by Loki Renard
I spread my legs and he claims me as thoroughly as he did the first time. He penetrates me and I feel myself cling to him, grasping his hardness with desperate desire. I want to be connected to him. I want to be the same thing as him. I want to be so inextricably linked that if one of us were to stop breathing, the other would perish. I cannot stand to live without him.
“I need you,” I whimper, my eyes full of tears which roll down my cheeks with every thrust. My hips grind forward, make my sex take him as deep as he can go. I wrap my arms around him, grip his scarred body and I hold on so tight, clenching and writhing until he growls that he’s not going to be able to hold back much longer.
Tarkan
She is devouring me. Her lust is so intense, her love so complete, her contrition so deep I feel as though she is a part of me, her soft female form pleasuring the hard ridges of my cock with squeezing contractions of those tender inner walls.
I could not have died. Not while she was here, willing me to life. If she has learned one thing, I hope it is that I love her, not that I demand her obedience in all things.
“You’ve got me,” I tell her. “Always.”
I thrust deep inside her and hold her there, my palms cupping her ass, my cock throbbing inside the tight chalice of her body. This is a sacred moment between us, our first truly vulnerable connection, and I love her all the more for allowing herself to make it with me. Fortuna has been protecting herself from me from the moment we met, too afraid to ever truly trust. But now, those invisible walls which kept us apart even when we were joined at the flesh are gone.
She grinds against me, humping her hips, making that wet cream coat my hardness. Her lust is powerful, easily my match. There is so much bravery contained in this little human, and though she may regret her rashness, I hope she never loses her boldness.
“I love you,” I growl, claiming her with a kiss. “I love you more than death. I love you more than life. I love you in a way that nothing will ever touch, no action, no twist of fate. Know that, Fortuna. Know you are always and forever mine.”
I pull her up and slam her down on my cock, thrusting the message home with every rough motion until she throws her head back wailing in orgasmic release and I join her in that climax, rising above all pain, all concern, every piece of the universe crumbling and falling away until there is nothing but the truth of our union, perfect, indivisible, and eternal.
Chapter Fifteen - Problem Solved
Tarkan
“So, you fixed the problem with sex.”
“You can fix a lot of things with sex,” I smirk. “Especially where humans are concerned.”
Reaper is not happy. Apparently he expected the ship to be filled with cries of remorse, not orgasm. He folds his arms over his chest, sharp ridges prominent, eyes glowering with the intensity only the first hatched broodkin can ever muster. His display leaves me unaffected. He still doesn’t understand that I chose to let the Galactor peons hurt me, and that I would choose it again.
“What did you want me to do to her? Thrash her within an inch of her life? Beat her until she was unable to move?”
Reaper gives a slight shrug.
“I know you got a fright,” I say. “But beating a soft little human girl won’t make you feel better.”
“I did not get a fright,” he growls. “Scythkin do not get frights.”
I let out a laugh. Reaper would never admit it, but he was terrified when he thought I would die. For the longest time, he and I were all we had in the universe. If we lose each other, then we lose everything.
“You know, she doesn’t understand this,” I say, gesturing between us with one sharp, freshly grown claw.
“Understand what?”
“What it’s like to have someone,” I say. “What it’s like to be part of something. You’re expecting her to just understand that she’s part of our brood now, but was that ever actually said to her? We’ve barely had a moment to just be since we found her. I yanked her out of those chains and then we zipped off to find Galactor imprisoning what is left of humanity. She only just remembered who she is. And yes going back was stupid, but if there’s anyone who can understand impulsive decisions that don’t end well, it’s me. I’m not going to flay her for what she did. You have to admit, it was pretty selfless really. She wanted to help her people.”
“And she got mine hurt in the process,” Reaper growls.
“One ran off too,” I remind him. “Not as far, or into as much danger, but she did, and I got her back for you. I didn’t demand that you thrash her for her insolence.”
Reaper draws in a deep breath. “She has changed you,” he growls. “You’re a lot more intelligent than you used to be.”
“Maybe you should try being smart too,” I say, evading his backhanded compliment. “One tells me you weren’t exactly nice to 42 during the time I was out to it.”
“I didn’t have tea parties and make her tiaras, no.”
“You barely said a word to her. She was guilty, and frightened and she needed the very thing you’re angry about almost having lost. She needed brood. Family.”
Reaper makes a low snarling sound. “You are not going to turn this around on me,” he rumbles.
“I’m not. I’m just saying, you can’t expect her to have loyalty to our brood - or to even understand she’s part of it, if she’s shunned for making mistakes.”
He makes another set of rumbling, snarling noises and I know he knows I’m right.
“I’m going to call her in here. And you’re going to make amends. 42!”
“ME makes amends? What amends do I have to make!”
A minute or two later, 42 slinks into the room. She’s terrified of him. She can’t make eye contact. She sidles over to me and does her best to make herself small. I don’t blame her for being afraid. She has excellent instincts and right now they’re telling her that Reaper is a hostile entity who wants her to be hurt. They’re right.
42
Reaper hates me. He wants to hurt me. The sooner I can get away from him the better. I have no idea why Tarkan would call me into a room with the two of them. I’d feel better if One were here. She has a calming effect on her scythkin mate.
“Reaper has something to say to you,” Tarkan says.
I’ve heard everything I could ever want to hear from Reaper, but I don’t say that. I keep my mouth shut, because if there’s one thing I don’t need now, it’s trouble. But I am in trouble. I can feel it bubbling through my body, making my heart race, my palms sweat. I am almost on the verge of tears, though I am trying to hide it.
“Tarkan says you’ve been punished,” Reaper growls. “Do you think you have?”
“No,” I say softly.
“Why not?”
“Because what I did was…” I try to form the words right, but it’s hard to get them to come. “Dumb.”
“What do you think should be done with you?”
“Uhm…” I shift nervously between the two big monstrous males. “I, er…”
“Tell the truth,” Tarkan says.
“I don’t know,” I whimper.
I don’t know. I’m so thoroughly nervous I feel every part of my body prickle with excitement. I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know if I’m going to be punished again. Tarkan said I had been forgiven, but maybe he changed his mind.
“You don’t know?”
Tarkan asks the question, sliding his hand down my back to my bottom to tap my cheeks lightly. I feel myself blush and then yelp as his palm meets my bottom again in a harder slap. He’s not doing it hard enough to truly hurt, but he is doing it hard enough to reignite sting, and the silken cloth dress I am wearing does not have any protective power at all.
“Ow!” I gasp, wriggling as Tarkan spanks me, standing in place, right in front of Reaper.
“Tell me,” Tarkan says, his voice deep and dominant. “Do you think you have been punished enough?”
His hand sweeps through the air and makes sharp
contact with my cheeks, making me rise to my toes.
“OW! No! I don’t know, yes?”
The first time he disciplined me, it was intimate and private and gentle. This time, Reaper can see me squirm, he can watch my cheeks blush. His stern gaze adds another level of intensity to the experience, one I don’t understand, but don’t have to.
Tarkan
I want Reaper to see this soft, naughty, trusting side of 42. He thinks she doesn’t submit, but she actually submits beautifully. He was right about one thing though: she does deserve more discipline. I like spanking her. She has a perfect, full, human bottom which was made to redden beneath the palm of a lover.
I sit down and gently pull her over my thighs. 42 allows me to do so without a struggle, her soft form slipping over mine and settling into perfect position, the soft rounds of her hind end covered in the light sheath of silk.
“You’re gonna do this with him here?”
“Uh huh,” I tell her. “I’m going to give you a good girl spanking.”
“What’s a… ooohh….”
She lets out a moan as my hand runs down between her thighs and presses the silk of her gown to her sex. I rub her there for a moment, then return to spanking her with short, swift little slaps.
I am showing her off to Reaper, and I am proving a point. This girl is my mate. She belongs to me. She is not good and quiet and obedient like some mates might be, but she suits me perfectly.
42
This is hot. Sinfully hot. Everything I know about myself tells me that I should not be enjoying this. He has me on display. The dress clings to my curves and I know that my wetness will be showing through it. But Tarkan doesn’t care. Scythkin are not big on modesty. They are big on instinct. Desire. Domination.
“You’re a good girl,” he says, spanking me with those love taps that end in rubbing which serves to inflame my lust all over again. I lift my hips up into his palm and make grinding motions which make the lips of my sex slide as I lubricate in preparation for the penetration I know must surely be to come. The air is thick with desire. I emit it and I breathe it back in.
I would never have thought I could allow myself to be this free, not in front of Reaper. With every slap, Tarkan is bringing down the walls between us. He is making me show my softness, my desire. I don’t know what effect that is having on Reaper, but I know it is bringing me closer and closer to…
“What’s going on?”
One has been summoned. She looks at me and Tarkan, and then at Reaper. Her eyes widen.
“What…”
Her question is cut off. Her lover is not going to tell her what. He is going to show her, just as mine showed me.
“Come here,” Reaper says, pulling her over to him. He reaches down her body and I see his big, clawed hand find her sex. She stiffens for a moment, not knowing how to react, but within moments of feeling Reaper’s claiming touch, I see a crimson blush creeping up over her cheeks. She likes this, just like I like it. We can’t help reacting to our scythkin mates with a sexual response which floods our systems. In this moment, I understand her more than I’ve ever understood anyone. We’re feeling the same thing at the same time, breathing in the same rush of intoxicating alien pheromones, sharing the scent of need.
“We are one,” Tarkan says, swatting my ass. “One unit. The four of us are connected. Forever. And there’s no one of us that is any more or less important than any other. Do you understand, 42?”
“Yes,” I moan softly.
Reaper is kissing One, one of his massive hands down between her thighs, the other wrapped around her midsection, clasping her breast. Tarkan’s palm lands a little harder against my ass, making my hips jolt and sending a fresh flash of heat through me.
What I am seeing is just as arousing as what is happening to me. Is that how I look with Tarkan? Am I that small and vulnerable and yet still so feminine and utterly womanly? One’s legs are spreading, her clothing being pulled away to reveal her naked body.
Tarkan is doing the same to me, shearing my clothing with the sharp tips of his claws. It falls away to leave me wet and exposed, yearning and squirming over the thighs of the alien who loves me. He keeps spanking me, slapping my soft cheeks and then pushing down to rub my pussy with a touch that makes my sex flower and my soul sing.
Before, he claimed me for his own. Now both Reaper and Tarkan claim One and I for our collective. Our brood.
He pulls me from his thighs, puts me into a new position, bent over, hips raised, every part of my most private area on what would be lewd display if it weren’t for the perfect intimacy of the moment. Humanity was conceived in orgy, our history created in the writhing of thighs and the spreading of legs, our greatness coming directly from our weakness for the pleasures of flesh.
I feel Tarkan’s alien hands gripping me, controlling me, giving me everything I need. I feel his strength, his body made for conquest, his hardness in perfect opposition to my softness as he puts the head of his cock to my slit and pushes forward in a smooth penetrative joining.
I am lost in a lustful haze, spread and taken, filled with surging thrusts which make pure pleasure ripple through my body. I see Reaper’s thick rod sinking inside One’s fiery red sex, just as Tarkan’s cock pushes into me. We are both writhing with arousal, our bodies not quite made to take this invasion, but adjusting to it regardless.
After this, there will be no shame, no secrets. I no longer feel like something separate. I belong to Tarkan. He belongs to me. And we all belong to each other. Forgiveness isn’t something spoken. It’s something acted. It’s something given and received, and I am awash in it, along with love and connection and all the good things I was deprived of for the sin of trying to save my fellow souls.
Epilogue
42
“Please tell me the humans didn’t all die.”
We are sitting around the ship’s dinner table, eating a meal together. I didn’t think this would ever happen. I thought Tarkan would die and I would be outcast and I’d never feel the simple enjoyment of being part of what I am beginning to realize is a family.
“They didn’t all die,” Reaper says. “Scythkin revere humans. From what I hear, they have been returned to the simulation, under the judiciar’s supervision.
“The judiciar survived?”
“New judiciar,” he says. “Scythkin judiciar.”
“Oh.”
“Best thing for them,” Reaper says, holding court while the rest of us eat. “Humans need to be looked after.”
I don’t know how to feel about that. My people are still captive, but they might be better treated captives now. Did I achieve something? Maybe I’ll never know. I’m starting to think it’s very hard to work out the relationship between action and outcome.
Tarkan nudges me gently and gives me a look. That’s right. I was supposed to say a thing.
“I owe you all an apology,” I say, playing nervously with the tablecloth. “You all tried to help me and I made it impossible. I almost got you all killed at one time or another.”
“It’s okay,” One says. “It’s kind of a tradition. Tarkan almost got us all killed once. I guess it was your turn. It’s my turn next…”
She grins as Reaper gives her a harsh look.
“It better not be,” he growls.
I am nervous of him still, but it is not the fear that comes with someone who might hurt you. It is the respect you have for someone who will make sure you are held to account.
Tarkan reaches around my shoulders to hug me and press a kiss to my cheek. “Good girl,” he murmurs, those words making pure happiness flash through me.
These three beings are my new family. These are the souls with whom I will traverse the stars. After a lifetime of lies and captivity. I am free and because I am free, I am home.
I didn’t manage to save humanity. I barely managed to save myself. But I can live with myself because I didn’t abandon my kind entirely. Before Tarkan pulled me out of my old apartment, I lef
t something behind. Something that might, somehow, through a wild twist of fate, perhaps help another person find their way to freedom.
I believe in fate. I believe in love. And I believe in humanity.
THIS ISN’T REAL
Seven
I’m staring at a creature who is Absolutely. Not. Human.
He is massive. He has horns emerging from a skull fashioned from pure insanity. His eyes burn with an orange glow, his skin is silvery and sharp in places, glinting like he’s wearing a thousand Ginsu knives. Except he’s not wearing them, he is them. He’s effectively naked, I realize; his, er, appendage sitting hard between his thighs, pressed against his lower belly. Wait, is that his manhood? Or is it another ridge? It’s hard to tell. He is configured broadly in the human sense, but everything about him is brutally alien. There are ridges and channels, hard plates and sharp edges. When he sits forward, I see there is a carved slot in the back of the throne for the massive scimitar of a ridge which rises between his shoulder blades.
“What the… are you?”
“I am Krave,” he says. “Scythkin judiciar.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
He leans further forward, his lips splitting into a befanged smile.
“It means you fucked up.”
I have messed up a lot of things in my time. I have made many bad choices. I always told myself to never regret any of them because every bad decision always took me closer to a good one. Suddenly, I’m re-evaluating that stance. This vicious monster is right. I have fucked up. And right now, I would give absolutely anything to be able to do this day over. But that’s not possible.
Right?
Earlier that morning…
THIS ISN’T REAL
These three words are ruining my life. I found them by chance and now that I’ve read them, I can’t get them out of my mind. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin, unable to settle down and just chill, because every breath is another reminder how wrong everything is.