The Alien Warrior King's Accountant (Royal Aliens 4)

His brutally iridescent gaze falls on me. I have the distinct feeling that I will be the one who pays.

I have listened to my fair share of taxation rants during my time. This is a variation on a very familiar theme. It turns out that the objections of an all-powerful alien regent are very similar to those of your average human general contractor or freelancer.

“I’m sure these taxes go to useful works, like…”

I haven’t actually familiarized myself with the remit of the Department of Intergalactic Costs and Duties. I’m not sure why they exist, or what they do with the money. I should probably look into that.

“Let me look into that.”

“You can look into it all you like. DICK is the greatest force for corruption in the known universe. They take the funds of hardworking plunderers, murderers, despots, and they hoard them away in the heart of a hidden nebula.”

“They don’t use it to build roads, or pay for hospitals?”

“Why would they do that?”

I tap my pen against the desk. “Why do you pay taxes if they don’t provide any value?”

“Because they have technology capable of erasing entire sectors of the universe from existence. Have you heard of King Grag?”

“No…”

“Correct! You have not! He was erased by DICK after refusing to capitulate to their demands.”

“Captitulate, you mean.”

Tyrant does not so much as smirk a little at my joke.

“I do not mean that. This is a serious matter. My entire empire, which I have slain millions for, is in jeopardy.”

“That must be very difficult for you.”

“It is. It’s very difficult.” King Tyrant sits down on a chair which was designed for me, and therefore is comically small for him. He doesn’t seem to notice as he sits perched on the edge, head resting on his hand as he slumps into deep thought.

“How long has it been since you filed taxes?”

“I don’t know. One. Two. Three. Four. Maybe five. Or six? Perhaps seven… years.”

“You’re seven years behind?”

“Seven light years.”

“I thought light years were a measure of distance, not tax non-compliance.”

“It’s a flexible system,” he says. “But the DICK are absolutely ruthless. Beyond any measure.”

“Well, if I can work out your obligations, then you can pay them and I can get back to my apartment with the holes in the walls.”

“Indeed, and stop tearing up my ship.”

“Exactly.”

This time there is a small smile from the king. He is cute when he smiles. Terrifying, but adorable at the same time.

“Stay there, human. Get yourself comfortable. There is much work on the way.”

He brings me almost endless files. Boxes of files. Chests of files. Files of files. It’s a parade of files, and I could not be happier. I have always felt comfortable when there are enough boxes of paperwork to create a small fortress.

“One more thing,” he says when my cozy little cabin space is filled to the brim with boxes and records. “You’re going to need a universal translator to understand all of these documents. We can speak to you in ways that make sense to you, but the papers will not have the same abilities.”

“Okay. So install it.”

“In your case, the technology is best installed rectally.”

“Bullshit.”

“I am not employing humor with you, human. Unless you want brain surgery, which I believe is a delicate matter for your kind, it is better for the implant to be installed rectally.”

“Why can’t I just swallow it?”

“It would be at risk of digestion, which would inevitably cause rounding errors.”

I don’t know if he’s joking, but I haven’t known him to be particularly humorous in the short time I have known him.

“Can’t it just go beneath my skin? There has to be another way. You can make a spaceship look like a piece of toast, but you have to put a translation device up my…” I can’t even bring myself to say it.

“I can make a spaceship look like a piece of toast, but it’s still a spaceship. This has to go into your rectal passage to work properly. It needs access to your core nervous system. But you are right, there are possibilities for the form it takes. I can make it look like something you prefer to deal with. Human females have a preference for male phalluses, do they not?”

He doesn’t just want to install his technology rectally. He wants to fuck me in the ass. I should have seen this coming. This alien king is a freak.

He wants me to bend over.

He wants to see me naked again.

He wants to take me.

And I’m going to let him.

“You’re saying all humans have to have an anal implant to understand alien numbers? I don't believe Mr. Rogers would have submitted to such a procedure.”

“Believe what you will, human. But bend over. The bed looks more comfortable than the first place you bent for me.”

I can’t resist Tyrant. There’s something in the rough growl of his command which makes me want to obey. The ongoing ache in my ass is enough to remind me why not obeying isn’t an option. Tyrant always gets his way when it comes to me.