The bathroom is spacious and well-equipped, but stiflingly humid. The smell of what counts as soap and bath foam on this planet itches in my nose. Several translucent, spider-like creatures scuttle around on the slick floor tiles, drawn to the eternal dampness of the room, and I have to fish several jelly-like strings of insectoid eggs out of the bathtub and chuck them out the window.
Reminder: The manager of this establishment is a slug.
A footfall rings out behind me and I take a glimpse over my shoulder.
Oh.
Oh. My.
He’s not really gray. The parts that are uncovered and exposed to the air and the battle were just dirty, or maybe smeared and darkened as some sort of tactical precaution, or maybe the darker coloring is just the Dryth version of a tan.
Now that he has taken off his boots, pants, his cuirass, and unwound his tail from his waist, it turns out that he is actually silver. Not bright like the Silver Surfer or anything, more like raw graphite. Dark but shiny.
Just like I had assumed, his torso does have a peculiar shape. He has a partial sort of exoskeleton, and bits of his ribcage seem to stick out of his skin as hornlike protrusions, the whole thing looking like a set of curly braces standing back to back. He doesn’t have nipples or a belly button. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t have the same types of organs as humans do, or at least not in the same numbers.
His tail does indeed look like a living snake. It’s moving in soft, wavy patterns, its tip curled up and hovering just above the floor behind him, its scales shiny and black as it moves.
Oh, and also I can’t help but notice that he is packing.
Just like the rest of him is rather humanoid, his penile appendage is located at the center of his groin and generally shaped like a human male’s penis. It’s slightly sleeker, for want of a better word, than an average human dick would be, and symmetrically ribbed down its length. It’s difficult to say exactly how long it is, because it seems to be curled inward between his massive, muscular thighs, sort of like a ram’s horn.
Well. That’s certainly a welcome change from my last few customers (whom I personally dubbed Spirelli, Rigatoni, and Tortellini, respectively). My inner muscles give a brief anticipatory clench.
“Do you prefer a bath or a shower?” I ask and smile sweetly and somehow manage to lift my eyes to his face. Things are looking up.
“You will bathe. I will shower,” he declares, and my smile falters a little. I had rather been looking forward to some… foreplay? Just a bit of touching? Maybe things are not looking as up as I had hoped.
“Very well,” is all I can say, and walk over to the baskets full of bathing accessories.
Seconds later, I am immersed in pleasantly warm water that prickles on my skin like soda. Intentionally keeping my back to him, I treat my body and my hair to liberal bath milk and sponge and make sure to catch every spot several times over while being gentle with the dinged-up spots.
When I finally turn to face my customer, I chide myself an idiot. Here I was, giving him the silent treatment and my back, when I could have been talking to and looking at him for several long minutes already.
He is standing underneath the waterfall stream like a monolith, letting the water beat down on his head, neck and shoulders. Silvery pearls trace rivulets down his face, his arms and chest and stomach.
Naked wet men had always been my weakness. I blame the Davidoff Cool Water TV commercials of my youth. You know the ones. (Hnngh.)
Good grief, this is a particularly fine specimen, though.
“So… what would you like me to call you?” Which name do you want me to scream?
Again, his eyes narrow and he pauses. Sheesh, so skeptical. I dip down into the tub and shimmy my shoulders to draw attention to the girls. Men are not the only ones who look good with water pearling off their skin, after all.
“Or do you want me to give you a name?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. “I’m afraid I am not familiar with Dryth customs. Do your people have individual names?”
“We choose,” he eventually answers. Progress. “After a foretold number of enemies has been vanquished, we are honored with a name of our choosing.”
“Oh,” I say. I don’t dare ask exactly what number that is, and what ‘vanquishing’ entails. In fact, I have decided that thinking about the whole mass murdering violent conquistador thing won’t help me one bit. Right here, right now, he’s just a male customer. And I’m just a girl, standing before a Dryth, asking him his name so that I can personally address him by it when I ask him politely to fuck me (and ideally not hurt or kill me in the process).
“And which name have you chosen?” I pout a little. “Unless you would rather not share it with me?”
Again, he is silent. His hands are now moving around his torso and upper arms, carefully and meticulously wiping the last traces of soot and grime away and uncovering his beautiful natural coloring underneath.
Just before I can move on to some other topic, he opens his mouth.
“Hylvekairsiforbane.”
My eyebrows go up. I don’t even know if that’s one word or many, or how many, or if it’s his first, middle and last name all together. Also, my mouth certainly doesn’t move like that. No wonder his English enunciation is flawless.
“Alright,” I answer cheerily. “’Bane’ it is, if you don’t mind.”
He doesn’t mind. Or if he does, he doesn’t want to tell me.
We bathe and shower in silence for a bit.
“Va-l’ree,” he suddenly says. It takes me a second to understand what he’s doing, and it makes me a little warm inside.
“Val-luh-ree,” I instruct slowly. “Valerie. But ‘Ree’ is fine, especially since you’re ‘Bane’. We make a matching pair, then.”
He nods and falls silent. I sigh. Figures that space Mongols don’t have an easy time catching on to lighthearted pre-coital banter. Makes me wonder what kinds of pre-coital rituals they do have. I should ask him about it at some point.
Speaking of pre-coital… Bane hasn’t turned around once, so I’m guessing he doesn’t mind me seeing (avidly watching, more like) what’s happening in his midsection.
There’s, uhm. Quite a lot of unexpected movement.
If I didn’t know better (and I don’t), I’d say that the part I thought was his penis is actually a separate entity. It moves around in wavy motions, like his tail (the one on the back), and curls up again only to extend and stretch once more, but it also seems to pulse as well as expand and deflate, almost like it’s breathing. With every little motion, the silvery sheen of his skin there, slightly duller than on the rest of his now-clean body, reflects the light back at me. As I watch, I realize that he doesn’t have testicles as such. There is a longish lump fused to the base of his cock that might have the same function, though. He also doesn’t have pubic hair. It’s fascinating, really.
“You are curious,” he remarks, snapping me out of deep observation of his privates. He doesn’t specify if he means ‘curious’ in the ‘nosy and inquisitive’ way, or the ‘strange and very odd’ way. I guess both apply to me right about now.
“Well, you are remarkable,” I say lightly and emerge from the tub before the water does damage to my skin.
I make a point to stand just a little more than an arm’s length in front of him and proceed with my skin-and-hair-aftercare. Lotions and tinctures and conditioners that need to me massaged in. Slowly and sensually, like in the commercials. Also, my still-bleeding cut needs a bit of pampering.
I know he is watching my every move. That’s the reason why I put myself right underneath his nose, really. Think of it as self-serving customer service. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his cock twitch and undulate against his thighs. My mouth begins to water.
“Would you care to help me with this?” I hold the jar of cream out to him. “My skin is very sensitive and can be damaged by the bath. I can’t reach my back by myself.”
After eyeing the jar with quiet suspicion for a long moment, he takes it from my hand. The way it looks so much smaller in his palm sends a little shiver up my spine. I turn away from him and gather my long wet hair up and out of the way on top of my head.
Nothing happens for a long, long while, except that the spray from his shower tickles against my backside and the back of my legs. Patience, I remind myself. Good things cum on her who waits… or something like that.
His first touch his so tentative that I hardly feel it. There’s a little dab against my shoulder, like a butterfly kiss from cool lips. Still, I sigh appreciatively to encourage him. Soon, I feel his fingertips and roughened palms against the center of my back. His skin is heavily calloused but feels nice because it’s all slick with lotion. I moan just a little louder than necessary, putting it on thick.
“You are very good at this,” I commend him. “You must have practiced a lot with females of your own species.”
It is not always wise to talk with my customers about their own peoples. Some aliens treasure their women so much that it is forbidden to even speak of them. Some just don’t like to be reminded. I’m asking Bane because I’m truly curious and he’s not exactly forthcoming with the signals. And yes, also because I’m morbidly curious about how the Dryth do it with their females – before, during and after – and because I have the feeling that if I can make this good for him, there’s going to be magic happening for me.
Man, I could do with some magic right now. It’s been decidedly too long since I had some.
Bane makes a noise that is not quite a chuckle. It surprises me.
“The females of my own species would bite my fingers off before they would freely allow me to touch their skin.”
“Oh?” I turn my head to look at him sideways over my shoulder. “Tell me more?”
Again, he pauses. I’m starting to suspect that he is really, deeply suspicious of everyone and everything. Guess that’s the downside of being part of the most feared species this side of Betelgeuse. Everyone is a potential enemy, potentially collecting intel on you.
“Female Dryth are called Drahta. One of them is called an A’Draht,” he begins slowly, never stopping the circular motion of his hand across my back.
I smile. Every bit of information is like a little gift. Plus, he really is good with his hands.
“They have a different name because they are very different from Dryth. They are smaller, thinner. They have claws for fingers and toes. They cannot speak but hiss and bark like gordrun, and they have the same needle teeth. They walk mostly on all fours.”
I do not know what a gordrun is, but I figure it’s some sort of wild needle-toothed animal that hisses and barks. Either way, female Dryth sound… uh, charming. No wonder their men go out conquering the universe instead of staying home.
“The Drahta live in the valleys and the forests, in big groups of Drahta. Far apart from Dryth.”
“That must make dating a nightmare,” I can’t help but comment.
He suddenly puts a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder and pulls me until I turn around on the spot, until we're face to face. He hands me the jar - I keep my hair bunched up on my head with one hand instead - then dips three fingers into the cream, rubs his hands together to spread it on his palms, and finally presses both of his big hands onto my tits.
I moan low and don’t have to put on an act at all this time.
I like touch, always have. I like it when someone touches my breasts. (Deal with it, Grandma Georgia.) I like it when that someone is a strapping man (male) who is gentle for me despite his brute strength. I especially like it when he doesn’t flounder or feel the need to ask.
With all my customers treating me like an exotic animal and figuring out my front and back ends, I’ve almost forgotten how good it feels to just be… handled.
I watch his fingers rub the cream into my soft, pliant chest. He knows as well as I do that I’ve already lotioned that body part – I was right in front of him while I did it, quite ostentatiously, too. Which means that he’s only doing it because he wanted to touch my tits.
I surreptitiously clench my thighs together.
“When a Dryth is ready to mate, he goes and searches for the Drahta. He follows their pride,” Bane continues, his eyes equally focused on the movement of his hands across my skin. “If he is lucky, an A’Draht will be in heat. She comes out of hiding to confront him.”
‘Confront’, aha. I’m having the sneaking suspicion that Dryth-Drahta pre-coital rituals are a smidge more antagonistic than what we’re doing right now. He softly rubs my nipples with his thumbs and they harden for him.
“They will fight and draw blood. Sometimes, the Dryth is killed.”
A big smidge more antagonistic.
“If the Dryth is worthy, the A’Draht can be subdued and mated. Once she is staked, she will escape back to the Drahta and have her offspring.”
“Romantic,” I comment with a raised eyebrow. “I hope you do not expect me to try and kill you. Because that is not at all the human way.”
I watch, fascinated, as his pupils dilate until they are almost oval. At the same time, he slides his right hand from my breast to between my legs and feels me there. I stand up straighter and swallow my gasp.
“If you did try, I would prove worthy,” he says.
“Someone sure is very sure of themselves,” I observe with my voice just a little breathy.
I hold very still as his big, blunt fingers, still oily with the skin cream, slide over and through the folds of my pussy, trace the entrance of my vagina and the pucker of my anus. After a short period of getting to know my different bits and pieces, he seems to simply enjoy the feel of me. What can I say? I am slick, smooth and warm down there, very nice to touch. I close my eyes and let myself sway a bit on my feet, allow my hips to rock back and forth on his fingers. So nice.
“Am I worthy, human Ree?” he asks. His voice is suddenly deeper, more growly.
I open my eyes to look upon his face and realize that I’m not only seeing arousal but also anger in it.
I guess I can’t really blame him. Seeing what he just told me about sexy times in his homeworld, I just forced him to do foreplay that’s the exact opposite of what he knows and is used to, and he has no way of knowing whether he has passed my test or not. Like any self-respecting Space Mongol, he’s all about honor and pride. Like any living, thinking creature, he doesn’t fancy being made fun of, especially not with his clothes off.
“Come,” I tell him and grab him gently by the wrist of the hand that’s buried between my legs. I pull him after me through the doorway and back into the main room. There are beds, sofas and chairs and soft carpet that isn’t teeming with little water-loving critters. The air is pleasantly cool on my damp skin and wonderful to breathe after the humid soup in the bath.
We come to stand in the middle of the chamber and I let go of his arm as I turn towards him once more. I can’t help but notice that his penis has changed its shape again. It is now a long, thick hose that points straight to the floor while still swaying and twitching about. The ribs and ridges along its sides seem to have swelled up, gotten more pronounced. Oh, this is going to feel either godawful or fucking phenomenal inside of me. My fingers itch with the need to touch, but I hold myself back.
I’ve had enough initiative. It’s time to step back and let him have the reins for the next bit.
It’s only fair. Human style foreplay. Dryth style fucking.
“Tell me all about mating,” I demand. “On your planet, with your females. In detail. What happens when a Dryth is worthy?”
The muscles in his square jaw ticks once. Still angry, then. Thankfully, he deigns to answer me nevertheless.
“When a Dryth is worthy, he will subdue his A’Draht.”
“With weapons?”
My eyes go to the neat heap of armor that sits in a corner and is propped up against the wall.
“No. With his hands and feet, and his tail and mouth. With his body.”
As if to underline his point, he opens and clenches his fists and stands a little taller in front of me, and then steps forward into my private space. It’s merely a shuffle of his feet, not even five inches, but the difference is vast.
“Does he draw blood?” I ask and shrink sideways and back equally subtly, restoring our previous distance and my little private bubble for now. “From the female?”
“Not after the first time, not after the courting. Not unless the A’Draht incites him to do so.”
Again, he comes half a foot forward.
I nod and slide half a foot back. “And what does the A’Draht do?”
A dark sort of smile flickers across his face.
“She struggles yet offers herself. Both. Her mind is stubborn, but her body is secretly willing.”
My pulse begins to thud a little harder. Talk about secretly willing bodies.
“Does she get hurt? By him, I mean?”
“Not unless she incites the Dryth to hurt her,” he replies with a shake of his head. “Some Drahta incite the Dryth the entire time. They invite the pain. They need it. Some Drahta are less volatile. The pain they seek is harmless. But they all need strength and subjugation. Otherwise, the Dryth is not considered worthy by her.”
Some Drahta aren’t naughty little fillies who try to run away from me. He takes a clear step toward me.
A wave of lust washes over me. God, I am crazy keyed up. The insides of my thighs slide against each other slickly, and it's not just from the skin cream he put there earlier.
My last question needs a little shove to leave my mouth, which is also where my heartbeat now resides as I stand my ground in his presence for a full five seconds before evading one more time.
“And how do you like your A’Drath to be?” I ask, holding his gaze. “Harmless and pliable? Feisty? Like a rabid gordrun?”
Another flash of a smile, there and gone again, thoroughly wicked.
“I like it when they fight,” he answers.
Oh. Fuck. I’d hoped you’d say that. Hot little shivers ripple through me, from my middle outwards. Those words in that voice, that complete attention fixed on me, that presence looming over me, the prospect of what is going to happen in a few moments – scary. Really fucking scary.
And so fucking arousing.
I’ve probably gone crazy. Vurn X’lora 15 has made me crazy in the head.
He takes a step toward me, and then another. I back away. He follows promptly, unwaveringly. It’s like a dangerous sort of dance that’s leading us in the general direction of the large platform bed.
“You fought,” he suddenly speaks up, reminding me. “At the table.”
“Well, an imminent threat of being eaten alive always puts me in a pugnacious mood,” I comment, just a bit breathlessly. So does, I’m coming to realize, being pursued across the room by a hot-eyed, lethal alien who wants me feisty.
“I drew blood,” he states with tangible pride, and I just gulp. The cut on my arm – that was him, then? Claiming me in advance, for all his Dryth buddies to see?
Ah shit, this should bother me, shouldn’t it?
And it absolutely shouldn’t turn me on, should it?
He bows down a bit to put us face to face, nose to nose, close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips when he speaks again.
“Fight me, little human,” he demands, and the light in his brass-colored eyes promises, ‘and I’ll make it worth your while’.
I don’t waste a second. I lift my hand and slap him across the mouth as hard as I can, which is pretty hard. I grew up with two bratty sisters, even brattier cousins and a mom with quick palms and little patience, so I got the technique down right from the cradle. Add to that three years of physical labor in this establishment and I pack quite a punch.
His head snaps to the side as the sound of my palm meeting his cheek echoes through the room. When he fixes his eyes on me once more, they are literally glowing like twin flames, and his pupils are dilated even farther so that they are almost round. His nostrils flare. A rolling rumble emanates from his chest.
“Make me, big alien,” I challenge. My veins are humming with adrenaline, and gods I am so fucking wet.
Next thing I know, I am airborne. He simply takes me by the hips, tosses me onto the bed.
Then, he is on me.
With a hoarse yell, I try to twist and scramble away from under him.
Fuck, his weight is delicious. His skin, still wet from his shower, is smooth and heated against my back and my ass. His big hands grab my elbow and the back of my neck again and press me down into the mattress to immobilize me.
I roar when I immediately feel his cock slide into the crack of my ass and buck against him, temporarily dislodging him enough to free my elbow, which I use and blindly stab backwards and up at him. I hit something soft-ish – the underside of his chin, maybe? He grunts and backs away just an inch.
Squirming, I manage to shift my hip around, which gives me enough room to kick at him with my leg and push him farther off me. His hand slips off the back of my neck. I gasp in triumph, which transforms into shock when that hand buries in my hair instead and yanks my head backwards.
“No, no, no!” I give a strangled shout, while the hard, hot twinge between my legs is shouting ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
He knows. His rolling growl is the purr of a pleased tomcat. Again his dick lodges itself along my ass crack, liberally smearing my skin with lube or pre-cum or both and twitching there like crazy.
Apparently, I’m finally speaking his language.
Collecting my strength, I struggle to turn my whole body around on the bed and manage to get my buttocks under me, so that I can use all the power in my legs to push him away. At the same time, I crane my neck until I can reach his upper arm with my mouth – and I bite him. I latch on to his bicep and sink my teeth into his skin. Or I try, at least. It’s too tough and my teeth aren’t sharp enough to draw blood.
Still, he bellows, lets go of my hair, and his weight lifts off me for a split second. That’s enough for me to crawl away and tumble off the bed.
The second I hit the carpet on all fours, his big arm comes around the front of my neck. It tightens and I bow backwards. His legs pin my calves down. His free hand slides along my back, under my arms, grabbing them both at once and immobilizing them between my back and his front.
“Submit,” he tells me quietly. His agitated breath drips into my ear.
“To you, never!” I scoff as best as I can. He’s as serious as I am. The bulging muscle of his lower arm presses against my throat with considerable force and my voice comes out squeaky. My eyes get a bit teary. But I’m far from done.
I buck again and manage to contort enough to pull one arm free, aided by the residual lotion on my skin which makes me slippery as an eel. Again I blindly stab backwards with my elbow and again I hit something, causing him to shift his body around. That gives me enough space to reach around me. The first thing my hand encounters, I grab on to and squeeze hard, hoping to inflict some pain. I’ve always had a good, strong handshake that has sent people to their knees back in the day, after all.
This one is… not a hand, though. It’s hard, but also not, and hot and slick and--
He laughs. The sound happens deep in his chest. It raises gooseflesh all over my body.
Stubbornly, I don’t let go of my prize. Maybe I can figure out how to do some damage. I squeeze it really hard and curse my lack of fingernails as well as his lack of balls. He’s impervious. No fair.
“You have looked at it like you wanted to eat it, little human,” Bane tells me and pumps his hips forward, into my tight fist. The wet, squelching noise alone makes me shake a little inside. So much lube. So nice to touch. Silky and warm and strong and slick.
“Not eat,” I bite out the words. “Just… maybe lick and suck.”
His cock gives a ripple of pulses in my hand and the male groans softly. I can’t help but smile in spite of my predicament.
“Your feral little Drahta don’t do that for you, huh?” I mock him unwisely. “Too good to take your cock in their mouths? Or are you too scared they’d bite it off?”
The arm that was locked around mine untangles itself from me so he has one hand free to lift to my face. His fingers clamp around my lower jaw rather roughly and force my mouth open. Without any more preamble, two thick fingers plunge, knuckle-deep, into my mouth.
I try to bite him, but the grip he has on my jaw and chin makes it impossible. Also his skin is tough. My blunt human teeth don’t stand a chance.
He plays with my tongue, catching it between two fingers, pinching and rubbing it. With the pads of his fingers, he feels my teeth, gums and palate and then intentionally triggers my gag reflex several times until I’m drooling, coughing and seeing stars, and tears are streaming down my face.
And through all of it, I can feel myself get so wet between my thighs that I’m dripping onto the carpet. Fuck, I should have brought a towel.
“My spike would not fit into this small mouth of yours,” he muses, filling my mouth with a third finger and pumping them in and out.
Said ‘spike’ bulges outward in my loosened grip, rippling wetly against my palm. I give it an experimental pump and twist my wrist at the tip. I suppress a groan when I can feel the male above me shudder with delight.
“But it could be fed down your gullet.”
As if to demonstrate, he presses my tongue down with his middle finger as he shoves that finger all the way to the back of my throat.
My body convulses as I cough and choke. He holds me so tightly through the onslaught that I can’t even buy me so much as an inch of leeway.
God, he’s so strong and I am so helpless.
And so turned on by both of those facts.
It’s official, I have lost my mind.
“Your body's gullet and windpipe share the same orifice,” he observes almost casually as I shudder and spit against his fingers and flail uselessly with my free arm. “You would not be able to breathe when I mate your mouth.”
The way he says it makes me think he likes the idea.
Fuck, I like the idea.
I jerk my head to the side with all my might, which finally dislodges his fingers from my throat and also catches him in the face with the side of my skull. He rears back a bit, enough for me to duck out of the stranglehold and wriggle my still oily self free once more.
I don’t get very far this time, either, crawling on all fours on the floor. He grabs me by the thigh and uses my center of gravity to flip me onto my back like a goddamn hamburger patty. I screech as the carpet burns against my shoulder blades, and then squawk in outrage when he simply presses his hand – with his fingers still wet from my own saliva – against my cheek, effectively grinding the other side of my face into the well-padded floor.
He slides his lower body between my legs, effortlessly spreading me wide open and grinding his cock against my puffy, sodden core. A moan escapes me when that slick hardness slides against my straining clit, and another follows when the slippery excretion of his cock drips down over my outer labia, my perineum and my anus. It feels almost like a tongue giving me a long, slow lick. Still, I swing my fists in his general direction and blindly pummel his torso.
“Do you submit?” Bane asks me, easily catching both of my wrists in his free hand and pinning them down on the floor next to my head.
“I don’t,” I answer hotly while at the same time rubbing my middle against him. My body is on fire like it hasn’t been before in my entire life. My skin crawls with the need to be touched more and everywhere at once. My muscles and bones and organs feel like they need to be squeezed more. My mouth wants something to fill it again. And oh, god, my pussy is so empty I want to cry.
He leans down and presses his hard lips to my ear.
“Good,” he says, just as the head of his very mobile cock slides between my pussy lips, finds my opening like a probing finger, and surges inside.
And surges. And surges. His cock doesn’t seem to have an end and he just pushes into me in one big wave that doesn't seem to break, slowly yet inexorably, pushes forward until he bottoms out against my cervix, and then pushes some more so that my pliable muscles are forced to stretch to make room for him.
“Ohhh, fuuuck,” I cry out, half muffled by his palm on one side and the carpet on the other side of my face.
Inside. He’s coming inside. It’s like magma pouring into me and filling every nook and cranny of me.
Sweat breaks out of my every pore. I have never felt so full.
I try to put up a last bit of resistance, try to use my thighs and my shoulders to nudge him off me, but it’s no use.
Bane groans and leans more heavily onto his hands, which puts more weight onto my head and my wrists as if determined to make sure that I’m not going anywhere, not moving an inch until he is good and done with me.
He doesn’t pull out so much as flex his cock inside of me, and I howl like an actual animal as my first orgasm hits me like a freight train.
I am already shaking like a leaf and gasping like a fish on land when the actual fucking starts.
Many men, and alien males, have fucked my pussy.
This one fucks me. All of me.
I can literally feel the strength of his loins, of the muscles in his thighs and ass and abdomen and the tight coil of his barely controlled violent lust in my whole body, from my toes to my head. When he thrusts his cock into me, the ripple seems to travel from my vagina up through my womb, spreading through my bowels and stomach and driving the air from my lungs. Even my heart clenches and releases extra hard in response as it pulses madly in my chest as if trying to keep up with him.
A hot spurt of liquid gushes from between my legs and I realize with a shiver that my bladder has released without my permission. He is pounding all of my muscles, including those of my pelvic floor, into submission. Tremblingly, my calves and feet have clamped around his lower back like the pincers of a crab and are holding on to him for dear life.
Because my puny human hands and fists are useless against him anyway, he transfers his one hand from my wrists to my clit and starts flicking it roughly.
I come so hard I black out for a second. I wake up again seconds later and find that, as if my body has gone to survival mode autopilot, my now freed hands are pushing and drumming against his chest. He is as immovable as a goddamn tank.
His other hand slides from my face and comes to rest against the base of my throat. I cry out in relief because I can finally look at him, look at his face and see the wicked glint in his darkened eyes, the white flash of teeth as he grins and grimaces, the flare of his nostrils as he no doubt smells the sweat and other fluids he is coaxing from my body.
“Yes. Fight me,” he demands once more and tightens his grip around my throat just a little, just enough.
My eyes roll up in my head as the next climax roars through me out of nowhere.
While my body is still twitching, something long and lithe slides against the backside of my right thigh and over my right buttock – his tail, I remember, and shiver as the appendage makes its way to my core as well, seems to wallow in the wetness there and finally, in spite of my weak protests, slips between my cheeks to nudge my sphincter.
All of my muscles are so loose and I am so well lubricated that it slides inside me easily. I can barely manage a hoarse cry at the invasion before it, too, starts to fuck me.
“Not so feisty any more, are you, little human?”
He has not stopped fondling my clit. I feel like I’ve been hooked up to an electroshock apparatus.
“Please, please,” I mouth. I’m hoarse from all that screaming and the open-mouthed gasping for air.
“I will stake your hole now,” he tells me, “so no other male will be able to breed you.”
Faintly, I wonder what he means, but then his tail and his cock move against each other in a a way that as me almost swallowing my own tongue in agonizing pleasure, and then his hand around my throat gets so tight for a second that the thunder of my heart seems to leap up into my head, and then my pulse explodes there in a shower of sparks, right behind the eyes.
Once more, with feeling, I orgasm all over his big alien cock and bawl like a big baby because it’s all I can do any more.
It’s just as he said: He doesn’t need weapons. His hands and feet and his tail and mouth and his body are more than enough to get me to submit.
