The Aliens call him “Ramsey-Tah,” meaning Kevin Ramsey now belonged to the Tah clan. The Tah were the aristocracy of the Faysha, assigned to assist the people of Earth in their potential entry to the Galactic Alliance. But the Faysha tastes and hungers involving sex are far more alien than their dense skin and “bugger eyes.” The Faysha alpha male recognized Kevin Ramsey as what the Aliens call a Kyleelah Tumtah, for sissy boy sluts are known throughout the galaxy.
Now abducted and serving as little more than a sex slave on the Faysha home world, Ramsey-Tah has never felt more alone—or more violated. The Faysha, with their rigid gender roles have altered Ramsey-Tah’s body to be neither male nor female, and assigned him to pleasure the Tah clan brothers.
In his darkest moment of the soul a chance encounter with a newly arrived woman from Earth will remind him of his stolen humanity and how much better sex can be between two humans rather than with the hated Faysha.
(An Adults Only Tale of Alien Feminization and domination. All characters are over 18)
I led her to a seedy bar that served the lowlife members of different species who did business with the Faysha. My only problem was with a Faysha who might see me and know what I was and come over to abuse me. Most of the time they would back off when they saw the Tah insignia I wore. The Tah clan held their noses too high up in the air to know a place like this existed.
The bartender tolerated me. He looked over at Emily. “She’s not of your kind,” he said.
“We are both of Earth,” I answered.
“She is not a Kyleelah Tumtah,” he said. My alpha originally translated Kyleelah as Sissy boi and Tumtah intensified the insult. The bartender poured two glasses of the beverage I usually ordered. It was more like a beer than a wine but with a stronger kick. My body couldn’t tolerate the stronger things the Faysha drank for recreation.
Back at the table she raised her glass and clinked it against mine—such an ordinary human gesture and one I hadn’t experienced since I left Earth. She sipped lightly and nodded her approval. “So,” she sat back. “How did you end up here?”
I postponed answering her, wondering how much I should share. “My parents signed me up for a Faysha Culture and Language Camp right before I graduated from high school.” I was already feeling the effect of the alcohol. I assumed Emily was as well. She was a lot smaller than I am. Her breasts were much smaller than mine. “My parents have always been the type to look for any advantage they could find. They figured my being one of the very first to be formally trained by the Faysha would open up all sorts of golden doors of financial success and political advancement.” I took another sip and let its warmth slide down my throat. What a failure that had all been.
“Wow,” she said, taking a larger swallow. “I had so wanted to attend one of those camps, but they didn’t have any in South Africa. So you apparently did so well you’re now living on their home world.” I looked at her without emotion. If I had done well I would have run away from the camp the first day. “What is it you actually do here?”
It was one of the most common questions a human would ask. It wasn’t something asked directly of a Faysha. I ran down the list of how best to respond. I’m a type of Geisha? A Good Time Girl? A sex worker? I drained the last of my glass and mumbled, “I’m sort of a concubine.”