by Loki Renard
We have a new ship.
Reaper listened to his bag, though One is not taking kindly to being referred to as a bag. I can hear her complaining about it faintly in the distance, all the way over on the other side of the ship, which is so much larger than the old one we could probably all get lost in it.
42 and I have our own quarters. That means we have space to ourselves for the first time, but I have new problems to contend with, namely 42 not wanting to disembark from the suit.
“Why can’t I stay in it?”
“Because you're not actually a dog.”
“I liked being a dog.”
“What can I tell you,” I sympathize vaguely. “Life’s hard.”
“That’s not a reason,” she says, picking the head up. “I’m putting it back on.”
“There are a limited number of uses.”
“What?”
“Each suit can only be worn so many times before it falls apart. So I know you like it, but if you use it around the ship, you’ll wear it out before we reach our destination, and you might need it there.”
“Everything wears out,” 42 complains, her pretty face falling into a pout.
“Maybe we can use this time to get to know each other,” I suggest, trying to change the subject.
42
“I could get to know you, but there’s no way you can get to know me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t even know me. What can I tell you?”
“You know more than you think,” he says. “You know that you like silk gowns, tiaras, and being a mastiff. Back on Earth, that was considered everything anyone needed to qualify as a personality.”
I snort, not knowing if he intends to be funny, or rude, or if it’s just that he never really liked people as much as he thinks he did. He is very alien to me, not just in his appearance, which is wildly strange, but in the way he thinks and acts.
But he seems to like me, and want good things for me, and for that reason, he is the center of my universe. He protects me. He feeds me. He makes sure I don’t have to want for anything.
“What’s wrong,” he says, concerned. “You look like you’re going to cry.”
“I am going to cry,” I whimper. “I’m going to cry because you’re so nice.”
“Don’t cry because I’m nice!”
But it’s too late. I’m already crying. Hot tears run down my face as he gathers me into his arms, doing his best to retract all the hard spiky bits that would hurt me. He holds me close and makes soothing sounds to me. When they don’t work, he starts crooning to me.
“Never gonna give you up…. Never gonna let you down…”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m singing you an ancient Earth ballad,” he says. “They used to really enjoy this song. I’m sure we still have it in our computer files. For a time, humans would send it to one another in a disguised format. We believe it may have been subject to suppression by the authorities. Perhaps it was a way for people to signal to one another without being detected?”
“Was it a dangerous song?”
“Maybe, who knows. We were never harmed by it, but humans always insisted that sounds could be harmful, so perhaps this contained some unspeakable words. There was so much we never really understood. Humans are among the most complex species in existence. Or were.”
“I’m human,” I sniff.
“You are,” he says. “And that means you cry when you are happy.”
I snuggle into him, knowing that his body was not really made for cuddling. He is so hard, completely unyielding in every way. I know that the hard plates, sharp ridges, claws and fangs which slip out whenever he is not paying attention must be an effort to keep retracted. But he wants me close. I can feel that in his embrace. I matter to him.
I don’t know why. I don’t think I’ve ever mattered to anyone. If I had, I don’t remember it. But I feel like I would remember feeling like this. There is a warmth in my belly, spreading out through my chest, finding my limbs and making me feel so incredibly safe.
“Do you feel better, little human?”
His voice is a deep rumble moving through me. I do feel better. Against all reason, finding myself in the grip of this alien, I feel my heart rate slowing, my entire body relaxing, muscles losing the tension that they’ve been locked in for months.
As he caresses me, he starts talking to me, telling me about the planet he says all my kind come from.
“Americans were a very special breed, though they weren’t really a breed, more a geographic collective. They could put cheese on anything, and also, turn anything into a conference. Sometimes they did both at the same time. Cheese conferences. They were a thing.”
“What’s a conference?”
“It’s when people sit at tables, and other people walk around them. Sometimes they sign things, or take pictures.”
“Oh.”
“I’m probably explaining it wrong,” he says apologetically. “I’m sure they had their reasons. But we went to a lot of conventions down there. They were the one place we didn’t have to wear our human suits.”
“You have a human suit?”
“Not at the moment, but I could probably synthesize one.”
“I’d really like to see that.”
“Your I’d really like is my command,” he smiles at me. I can tell he’s relieved that I’m not crying anymore. He doesn't like to see me in any kind of pain, even if it’s just emotional. But I’m not in pain. I haven’t been since he broke my chains and set me free.
I can’t believe I’d ever let anyone lead me by a leash, but I let him, because I trust him.
Holy hell. I trust him. Didn’t expect to find that thought floating around my brain. I’m not sure what to do with it. Trust isn’t something I’ve indulged in since waking up in a hellscape.
I wish I could remember what happened before coming to consciousness. I do seem to have some memories. I know how to speak, for instance. I have feelings about things, even if I don’t recall why I feel that way.
His impossibly large hands are running over my shoulders, down my arms and settling on my hips. That touch sends a bolt of pure heat through me, zipping right to the core of my sex. I feel my inner walls clenching in response.
“Stop it,” I whisper.
“Stop what?”
“Touching me.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me want you.”
“You’re supposed to want me.”
“But we’re…”
“Getting to know one another,” he purrs against my neck. “No need to talk. No need to tell stories. We just let our bodies communicate.”
His hand is between my thighs, squeezing my sex lightly. My tears dry as the chemicals shift inside me, my body refocusing on the sensations he is beginning to stir inside me. I have known him this way from nearly the beginning, when I was barely rescued, traumatized and afraid and still his touch made me climax.
“Hands and knees,” he says, putting me down in an all fours position. When my knees are spread I feel the lips of my sex spreading too, the cheeks of my bottom likewise exposing the two holes he is so interested in.
He waits a long moment, and I do not know what he is doing. I have started to make impatient noises when a leash slides around my throat, surprising me.
“I’ve noticed you like being a good little puppy,” he rumbles. “I think you look good on a leash. I think it makes you arch your ass and beg for a fucking even if you don’t know you’re doing it.”
I blush at his crude words, but he’s not wrong.
He uses the leash to keep me in place as the head of that huge cock finds the seam of my lips, the place where he belongs inside me. The place I most belong to him. My arousal has been conditioned to be nearly instant when it comes to this massive alien beast, so when he thrusts roughly inside me I let out a moan of pleasure as my already slick inner walls spread in welcome.
“Reaper doesn’t think I know
how to control you,” he murmurs against my ear, pulling the leash a little tighter still. “But I do, don’t I, pet?”
I let out a low moan, feeling my pussy clenching wetly. He is right. I like being on his leash. I like feeling his control. There is something so perfectly animal about it, something we both feel as we surrender to the lust between us.
My face is pressed to the ground, my hips are high, the leash is wrapped around my neck and his cock is plunging inside my wet channel, making the most lewd sounds as he claims me with a rough intensity which makes every part of my captive body tingle.
Fuck yes. Fuck me.
I want to feel this way forever. I want the soft curves of my body to writhe in perfect submission. His massive hands grip my hips and pull me higher until my face and toes both leave the floor. I am still bent over, but dangling from his grip, pulled on and off his cock in long thrusts which make me feel every bit of the thick intrusion and then leave me craving more every time he pulls out.
I am moaning, wailing, taken by Tarkan, feeling the helplessness of my human form and not minding it one bit. There is ecstasy in this kind of weak surrender, giving myself to a beast who knows how to artfully use my body to our mutual advantage.
He surges in and out of me. He makes me give him everything. He said we would get to know one another this way, but when I am locked around his cock, I don’t feel as though there is any me at all. I am freed from the concept of me and him. I stop being a small separate thing in the world and instead I become the willing vessel of his lust. I become pure pleasure, a series of orgasmic explosions going off one after the other.
I know how it must look, me bent over, my pale soft body bent in total sexual supplication, my sex dripping with the creamy juice of need as his massive cock slams in and out of me, his much larger form crouched over mine, his dorsal ridge flared out back, his horns twitched forward, his eyes flaming with need, a near constant growling escaping him with every thrust which drives us closer to the edge of wet oblivion.
Chapter Seven - WELCOME
Tarkan
“TARKAN!”
I don't know where I am when my name is shouted. It takes me far too long to come to my senses and realize that I am lying on my back. 42 is sprawled over me, her pussy still wrapped around the head of my cock. She has a fuck-drunk look on her pretty face, her body covered in sweat.
“You were so good,” I praise, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. She makes a vague noise and shifts slightly, slipping from my belly down to the bed.
The leash remains around her neck, a reminder of the way she arched and trembled when she felt that go on. She liked that. She likes being kept on her knees. She likes giving me everything she…
“TARKAN!”
Reaper is pounding on the door.
“Coming!” I call out. It’s not what I want to call, but I’m in far too good a mood to start fighting with Reaper right now.
“Get some sleep,” I murmur, unnecessarily. 42 has already drifted back to sleep. I get up, wipe myself down and put some pants on. There’s no hiding what we were doing. The way 42 and I were screaming probably left little to the imagination.
Reaper better have a damn good reason for interrupting my post-coital relaxation period.
“Where are you!?”
“Bridge!” He calls out as he stamps back that way.
I follow him there, where I find the instruments going completely mental.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re coming into range of the planet,” Reaper says. “It’s broadcasting a signal. Repeatedly.”
“What’s it got to say?”
“Not what I expected it to say. I thought it would be a warning to stay clear of the planet. Threats of missiles and things. It’s not that at all.”
“Threat of worse than missiles? Mega missiles? Ultra death? Are we going to fight an army of millions? Or a million armies? Will it involve horse sized ducks?”
I could question him forever, mostly because I know it annoys him, and as the second hatched broodkin, it is my duty to annoy the first born. It is a sacred duty, one I have been skimping on lately while I've been distracted by 42.
Reaper presses the intercom button. The signal sends an image to our screens, a big pink splash of color with the word WELCOME plastered across it in comforting thick letters. What follows is a series of images of waterfalls, oceans, lava lakes, which are probably supposed to be pleasing even though we’d be melted in them if we tried to dip our toes in them the way some aliens pictured are.
WELCOME! The voice declares. It is a rich, warm, comforting voice which makes me feel immediately calm. It’s the sort of voice you’d want to hear from your captain if you were on Earth on a plane, at least, before Earth was transformed into a wasteland without any kind of air travel whatsoever.
WELCOME, TRAVELERS! YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT THE OUTER LAYER OF THE INTERSTELLAR GARDENS, A ZOOLOGICAL AND CULTURAL PARADISE CONTAINING THE RAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS SPECIMENS AND ENVIRONMENTS FROM ACROSS THE UNIVERSE. YOU WILL SOON BE GREETED BY ONE OF OUR TOUR GUIDES WHO WILL HELP YOU FIND ACCOMMODATION, AND INTRODUCE YOU TO THE WONDERS OF CREATION. THE INTERSTELLAR GARDENS ARE BROUGHT TO YOU BY GALACTOR, MAKERS OF OW! THE FROZEN HYDROGEN SUPPLEMENT OF CHAMPIONS.
“Well,” I say. “That sounds promising.”
“Does it? It’s a Galactor property. And you know what that means?”
“Branding?”
“I was thinking more our greatest enemies.”
“True, but then again, who isn’t our greatest enemy these days?”
The universe is full of dominant, predatory species. You don’t get off your planet without first dominating every other form of life on it, that’s just how it is. It’s the same with solar systems, galaxies, etcetera. At every level of life, something has to prevail. Scythkin are fearsome and highly effective predators, and our reproductive strategy is second to none. But Galactor is also a force to be reckoned with. They’re an alliance of multiple trading species, who have decided that co-operation is the way to survive. They can be far more ruthless and do even more damage than a scythkin raiding party. But they’re always nice about it.
“Unlike our own brand of scythkin control which is more razing everything from existence, and replacing it with endless nests of brood who hatch, slither all over the world consuming what resources are left, and…”
“Well,” Reaper interrupts. “There are pros and cons to both approaches. But Galactor is not going to welcome a pair of scythkin.”
“You don’t know that. We can be very charming when we want to be. We can disarm them with our charm.”
“We can disarm them,” Reaper agrees, “but I think that would more involve ripping off their arms and shoving them down…”
“Are we here?” 42 has woken up from her nap and followed me out to the control room.
“We’re here,” I tell her. “But you might want to go put your suit on.” I turn to Reaper. “And we might need to make a couple ourselves. We need to look like members of the Galactor accord.”
“I’m not familiar with the species. I’ve battled many, but they never stayed in one piece very long. Certainly not long enough to base a suit on them.”
“The computer will generate one. What species do you want to emulate? I feel like we should do the same one.”
“What about Booleans? 42 likes to wear the Boolean mastiff, so it might make sense to have her with us.”
“One could wear the same suit. Then we’d match across the board.”
“I am not going to be a dog!” One calls out. She’s always listening, smart little thing. And she always has an opinion.
“You’re going to be over my knee if you don’t stop eavesdropping,” Reaper calls back, winking at me. He’s not really going to punish her for that, even if she does deserve it. Both our girls are much more spoiled than they should be. But that’s what you get when you’re the last two humans in creation.
42
&nbs
p; So this is where I maybe came from. It’s a beautiful place. Even at this distance I can see planets stretching out as far as the eye can see, dozens of perfect little worlds.
“This place has been terraformed,” Tarkan says, answering the question that’s dancing around in my head. “These worlds aren’t natural. They’ve been generated with interstellar earthworks. It’s really impressive. My species tried to do something like this once, but we gave up and invaded the neighboring galaxy halfway through.”
“Shuttle approaching,” Reaper calls out. “Let’s get those suits on.”
“I’m NOT going to be a dog!” The female cry rings out from somewhere deep in the ship.
Reaper sighs to himself then leaves the helm to deal with One. I shake my head and look at Tarkan. “She’s so dramatic. Doesn’t she know he’s just trying to keep her safe?”
“One is used to getting her own way,” Tarkan explains. “She was on her own for a very long time.”
“I’ve never had my own way,” I muse. “I don’t even know what my way would be.”
“I’m sure you’ll work that out soon enough,” Tarkan says. “Now I need to put my suit on. Want to come with?”
“Are you going to put the human suit on?”
“Can’t, I’m afraid. We’ve gone with the dominant Galactor species, the Murketeers.”
“Murketeers? They sound disgusting.”
“Some of them can be pretty cute,” he says.
He pulls the suit up over his body and I watch, shocked and excited as he is transformed from a powerful Scythkin warrior into something that looks so innocuous that I can’t believe he’s actually in there. His transformation is completely different to mine. I look scarier than I really am. He looks far less dangerous.
His face is all smooth. His fangs are gone. Not retracted the way they sometimes are when he tries to look less scary for my benefit. When he does that they still poke out under his lips. But his lips are gone too. He has a big smooth, wide mouth full of teeth that look like they’re made to gnaw on leaves and grasses. His nose is very flat, two slits which move when he breathes in and out. His eyes are dark and large, holding an expression of perpetual surprise, and maybe offense.