herself from other people, including
Bruce Glenn, a handsome fellow athlete who adores her. Things change for Jenna
when she and Bruce are abducted by aliens and forced to engage in various
sexual experiments by their captors.

Now that Bruce is the only link
Jenna has to home, she is forced to realize how much she cares for him. Their
feelings for each other deepen as the alien games they participate in grow
stranger...

Alien Games

Claudia Rose

Chapter One: World Champions

Bruce Glenn had timed his race to perfection. He had been
fourth coming out of the water at Kailua Pier, but he had picked up a place
through a quick transition from swim to bike, and picked up another place in
the rigorous stretch through the lava fields, using his strength to carve a
path through the Big Island’s notorious ho’mumuku winds and gradually creating
a distance between himself and the rest of the field. By the time he reached
the bike-to-run transition area at the Old Airport Park there was only one
other person in the race, his best friend and great rival, the Australian
triathlete Trevor Barnes, who was about 100 yards ahead of him.

“Got you, ya Aussie bastard,” Bruce panted to himself.

Barnes swam like a fish and cycled aggressively, but his big
frame had a lot of weighty muscle to carry, and given a break of less than 200
yards, Bruce was usually able to reel him in. He set off in pursuit of the
giant Australian, fixing his sights on the broad back ahead of him.

With two miles to go he was less than ten strides behind,
and a frustrated Barnes was painfully aware of his rival’s proximity. Closing
the gap still further, Bruce squandered a vital breath.

“Gidday cobber, come here often?”

Barnes didn’t look round or miss a stride, he merely grunted
“Lie down and die, runt!” and pounded the pavement with even greater
determination. But he knew as he did so that the effort was futile. This was
the point in a race where Bruce Glenn held all the cards.

Sure enough, just as if he was changing up a gear in a fine
sports car, Bruce smoothly increased his pace and moved around Barnes to take
the lead. Unwilling to concede anything, Barnes matched his stride and followed
in Bruce’s slipstream for as long as he could sustain the effort. But it was a
95-degree day on the Kona coast and his legs were beginning to wobble with
exertion. Gradually Bruce pulled away, taking the race by 50 yards, and in the
process winning back the world triathlon crown that he’d lost to Barnes the
year before.

Even as he crossed the line to enthusiastic applause from
the large crowd of spectators, a part of Bruce Glenn’s mind was back in the
field with the leading women runners. Barring a major mishap Jenna Walsh would
be crossing the line soon to confirm her place as Women’s World Triathlon
Champion, and he wanted to be there to enjoy the sight.

But first there was a crowd to greet, media to talk to, and
a disgruntled Barnesy to slap on the back.

* * * * *

As expected, Jenna Walsh was leading the field. Her race,
too, had gone to plan. But unlike Bruce Glenn who had to compensate for
elements in which others were superior to him, Jenna’s plan was simply to get
out in front and stay there. It wasn’t enough for her to win the race, she had
to win every section as well. All she wanted the other women competitors to
get, and as many of the men as possible, was her shapely rear view.

Jenna was driven, there was no other word for it. Everything­—friendship,
relationships, entertainment, sex—was subordinate to keeping her world
triathlon crown. No other woman in the history of the event had remained
unbeaten for as long as she had. Jenna attributed much of her success to the
fact that she had trained herself not to need people around her. She rebuffed
every approach, not only from the many eligible men who turned away muttering
“dyke” under their breath, but also from the many women on the circuit who dreamed
of running their hands over her splendidly sculpted body or sampling the
delights only barely concealed beneath the skimpy maroon bikini briefs that she
wore racing. But although the soft pubic mound and barely visible cleft of her
groin looked inviting in its lycra packaging, Jenna had mentally posted a “Gate
Closed—No Through Road” sign there four years earlier.

Most of her fellow competitors had gotten the message by
now, and with a greater or lesser degree of ill grace they had condescended to
leave her to her private world. But not Bruce Glenn, in his quiet moments he
would admit that Jenna Walsh was close to becoming an obsession. But no matter
how many times she rebuffed him he kept coming back for more. Not that he
needed to, there were plenty of other trim and desirable female triathletes on
the circuit who were delighted to keep the world number one company. And his
desire for the unattainable Jenna had never stopped him enjoying an active
social and sex life. But always, he found himself drawn to Jenna the moment she
happened to be in proximity.

So here I am as usual
, he thought.
Bruce Glenn,
greatest triathlete in the world, waiting with his tongue hanging out like any
other triathlon groupie to see Jenna Walsh cross the line.

At that moment Jenna did round the curve into the final
straight, and Bruce felt, yet again, as if he were really only seeing her for
the first time.

“She is perfect!” he breathed in admiration.

There was nothing Bruce could fault about Jenna. Her feet
were made for running, not too big and not too small. Her legs, a tangible
asset in their own right, were shapely enough that they appeared in any number
of commercials for everything from stockings to depilatory cream. The erotic
triangle at the top of her thighs always seemed to him to bulge just a little
lasciviously, and the sight of it never failed to inspire a bulge of his own if
he contemplated this locus of desire for too long (and such a bulge was a very
risky proposition in the clothes Bruce ran in).

Seen from behind, Jenna’s buttocks had a smoothness of curve
that was composed of generous amounts of sculpted muscle covered by a thin
layer of fat, just sufficient to add shape and shine. Beneath her halter-top
she sported a pair of breasts that wholly complemented her remarkable behind.
They too were firm, round and almost faultless. The left breast was
fractionally larger, but not enough that many people would notice.

Probably the only person on the planet who didn’t think
Jenna’s breasts were perfect, was Jenna herself. They were just a little large
for a runner, and in her drive to remain world champion they were the only
thing she’d change, given the chance, about this machine called her body that
she trained and maintained.

As if it wasn’t enough to have a body like a Greek goddess,
Jenna’s face could have launched a thousand ships on its own. Despite her
habitually unfriendly expression, it was impossible not to ignore the soft
quirk of her lips, the dimples that appeared whenever there was a hint that she
might be about to smile, and a moist pink tongue that quested softly between
her even white teeth when she pondered a question hurled at her by a
journalist. Hers was certainly the most photographed face in her sport. Her
eyes, which were unusually luminous, were of slightly different colors, with
one tending towards teal green, and the other towards blue. Her light golden
skin never seemed affected by the harsh exposure to the elements it endured as
she obsessively pursued her profession, and her short honey-blond hair was only
slightly bleached despite its repeated exposure to sun, water and weather.

As Jenna crossed the line, she punched the air once,
decisively, to acknowledge her victory, than slowed to a brisk walk. It was her
policy never to show fatigue, and she picked her way with a straight back
between the male athletes hunched over catching their breath.

“Good race Jenna!” called Bruce as she came near him.

Startled she looked up, saw who it was, and acknowledged his
congratulations with a blank look and a small wave of her hand. Not to be put
off, Bruce moved closer, stopping Jenna from pushing on through the crowd by
lightly catching hold of her elbow.

“What say us two world champions celebrate over dinner in
Kona tonight?” he suggested.

Pointedly Jenna pulled her elbow out of his grasp.

“Sorry Glenn, I’m on the next flight out of here, I’ve got a
place to stay and train for two weeks on the windward side of Oahu. Thanks
anyway.”

Even though he knew it was pointless, Bruce couldn’t stop
himself.

“That’s okay, I’m heading to Oahu too for a few days, why
don’t we meet up? We could even train together.”

This time Jenna made no pretence of politeness.

“Look Glenn, why do you keep forcing me to be rude to your
face. I’m not interested in you, I don’t want to train with you, and I’m not
meeting up with you in Oahu. Please leave me alone! If you were a fan rather
than a fellow competitor I’d have reported you for harassment long before now.”

With that she turned on her heel and stalked away through
the press of athletes.

Feeling anything but a world champion, Bruce stared bleakly
after her departing back.

And at that moment, when he felt things couldn’t get any
lower, a deep voice rumbled with amusement from somewhere above his head.

“Gidday cobber, get shafted like that often?”

“Lie down and die, Barnesy!” he replied weakly.

* * * * *

Other eyes than Barnesy’s were avidly watching the
confrontation between Bruce and Jenna. Miles above their heads an undetectable
space-craft held a geosynchronous orbit over the Kona coast of the Big Island
of the Hawaiian archipelago. The ship’s two inhabitants had listened in on the
meeting with technology far superior to anything Earth scientists even dreamed
of.

“They are the ones, Psi276,” commented one of the alien
observers. “Both were clear victors in this grueling contest, and our readings
of them indicate an almost unprecedented cellular compatibility. If there were
not so many other Terrans around I would be tempted to extract them now. We
have already secured the other three pairs of humanoids, and only the Vedi are
causing us any residual problems.”

“I mean no disrespect Alpha19,” replied the creature’s
companion. “But I have grave reservations about the Terran female. I concede
that she is physically as close to excellence as to be within the margins of
error for perfection, but she has powerful psychological blocks in place that
indicate an almost pathological degree of repression.”

“You are correct to be concerned, Psi276, her repressions
are indeed within the abnormal range. But I am confident that we have the
technology to remove those barriers and restore her normal sexual functioning.
Maintain observation with a view to making the extraction within three
planetary rotations the next time they are within an acceptable proximity to
each other. I shall return to the laboratory and continue working to break down
the resistance of the Vedi.”

“As you command, Alpha19.”

* * * * *

Two days after winning the world championship, Bruce was
basking in the warm tropical waters off Oahu’s Lanikai beach. He’d coped with
Jenna’s rejection by hitting the town with Barnesy and two exuberant young
female triathletes new to this year’s circuit. They’d dined, drunk, partied and
made love, taking as their cue Barnesy’s infectious abandon.

Bruce had tried to enjoy himself. He even felt he’d
acquitted himself honestly. But the whole process had become rather mechanical,
and he’d finally hit out on his own making a lame excuse about arrangements to
be sorted out on Oahu. Barnes had greeted this with a knowing leer, but
thankfully had refrained from adding further to the humiliation that Bruce was
already experiencing.

But this time alone had really done him good, and in the
waters off Lanikai beach he felt whole again, glad to remember that he was here
in one of the world’s beauty spots, at the peak of health and fitness, and, on
top of everything else, the World Triathlon Champion. Closing his eyes he
slowly exhaled the air from his lungs and drifted lazily down to the sandy
bottom some ten feet below him.

As he touched the ocean floor, Bruce suddenly felt
exhilarated at how good it was to be here and to be alive. With a mighty kick
of his powerful legs he pushed up from the sand towards the surface and rose
out of the water like a breaching humpback whale.

Unfortunately on his way down he crashed heavily into a
passing swimmer.

For a moment he was stunned, and then concern for the person
he’d hit took over. The swimmer had taken a heavy blow and was thrashing about
in a dazed and uncoordinated way. Quickly Bruce pulled the person’s head out of
the water and got a huge shock. He was eye to eye with a confused Jenna Walsh.
In a matter of seconds, however, her eyes focused, her mind cleared, and she
recognized her assailant. Her lips turned white with fury.

“Bruce Glenn, what the hell are you doing, trying to kill
me?”

“I’m really sorry Jenna,” he stuttered helplessly. “I
honestly didn’t see you there.”

“Well you should have been looking, you could have injured
me you fool!” she all but screamed.

“It was an accident. Let me help you to the beach.”

Her reply was a curt, “Fuck off, Glenn!” as she turned to
swim away.

At that moment life changed forever.

Later Bruce could never properly recall what had happened.
All he remembered was that the water began to bubble as if it was boiling, and
then he was being spun in a whirlpool, faster and faster, as if about to be
swept down a plug-hole. Something banged into him. It might have been Jenna.
There was a confusion of flashing lights and a sound like a hundred jet
engines. The sound got louder and louder, the water span faster, the lights
flashed more brilliantly, and finally, when his overloaded brain could bear it
no longer, he lost consciousness.