“Where is it?”
“I’m not telling.”
My breath catches in my throat as burning eyes settle on me with grave displeasure.
“You should answer my question, little human.”
“You should go to hell.”
Rebellion is easy when you crave the consequences of your actions so badly you are willing to do anything, say anything just to find a limit. I have been alone for a long time. I am not alone anymore. My solitude has been replaced with a tyrant interrogator, a confessor who will discover every one of my sins and punish me accordingly. I have crossed him. I have tricked him. I have lied to him and I have tried to cheat him. If I had gotten away with it, I’d be rich now. Instead of money, I have the wages of my sin, and they are about to be written in my soft flesh with rough strokes of his powerful frame.
I feel my lower secret self, the dirty little places no respectable woman ever likes to have displayed in such lewd fashion, swelling with anticipation and desire. This creature is like none I have ever met before. He demands obedience. He commands compliance. My rebellion and my lies are swept away before him. There is no fooling this male who is so much more than any man ever could be. My flesh weeps with desire, but still I cannot give him what he wants.
“Behave yourself,” he growls, one hand at my throat, the other at my sex. I am caught in his grasp and in the consequences of my own deception. “Tell me what I want to know.”
He is utterly alien. I owe him nothing. But he is going to take everything. Because he is a warrior and a conqueror, and it does not matter how alien he is, it is a universal constant that a naked woman spread before such a creature will not receive mercy. She will take the hard flesh already pressed between her thighs.
I want him. I crave him. But I know that he will give just as much pain as pleasure. And I know that I will earn every bit of it. I have been a very bad girl, and it has just caught up with me in a way I never thought it would.
Just how did I get myself into this situation?
Oh. That’s right.
Farti holds his nose and screws up his face. His upper lip curls, baring the fangs that emerge under his upper lip. They’re supposed to be intimidating, but they’re about a quarter of an inch long and when they’re set in a face that has the head to body proportions of a teddy bear with about twice as much fuzz, they don’t do much for his credibility. His fur is a soft red plush. He has short pointy horns, little hooves for feet, humanoid hands, and a tail that wags when he doesn’t want it to.
He’s three feet tall, two hundred and forty years old, and he’s made me richer in the last year of working with him than I got in the ten years I spent in the Vatiri Special Forces.
Everything he lacks in height and intimidation, he makes up for in pure business acumen. I’m the muscle in this operation. Tall, even for a Vatiri, there are parts of this ship I have to crawl through in order to access them. I can’t wait to stretch my legs. I can’t wait to make some money.
“Are you listening to me?” Farti’s complaints draw my attention down again.
My nine feet in height means that occasionally, when he’s very serious about something, he hops up on my knee so he can look me in the eye. I am strictly forbidden from finding that cute.
Right now he’s stomping around my feet, irritated. “I thought the supplier was meeting us here.”
He doesn’t care about the view, which is exquisite. We’ve landed at the verge of a great red and gold canyon lush with trees. A river winds below, and above the sky is bright and blue and big. So big I can almost forget how much bigger everything beyond it really is.
This is a nice planet. It does smell, well, organic, but you get that in the pockets where life still flourishes. Most of the universe is dead. Very, very dead. This is the scent of decay and growth curling into our nostrils. In the soil beneath the grass that ripples out around my feet, life is thriving.
“Where. Is. She?” Farti stamps his feet and lets out a nickering sound of irritation.
“She’ll be here, I’m sure,” I say. I don’t care if she’s late. This is just another run for us. Another pickup followed by another delivery. Things have gotten a little boring of late. When I served in the Vatiri marines, hardly a day went by that you didn’t have a limb lopped off and have to go in for regeneration. I’ve had all my limbs attached for months upon months now. They’re starting to get that worn, lived-in look. I could do with a shiny new bicep.
“How can you be sure? You don’t know her. She’s human. I hate humans.” He wrinkles his nose up in a way that exposes the little pointed parts of his fangs all the more. “You can’t trust humans.”
I haven’t dealt with humans much. They’re relatively rare in the universal sphere of things. I looked them up on the ship’s computer as we came in. They’re what’s called a junior species. They never made it out of their solar system independently, but they were discovered somewhere around 34.5938.45, when the Nefari visited. Two envoys. One of them didn’t use the sanitizer before first contact and transmitted a virus that in Nefari results in a small but embarrassing rash.
It wiped out ninety-five percent of Earth’s humanoid population within a week. A few people did have a natural resistance by some miracle and the Nefari were so ashamed at the results of their actions, they helped rebuild enough of a city to get the species restarted.
The rest is history.
Earth is too far out of the way to get a lot of attention, so it’s been left to run wild. A few intrepid species like to venture out here from time to time, post interstellar media snapshots of the wilderness.
It cost us a quarter of a year’s profits for the fuel to get here, and it took us a year to come this far. It’s been a long voyage and I hope we get more than a day or two here. I need to remember what it feels like to stand on a planet and breathe air that hasn’t been filtered a thousand times.
“I’m going to hail her,” Farti says. “Don’t go too far. There’s predators here and I won’t be able to come and find you.”
The thing I like about Farti is that he doesn’t even pretend to be brave. He expects me to be there to guard his fuzzy little ass, and he compensates me well for it.
Every step is a reminder of what happens when you get stupid and sloppy out here in the canyon-plain-jungle. I was heading out to meet my marks, a little too fast for my own good. The skimmer I’ve been riding for the past year had been showing signs of breaking down for a while, but I fixed it with tape and wire.
I was skipping over the canopy on my way here, about ninety feet up in the air when the tape and the wire decided they weren’t friends anymore. The nice thing about falling through a forest is that there’s lots of stuff to stop you on the way down. The not so nice thing is that a lot of it is much harder than it looks from the sky. Fluffy clouds of green turn to prickly sharp sticky things when you’re plummeting through them at terminal velocity.
Fortunately, I was wearing my leathers. Unfortunately, I fell through a particularly open patch of jungle. Fortunately a tangle of vines caught me before I came to a landing on my face. Unfortunately, leathers don’t stop you twisting your ankle on a vine. It’s not broken. It just hurts. My boot will keep it stable enough, and I’ve cut a bit of branch to use as a crutch to keep most of my weight off it, but this is not a great start to what was always going to be a hell of a day.
The jungle isn’t easy to get through. It’s dense, and the trails people hack through don’t last long. Maybe three or four days at most. It’s been at least a week since anyone came through here. I picked the canyon for a reason. It’s far enough away from my house that they probably won’t be able to find me once they realize I screwed them over. And it’s a nice scenic spot for visitors. They get taken in by the view of the verdant great canyon and they get into a goofy happy mood and they believe whatever you tell them. It’s hard to fathom that this place was ever a big dry hole in the desert, but my ancestors have been coming to this spot for hundreds of generations. Back then, it was most notable for being a hole, but then the climate shifted and this whole area that used to be nothing more than dust and dead things turned into the canyon lake and the surrounding jungle plains. Just have to be careful not to accidentally step off the edge.
As I battle through the underbrush, I remind myself that the money is going to be worth it. And keeping the few artifacts that haven’t yet been pillaged from Earth to be sold in intergalactic tat shops safe from the people who think my world is a jumble sale is worth it too.
I’ll use the payment to buy a new skimmer. And fix the leak in the roof. And lay in some freeze-dried supplies for the winter. I’ve got about ten places to put every buck they’ve got for me, and I’ll make damn sure to spend it before they realize that what’s in my backpack isn’t what they’re looking for.
“Sorry! Sorry! I know I’m late!” I shout out as I come through the bushes. It’s good to announce your presence. Some of these traders are jumpy and can start firing off their high spec matter destroyers if they get startled. I’ve seen a man who looked like Swiss cheese after an accidental discharge by a party of panicked interstellar tourists.
A rough male voice booms out. I stop at the verge of the forest, my feet turning to lead. I hope they’re not one of the paranoid species. They suck to deal with—and they’re really hard to scam.
“It’s me!” I call out. “The trader!”
I can’t see the person coming toward me, but his presence announces itself in the fleeing of small woodland creatures. Perhaps that’s a dramatic take on it, but the rough command shocked me. This is my world. My jungle. My goddamn clearing to walk through. What does he mean, stop?
“Step out of the bushes.”
“That’s what I was trying to do,” I mutter under my breath as I hop forward.
As I do, I find myself looking at the midsection of a very tall alien man. And I mean very tall. I am 5′5. He has to be at least nine feet. He towers like a tree in front of me, and manages to make the canyon laid out behind him look like a reasonably sized hole. He’s built like a bull. The width of his shoulders must be at least three times my own. His hips are narrow in proportion, but still wider than my entire body. A shock of instinctive fear rushes through me as my body reacts like I just walked out in front of a tiger. The adrenaline of being confronted with something physically far superior and much more dangerous makes my heart beat faster, my pupils dilating to take in all aspects of him.
He is dressed in some kind of mercenary garb. Not the high-end armor that I’ve seen some of them wearing, impenetrable force fields and whatnot. He’s gone low tech, like me. But I don’t think it matters. His skin is the color of brushed aluminum, and I’m pretty sure if I touched one of those massive biceps that are bigger than both my thighs, I’d find that skin is closer to hide.
I shouldn’t stare. It’s rude. But I can’t help it. He is the strangest looking nonhuman man I have ever seen. His eyes have dark pupils, but the iris around them glows reddish gold. His nose is prominent and jutting, but in proportion with the strong brow and great square jaw. His hair is thick and silver, falling around his ears and down the back of his neck in a shaggy riot.
He’s handsome. Hot. He’s fucking gorgeous. He’s everything, however you describe that melting, desperate yearning an attractive person can give you with their mere presence.
I wasn’t expecting this. Most aliens are pretty gross to look at. Holes for noses, slimy skin, extra orifices, that sort of thing. Evolution is blind. She doesn’t care how goofy something looks as long as it works well enough to push the next generation into existence. But on this guy, she did some of her best work. Holy fuck. I forget about the throbbing pain in my ankle and the trinket in my bag. I forget my own damn name.
“You are Pyxel.”
“Uhhh…” What should be an answer in the affirmative turns into an incoherent drawl. He takes it to mean I don’t understand him.
“You speak intergalactic tongue? Or you only read?” He makes a scribbling motion with his finger. “I write?”
The hottest man in the universe is talking to me like I’m a moron. Of course I speak intergalactic. While I stand there, dumb, he pulls out a device, taps a note on it, and shows it to me.
Are you Pyxel?
He smiles. He’s come a million miles, he’s utterly alien, and yet patronizing. Condescending expressions are apparently common to our people.
“Good,” he says. “I will write to you.”
I stare. He writes it down and shows it to me. I nod.
It’s occurred to me that this is going to be much easier if he doesn’t realize I can speak. Hard to be accused of lying if you never said a word, right? Never thought being tongue-tied would be a negotiating advantage, but here we are.
Come with me.
He accompanies the text with a gesture toward a ship that seems way, way too small for him. My home is bigger than that thing.
I follow after him, hop-skipping to try to keep up with his long legs.
He turns partway there to see what’s taking me so long. When he sees that I’m hobbling, his expression shifts instantly. The neutral of his handsome face is replaced with extreme displeasure. His glowing gaze hones in on my leg.
He doesn’t type it out. He says it and gestures toward my leg. I figure it’s safe to pretend to understand enough to understand, but I can’t answer him.
I attempt to mime what happened. It’s kind of hard to explain with your hands how your piece of shit skimmer tried to murder you ninety feet in the air, and I can tell he’s not understanding a thing I’m trying to impart. It doesn’t matter. We’re not here to talk about my leg. I’m here to rip him off with some old scrap I found in one of the warehouse ruins.
We get a lot of aliens down here chasing lies. A good story knows how to travel, and the one about this trinket seems to have made its way across lightyears to find this guy and his bank balance.
I grab my pack off my back, pick the sack out, and hold it out to him, miming him giving me money in return for the goods.
He shakes his head and makes a gesture toward the ship. He wants me to go with him.
I shake my head. I’m not going any further with this. I want this transaction over so I can disappear back into the jungle.
“Come,” he repeats. “I fix your foot.”
I shake my head again, make a motion with the bag, and hold out my hand for the credits. All he has to do is push a hundred tokens into my hand and we’re done. I’ll hop on out of here and disappear into the jungle. He’ll never find me. By the time he realizes what he’s got is a fake, I doubt he’ll even be in the same galaxy.
“Foot,” he repeats. “I fix.”
“No.” I shake my head and wave my hands. “Take treasure.”
He twists his face up. He thinks I don’t understand him. I don’t know how stupid he imagines me to be, but he’s obviously working on another way to communicate his desire to play nurse. I don’t need it. It’s just a sprain. It’s the least of my worries.
“Foot,” he repeats, encouraged by my speech. He bends down and tries to reach out for my leg. I pull it away, hopping back in irritation.
“Oh, for crying out loud, just pay me so I can get out of here, I don’t need you to fix my foot.”
His brows rise as he does. “You speak intergalactic.”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why did we just spend the last ten minutes making gestures at each other?”
“Because I didn’t come here to talk. I came here to sell.”
He folds his great arms over his chest and looks down at me with unreserved irritation. “Your leg is hurt.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Let me fix it for you. We have tools that can knit bone in seconds.”
“I don’t want my bones knitted. I want the money.”
“Mercenary little thing,” he laughs. He is amused by me. “I can fix your leg for free.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I don’t like seeing animals in pain.”
I grit my teeth. It figures he would think of me as an animal. Aliens always think they’re better than humans. More advanced. Maybe some of them are. I guess he is, if evolutionary advancement means being a gleaming muscular god. But I’m going to surprise him before we’re done. He’s going to find out that this animal has more than a few tricks up her sleeve.
“I don’t need my leg fixed. I just need the money. I brought the goods.”
“Human female, you are injured,” he says, as if perhaps I don’t understand that.
“I know, you big idiot! I don’t care.”
Those brows come down over his eyes, his posture changes, as does his expression. He goes from helpful and concerned to overbearing and borderline aggressive in seconds.
“You will speak to me with a respectful tone, human.”
“I don’t want to be speaking to you at fucking all. Give me my money and take your trinket.”
What? I stare at him. “You came all this way to not buy what you asked me to get for you?”
“Oh, I’m going to buy it. But I’m going to deal with you first.”
“I’ve been trying to do a deal with you!”
“Not do a deal, deal with,” he growls. “Your intergalactic really isn’t very good, is it, little human.”
Before I can snap back with a retort, the ground goes out from under my feet. He sweeps me up into the air, way higher than I am comfortable with given how far I recently fell, and starts carrying me toward the ship.
I should probably be terrified at this point, but in spite of our less than auspicious meeting, I feel instinctively safe with him.
That might be naive. He’s big enough to tear me apart and probably eat me. His head is twice the size of mine, so I’m sure his teeth are too. I’ve never met this species of alien before. Mostly Earth gets visits from what we call grays and greens, big-headed creatures who have to be asked very nicely not to put their probes where they’d be inconvenient.
This monster has a good guy vibe, though I still would prefer for him to just give me the money I’m trying to scam from him.
The ship isn’t actually as small as I thought it was. It was being dwarfed by him. But he still has to duck to stoop under every door, and he needs to turn sideways to get us both through, but he nevertheless manages to carry me into a small medical bay with a bed that really only barely fits me on it.
“So who did you steal this ship from?”
“Obviously not yours. You look like Gulliver.”
“I do not know who this Gulliver is,” he says, sitting me on the bed. “Stay still.”
I don’t stay still. I don’t want his alien medicine. I don’t want to be probed, or mended with whatever ‘tools’ he might have on hand. I want to get out of here. He’s making me feel a whole host of feelings I don’t want to be having. This is getting dangerous on several levels.
“No. Thank you,” I say tightly. “If you don’t want to buy, that’s fine. There were others who wanted it.”
That’s a lie. Nobody wants the old piece of crap in my bag.
He picks me up again without a word. It is so frustrating, being handled like a wayward puppy. Tired of being carried about, I do my best to pull out of his grasp. It’s a futile struggle, but so is life in general and I put my all into that as well.
I look down at the little human female who dares defy me. She has dark hair that is tangled in a riot of curls, and dark brown eyes that stare out from under thick lashes. A sprinkle of little dark dots marks her nose and her cheeks, but she is otherwise pale. Her form is of upright ambulation, two legs, one of which is clearly hurt.
Her clothing is far from glamorous. She is wearing aged protective leathers of some kind. They are cracked and worn in several places, turning brown where they used to be black.
She is beautiful, but difficult. Her injury would be easy enough to treat, but for how she squirms in my grasp, risking injuring herself. I do not understand why she is being so difficult. She has the intellect to grasp the fact that I am trying to help her, but apparently that offends her.
“Stop it, or I will sedate you,” I threaten as she spins in my arms.
“Put me down!”
“Not until you are mended.” I keep my voice gruff, my tone serious. I do not like to be disobeyed. In the military tradition I was raised in the command line is to be followed precisely. Even outside the military, it is quite obvious that a smaller female should submit to a larger male. That is a law of nature that stretches throughout the universes.
She has not been taught that lesson, or many others. I feel the tension in her frame. She is curvy in places, but overall she does not have a robust body. She is not suited for struggle. Certainly not against me.
In the end, it is easier to hold her by the uninjured leg and let her dangle while Farti gathers the med kit. She sets up a loud complaining, which I do not appreciate.
“Silence,” I chastise her. “You may attract predators with that wailing.”
“I already did,” she whimpers in complaint.
She swings about in my grasp and the soft round of her ass is presented to me. My spare hand finds itself in motion, my palm more than large enough to cover both her cheeks in a solid swat hard enough to make her swing forward and back like a screeching pendulum, wishing death on me and my family.
Enough with her insolence. I hoist her up, one hand around her leg, holding her high enough that I can look down into her screwed-up face.
“Stop,” I growl in the voice I use when I mean something.
She shuts her mouth. I see her gulp. Her eyes are red-rimmed as if she is truly on the verge of crying and her face is pale, even though she is upside down and angry. She should be red.
Wrong color is a bad thing with humans. They are more fragile than they like to admit. I have known several of their warriors, and though they were brave to a fault they did not have the capacity for survival my species enjoys. Their limbs do not regenerate. Most of their body is single use. A very inefficient design for a species that often relies on its ability to initiate conflict.
Concerned for her well-being, I lower her gently to the bed, making sure to keep a firm hold on her body, making sure she lies still. Now that she is unable to move, I see that she is not in good condition, leg aside. There are insect bites all over her skin, which is far too pale for a creature that spends as much time in the sun as she must. She needs a thorough examination, not just a simple mending, but I know she will resist that with every bit of her strength. She is the most contrary little thing I have ever encountered. Except, perhaps, for…
“What are you doing? Did you bring an animal in here!” Farti’s irritated screech interrupts my exam. Her head pops up as he comes striding into the room. He does not speak the intergalactic tongue. He prefers his native speech, which does not translate to the human ear.
“Awww, look at him. He’s so cute! Is he your pet?”
She lets out a gasp of pure joy and claps her hand to her mouth. Her voice pitches up several octaves, and she makes repeated gasping, delighted sounds that are at odds with the grumbling and growling she has been subjecting me to so far. When she smiles, she is transformed. In her petulant state she was pretty. Happy, she is utterly gorgeous. She has a wide smile, sparkling eyes, her entire face lights up in a way that makes her look much less ill.
“Did she just call me a damn pet?”
Farti bristles with indignation, which only makes him more adorable to her. “Oh, my god, I want to cuddle him!”
He takes several brisk steps back. “If she touches me, I’ll bite her. Don’t you let that damn human near me!”
“Easy,” I tell him, pushing Pyxel back down on the bed. “This is the trader we’re supposed to meet. She’s injured. I’m going to fix her leg.”
“Well, you’ll take the price of the electrozes off the bill,” Farti grumbles. “We’re not an intergalactic medical charity!”
“Aw, he’s so cute. What’s his name?” She is blissfully unaware of Farti’s hostility toward her.
“His name is Farti.”
“You called your pet Farty?”
“Farti,” I say, emphasizing the I sound at the end. Humans are cute in the way they find it so hard to even hear, much less pronounce the little intonations and higher order frequencies of language. “And I am Kr’ash.”
“Kr’ash,” I repeat.
“Crash,” she says.
“Crash,” I agree. It doesn’t really matter what she calls me. She’s settled down a lot now, and I can finally have a look at this leg of hers.
“Is Farti friendly?”
“Not particularly,” I say, rolling up the leg of her faded, dirty, threadbare pants. She’s really not dressed well at all. I have encountered better clad urchins at interstellar charity events.
She can’t take her eyes off him, which is good because it gives me the chance to remove her boot and deploy the medical tool that instantly removes the swelling and repairs the damaged tissue simply by being rubbed lightly over the surface of the skin. It’s a deep echo-scanner, which uses the inbuilt data and information from the injury itself to restore the tissue to its previous state. In about twenty seconds, she’s fixed.
“Wow,” she says, her eyes widening as I move her foot up and down for her, demonstrating the healing. “That doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Mhm. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
“Huh. Now you can use it on my butt where you hit me,” she suggests. “It’s still tingling.”
“No.” I am firm on that. “Discipline must be endured.”
She cuts her eyes at me. “And who are you to discipline me?”
“Your superior.” It is a simple matter of fact. I do not know why it seems to confuse her. “You are a small female of limited strength and agility. I am a male of far superior abilities. Of course it falls to me to discipline you.”
“You’re a real fucking asshole, you know that?”
I am tired of her temper and her cursing. She has much to learn and she will learn some of it from me now.
It is the work of a fraction of a second to turn her over onto her stomach. She flails and fights me, but her strength is piteous. Even Farti could probably overpower her. These humanoid frames are very early evolutionary models. They come with a great deal of flaws. One of them being the fact that she can be held in place and have her bottom spanked nice and long and hard without my expending nearly any energy at all.
She is fortunate that the seat of her rear is covered, otherwise it would surely be even more painful for her.
“You will speak with respect,” I inform her. “You will not swear, curse, or otherwise denigrate me. Do you understand?”
I stop, puzzled for a moment. “Do you not understand, or are you attempting to rebel even though you are clearly physically outmatched?”
“The last one, dick!”
“Thank you for the clarification,” I growl, yanking down her lower body covering. It is so old and worn that much of it disintegrates in my hands. Her howl of outrage is not because of that though. It is because I have bared her cheeks and now I can see all her charms laid out before me. The lower parts of her leggings are still intact around her calves and knees, but her upper thighs and her bottom are completely exposed.
Beautiful. I stop for a moment and take her in, one hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place as I gaze upon one of the wonders of the universe. Evolution did many things with a female sex, but it never truly improved on the human woman. Her pussy is protected by two fat lips that are swollen with desire and parting to reveal the petals of her inner lips, ever so slightly folded and crinkled in a unique way. The human female’s sex closely resembles a flower, with the core being the dark little hole that seems far too small to take any kind of intrusion, but that I know can take objects many inches in diameter.
“What are you doing, you freak!”
Her attitude is tiresome, and at odds with what I am seeing below. She is wet. There are traces of moisture on her inner lips and even her inner thighs. Her struggles have smeared those traces of desire around, making the entrance of her sex easier to find.
I can smell her too, a feminine perfume that wafts to my nose. Pure pheromones, a primal mix that reaches down to the very core of my maleness and evokes a response that is difficult to control. Everything in my biology tells me to mount this willful woman and fuck her until she apologizes.
My hand lands across her cheeks again, leaving a hot red print, nice and low, just above her pussy.
“I am looking at your cunt.”
He’s crude. He’s brutal. He’s an asshole. And when he says those words, I feel my inner walls clench around the cock they wish was there.
“You have no right to do this.”
“I have every right,” he growls. “I have the right every male has over every female who taunts him and presents herself to him.”
“I didn’t present myself to you!”
“I could have pulled these down and found you dry, all closed up.” His finger sweeps between my pussy lips in a touch that is far too familiar and makes me shiver with the need I don’t want to have right now. “But you are wet and open. You are inviting me, displaying yourself. You are in season.”
He talks about me like I’m an animal. The only thing to be grateful for now is that my pussy seems to have distracted him from slapping my ass, which hurts like hell. There is a tight heat making me feel like all the skin of my bottom shrank, and yet the flesh beneath is swelling with pain, making everything tingle and sting.
“Apologize for your rudeness, and I will give you new clothing. This punishment will be over. We can resume our trade. Curse at me again, and I will fuck you.”
Every muscle in my lower belly and upper legs goes tight. Fuck me.
He palms my ass, his fingers stretching out to the point he nearly covers both cheeks with one great hand. I can sense that he is being gentle with me—his version of gentle anyway. I should apologize. I should sell my goods and get out of here. I should close my legs.
I try to do that, but he stops me easily, holding my thighs spread.
“Apology first. Then you can hide your pussy.”
“Oh, to hell with you.”
“A fucking it is.”
“What! That wasn’t even…” I don’t have much chance to complain that I didn’t curse at him. He has mounted the bed behind me in one muscular, agile motion, and I feel something far too thick and far too hard slap down between my sore cheeks. I can’t see his cock, but I can tell it’s huge.
“I told you what would happen, Pyxel,” he says, one of his hands sliding up the back of my neck, taking a handful of my curls.
He nudges the head of his cock down the crevice of my cheeks, past my asshole and to my pussy, where my traitorous cunt covers the head of whatever otherworldly phallus is about to split me open.
“I’m sorry!” I apologize just as he starts to push forward. I feel my outer lips wrapping around him, drawing him in.
“You’re not sorry,” he says, keeping his grip on me tight. “You’re afraid.”
That is true.
He holds his cock there, at the very entrance of my pussy.
“This is how rebellious females are punished in my world,” he tells me. “A rude young woman will find herself bent over and fucked several times a day if she cannot manage to control her mouth. We like to recruit badly behaved female cadets for that reason. Instructor and instructee both get something from it.”
The anthropological lesson is lost on me in this moment, with his thick rod on the brink of splitting me open. He really was right. I am afraid. Afraid of how it will feel when what must be a monster cock pushes inside me, and afraid that I might like it. My body is already responding to his handling in a way I can’t control. I should hate him for this. I should be tense and angry and fighting him off tooth and nail. Instead, I find myself feeling whiny and small, pleading for mercy rather than demanding it.
“You’re too big for me!”
“I am not,” he says, though his cock still does not move. The hard ridge is pushing against my sex firmly, not entering, but not pulling away. The tightness at the very entrance of my body is starting to relax. Oh, fuck. He’s not going to take me against my will. He’s going to make me push myself back on him. He’s going to let my traitorous pussy surrender. And I can’t stop myself, because of all the personal qualities I don’t have, self-control is the one I lack the most.
My hips make a gyrating, writhing motion. Maybe I can pretend to be trying to get away, even as I push myself back against that intrusion. Maybe we can both pretend that he is fucking me as punishment, and I am not spreading my thighs for him and fucking him out of pure animal instinct, which makes me every bit the little beast he seems to consider me to be.
That hot, hard head slips inside me just a fraction, pushing the tight inner walls of my sex, making them conform to his hard rod. He is just as big as I suspected, thick and heavy. I can feel the weight of his member now, gravity helping him spread my pussy. It’s more a cudgel than a cock. Nothing this large has ever been inside me before. I’ve had sex, of course, but the desperate rutting of wild men is nothing on this controlled, dominant display of power.
I’m not supposed to want this. He said it’s disciplinary. But this has been a weird day. I’ve fallen to what should probably have been my death and survived. I’ve been the recipient of alien medical technology. And now I’m pinned beneath that same alien, my pussy about to be invaded as a punishment for being rude to him.
The hand on the back of my neck keeps me pinned and relieves me of some of the burden of choice. The worst thing, right now, would be to admit that I’m not bothered by the fact I’m about to be fucked by a total stranger. I don’t know if I could ever look at myself in the mirror again if I let it be known that my body is responding to him, and even my mind is slipping into some kind of reckless submission. What does it matter if he fucks me? It might feel good. Nothing much does feel good these days. I live alone, in a small shanty on the verge of a forest, as far away from other people as possible.
“Say you’re sorry,” he murmurs. “Be a good girl and make a nice apology, and I’ll stop it from hurting when I’m all the way inside you. You’re going to be fucked, but you can still control what kind of fucking you get.”
A frisson of excitement rushes through me. He is so blunt and so bold in what he is doing to me. That was a threat. There can be no doubt about it. He’s telling me I can enjoy being fucked, or he can ravage me with his giant cock and leave me tearful and chastised.
I know which one I should want. And I know which one I’m more likely to get.
He pushes inside me, the motion of his hips smooth and powerful. The head of his cock spreads my lower lips apart completely, and sinks inside the tight channel that has not been traveled in a long time. I let out a long sigh of… relief? Is that what I’m feeling?
There’s fullness, spreading, a feeling of being taken—and taken care of.
“When was the last time you were mated?” He asks the question almost casually as he lifts his big hand from the back of my neck, runs both his hands down over my shoulders, and takes hold of my upper arms, drawing them up a little and back, using them as holds to pull my body back on his.
“Maybe two years ago.”
“And how old are you?”
“You should be mated every day,” he grunts, his voice showing the effort it is taking to slowly pull my body back on his cock. He is maybe half an inch deep now, but the motion has stalled. He is too big. I am too small. Either way you put it, he doesn’t fit inside my pussy.
I gasp and let out little whimpers as he tries to urge me back on his dick, gently at first, then with greater force.
“I told you, you’re too big!”
“I am not too large,” he rumbles. “Infants pass through these canals.”
“Not mine, they don’t.”
“Ah, you are yet to produce any progeny.” There is some kind of something in his tone. Judgment, maybe. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. “You should have had four or five by now.”
“Fuck you,” I growl, instantly regretting my rudeness, because suddenly he is another inch deep in me, his big muscled arms yanking me back on his cock.
“Ow, fuck! You fucking…”
My cursing is cut off as he starts to fuck me, using the inch and a half of territory he has claimed to fuck my pussy with short, swift strokes. I can’t talk. I can barely breathe.
Each and every one of those thrusts lets him sink deeper and deeper. My pussy is giving way to him, letting him in further, allowing him to plunder me for all I have. Soon my tight little hole is stretched around the massive invasion, and I am impaled on him, arms held back, head up, wailing my near orgasmic cries.
“I punish you, and you only get wetter, virlash,” he growls, his voice thick with alien lust. “Fucking will not gurzik for you, will it. Hypersexual little thing.”
I can barely understand anything he is saying. Blood is rushing in my ears, and his voice is becoming more and more heavily accented as he slips in and out of his native tongue.
This is not going as I expected. She is such a small creature, I thought one taste of my cock would scare her into obedience. I thought she would feel it against her sex and immediately become compliant. I never imagined that she would take it, that her hips would do that dirty little dance and invite me in.
Her inner walls are gripping my cock eagerly, and every time I pull out, it feels as though they are trying to pull me back in. Her body was designed lightyears away from mine, millions of years before mine, but it is perfect. I have never fucked a human before. I had no idea how they were built for sexual performance first and foremost. Her pussy is a hot canal capable of taking my cock, which is a great deal thicker than the wrist I am now pinning behind her back.
Looking down at her pussy lips gripping my cock, I could spend myself inside her here and now. But this is supposed to be a lesson in obedience for her, not pleasure for me. I did not intend to gratify myself. I wanted to teach her a lesson.
Instead, the seed is roiling, begging for release and I do not know how much longer I can contain myself. Even when staying completely still inside her, I can feel the muscles of her sex squeezing me. Her body is designed to do one thing—seduce a male and take his seed.
I thought I was the one in control, but it is her female flesh that has intoxicated me, brought me to the brink of climax.
Don’t come inside her, I remind myself harshly. Can’t have any little half-breeds running around the universe, even if this union were able to produce one. Humans are rare. Should be mated by other humans.
The idea of any other cock inside this perfect cunt gives me war rage. Mine. This is mine. She is mine. Mine.
The word pounds through my head as I hold her beneath me and fuck her with the longest, hardest, most punishing strokes I can muster in this limited position. Her cries of passion and perhaps pain, the gripping of her cunt, the rolling of twin globes of hot flesh.
I pull out just in time, my cum spurting from my cock, coating her spanked ass, her back, going all the way up to her neck with the great jets of pressure produced by the orgasmic muscles seated behind my dick. They say our kind can impregnate a woman at a hundred paces.
It has been a long time since I spilled my seed. There is a lot of it. It covers her ass in a pale glaze, pools in the small of her back, runs down the sides of her waist. She lifts her hips, some instinctive motion to try to capture my seed in her pussy. She wants to be mated.
And suddenly, I see how stupid I have been. I threatened a fertile, sex-starved woman with sex. May as well threaten a starving man with food.
Now that I have released myself, I can think again. I want to break her to my will. I want to take her for my own. I want to put her on her knees and punish her and tease her and dominate her until she begs for my cum. She arouses my primal mating instincts like no other creature ever has.
But I will not be a slave to my desires. She will be the slave.
I came here for a trinket to trade. Now I want much more.
He didn’t just come on me. He fucking flooded me. I am sticky and messy with his seed, which is already drying on my skin.
My pussy is sore and aching. In the heat of the moment, his huge cock felt incredible, but as my arousal starts to fade, I feel the effects of his discipline.
Thick drips of his seed run down over my ass and find my pussy. My ravaged sex tingles as that cum runs between the little folds and crevices of my lips. It’s as if there’s something in his cum reacting with my flesh, making it warmer and tinglier and… oh, god. I let out an involuntary gasp as a bead of his seed finds its way down my pussy to my clit.
“Fuck!” I push my hand down between my legs and rub that little bud. It feels like it’s swelling up, in a way that feels so fucking good. I am incredibly sensitive between my thighs, my whole pussy is starting to react.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, what did you…”
I roll over to my back, my hand pushed down between my legs, rubbing furiously as I stare at him. I can’t help myself. I have to come. I need to come. The rough fucking my cunt just took wasn’t enough.
“Stop!” He grabs my hand, first the one that was rubbing, then the other, which I push straight down between my thighs. I moan and arch my pussy, my thighs spread wide.
“You’re having an allergic reaction,” he says. “I need to clean that off you.”
“The swelling won’t stop,” he says. “The longer it stays on there, the longer your little pussy is going to hurt afterward.”
“I don’t care!”
Nothing he’s saying matters. All I care about is the heat and arousal between my legs. I’m being driven toward a climax like no other. Every part of me starts to shake. My lips tingle, my breath comes shorter and harder, my cheeks are flushed, and my limbs are shaking.
“Stop it, girl.” He growls the command, but I don’t listen.
My whole body is suffused with pleasure not entirely realized. It’s like I’m rising and rising, getting closer and closer, but not quite getting there, my fingers strumming that hot alien cum against my clit over and over.
I start to come, and it’s an orgasm like I didn’t know orgasm could be. Pleasure jets through my body, shoots up my spine, over my scalp. I am tingling all over, gasping and crying out. It feels as though his hand is clasped at my throat, though I can feel both his hands elsewhere on my writhing body. My limbs contort, my legs drawing up to my chest as I shake and moan and wail, pure release rocketing through my body over and over again in waves.
“Zuhit!” What sounds like a swear word explodes out of Crash.
I hear myself making noises that don’t even sound human anymore. Moaning, grunting gasps, and wails. My fingers are stuck between my thighs, rubbing the bud of my clit as I stimulate myself into orgasm after orgasm, one after the other, over and over, the best feeling I’ve ever had in my whole entire life.
The edges of the world are turning black, my vision is blurring, I am light and floating and there is nothing to anchor me to this world anymore. I could float away right now, fuck myself into eternity’s embrace…
Something hard and fabric-like with a cool gel is whacked between my legs. Crash wrangles me as I buck against him, trying to pull it off. He just took the orgasms away. Oxygen and anger rush back into my body.
“That has an anti-semen preparation on it,” he says, rubbing it over my pussy, pushing it firmly into place. “You’ll feel better in a moment.”
“I was feeling better before!”
“You were dying,” he growls, looping his arm around my flailing legs and pinning me down on the bed like a wrestler. “You were having an allergic reaction to my semen. Another few seconds of that and you wouldn’t have been able to breathe at all.”
I let out a long groan. My heart is thundering in my chest, my body is flushed from head to toe, and my pussy is throbbing with post-coital desire. Crash seems seriously disturbed. I can see the concern written all over his handsome face. But I can’t muster even the slightest worry because I feel so incredibly good. Better than I’ve felt in as long as I can remember. Every muscle in my body is relaxed. It’s as if someone attached a hose to me and just sucked all the tension right out.