Vandalar Concubines

Thirty-one, recently divorced, and behind on the mortgage for my farm, I scrape my last savings together and buy myself a farmhand. That big, horned alien I end up with? He’s a Vandalar saikh, a male concubine, and he wants to plow more than just my fields. Guess I should have read the fine print of the purchase contract better because the trader refuses to take him back. Now I’m stuck with weed-infested fields, red letters from the bank, and a guy who says he studied one million ways to please a female. (His words, it’s not like I’m going to count...)

My alien concubine refuses to please me. That gruff, muscled Vandalar saikh I bought myself keeps running away. So I do what every lonely woman in her 30s would: I cuff him to my bed, until he comes to his senses. At least now I don’t have to chase behind him in high heels and can concentrate on starting my mail-order-saikh business. What could possibly go wrong? I tell you what: He frees himself. Of course, he does. Now I’m the one tied to the bed while he threatens punishment.

It’s hard to find the right alien concubine. Finding three of them? Impossible! Watching the future saikhs practice their penetration angles at the saikhmenti alone doesn’t cut it to make a decision. What about other things like…I don’t know. Personality? What I need is insider information. That saikh-in-training who keeps failing his assessments? He’s offering it up freely. Kind of. All he wants is practice those fancy skills on me, or otherwise he might flunk his finals. Meh, why not?