Possessive Aliens: Dark Scifi Romance Box Set

by Loki Renard

He is pressing the gel inside my bottom, pushing inside the tight ring of muscle designed to keep aliens out. It does not do a good job. I find myself almost immediately spreading around him, the slightly rough sensation of his hard finger increasing the sensation which is already intense.

  More lubricant is added, making his finger slip deeper and easier. And then even more lubricant follows, until I am drenched not only in alien lube, but also my own juices which are beginning to flow of their own accord, as if my pussy is trying to tempt his attention back to that slick channel. My body is at sexual war with itself, and I am both winning and losing.

  “How is this medical?” I whimper the question, trying not to pant my desire shamelessly.

  “I am preparing you for the medical part,” John says, slipping a second thick finger inside me, making me spread wider, training my ass. I must be perverted to be enjoying this. He helps me by letting his thumb drift along the seam of my sex and press against the sensitive bud of my clit.

  I do not know how this is medical, but I’ll take it.

  “You’re ready for the probe,” John declares, withdrawing his fingers slowly. He replaces them with something thick and long, much more so than his fingers, closer in size to his cock. I grunt softly as he presses the rounded head of it against my ass.

  “It’s big,” I moan.

  “You can take it,” he encourages me. “Relax and breathe, my pet. There you go…”

  The tip of the device slips inside me, past the once-resistant ring of muscle and starts to fill me. Slowly but surely he goes deeper and I feel the tingling effects of the stretching all the way to my toes until finally the probe is seated inside me, measuring the heat emerging from the walls of my rectum. It’s such a mechanical, scientific thing, and yet there is something sensual about it. Perhaps it is the way he is holding me in place, one hand on my cheek, his fingers wrapped about the probe.

  “I’m going to move this in and out of you,” he tells me. “Try to stay still and breathe.”

  One of those things I can do easily. The other is almost impossible. I gasp and whimper as he starts to slide the probe in and out of me slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. He adds lubricant with every stroke until the thick probe is sliding back and forth, in and out of me, with a steady rhythm.

  “Good girl. Very good girl,” he encourages me. “Just lie there and take it. Let your tight little ass have this.”

  “Mnnghhh…” I whimper back without much in the way of coherency. “What is this medical procedure?”

  “Oh,” John says, leaning down over me, his massive bulk and powerful musculature pressed against my soft skin. “This is the part of the medical exam where I determine how much my human pet likes to have her ass fucked. Also, it takes your temperature and determines the health of your inner gut flora, but it’s mostly about taking this tight ass.”

  His ownership is just as carnal and twisted as every owner before him, but it is different, because he is making sure that I enjoy this as much as he does. Nobody ever cared what I felt before. I was nothing more than a meat puppet to be filled and emptied at will.

  John is stroking my clit with every stroke, rubbing and teasing my pussy as he thrusts the probe with ever swifter strokes. My toes curl, my breath comes in shorter, more desperate gasps, and every part of me is flooded with pleasure.

  I’m going to come. The probe is moving back and forth with that filthy repetition which has no medical excuse but which leaves me panting, especially when his fingers drift down and dance over the soft lower petals of my sex, teasing me until he finds my lust drenched clit which he pinches and rolls ever so lightly.

  In this state of perfect arousal, there is no doubt that I am his. I am his little toy, his fuck-pet. I am his owned human. I am everything he wants me to be.

  “Fuucckkk!” I curse as orgasm rips through my body, making my ass grip the probe tight, my hips buck, my entire body convulse as I turn on my side and thrust my hands down toward my sex.

  “Ohhh oohhh ohhh…”

  He’s still moving the probe, one big hand on my thigh, the other fucking my ass nice and firmly all the way through the spasms which accompany my greedy outpourings of pleasure.

  He pulls the thermometer free of my quivering ass and gives me an affectionate pat.

  “You are in excellent condition and health. Your owners must have taken adequate care of you.”

  And that’s when I learn that men of any species can utterly ruin a moment with no more than a handful of words.

  Two words in that sentence make me flare with rage and instantly restore all the ill-will which had been fading since we fucked. I was starting to trust him. Worse, I was starting to really like him. But adequate care? No. I won’t hear that phrase and take it lightly.

  “Adequate care. Is that what chaining someone up their whole lives or leaving them in a cage with just enough water and food to get by on is? Adequate?”

  He looks at me without showing any understanding that he has done something wrong. “From a strictly medical perspective, yes. It seems you have gotten some exercise, or you would be much physically weaker.”

  “I got my exercise escaping and running away. Nothing to do with my owners. I survived in spite of them.” I am angry at the word ‘adequate.’ It implies that I have been looked after, when the truth is, I have been abused and exploited. “Also, fuck you.”

  “Fuck me?”

  His brows draw down in confusion. He doesn’t know what he said wrong. The phrase typical male pops into my head, though I don’t know why. There is nothing typical about John. Even his name is archaic and strange, though somehow familiar.

  I have memories which I am unable to directly access. Things I can’t recall, but which are sort of jumbled about in the dark part of my head. They tell me that John is a silly name for a dangerous scythkin.

  “You are angry at me,” he notes, somewhat surprised by my emotion. “Why are you angry?”

  “Because I was not looked after. I was used. I was taken against my will time and time again, and in the end, I was going to be destroyed because I was no longer useful. That’s enough to piss anybody off.”

  “I suppose it is. I did slay them for you.”

  “True,” I say, feeling slightly less annoyed, but only slightly. I want to keep talking. I want to tell him that I am not his, that he doesn’t get to own me anymore than the others did. I am my own person. But telling those who believe they own me that they do not has not served me well in the past, and I am not sure it is worth repeating.

  I am going to escape him.

  Not because I don’t like him, but because I cannot be owned. Not anymore. The only person who has any right to own me, is me.

  “I want clothes.”

  Being naked doesn’t feel right. Those without clothes have no power. I have been stripped against my will more than enough times to have learned that lesson.

  “Clothes can be arranged. There’s a replicator in the kitchen. It’s designed primarily for food, but it can do cloth materials too.”

  He’s just so simple in his responses. He doesn’t understand how I feel. How intensely I need to feel some kind of power. He thinks the clothing is about clothing, but clothing is never about clothing. It’s about sending a message. And the message I want to send right now is simple: fuck off.

  “You are my pet,” he growls softly, his ownership vibrating through me. “You are mine.”

  “Fuck off, I am my own. You want to get possessive, get something without a brain.”

  There’s no real avenue of escape, but I want him to know that I am my own woman, that no matter how much pleasure we share, I will always be my own woman.

  I stare into his burning eyes, mine burning less literally, but no less fiercely. John is not phased in the slightest. He smiles quite broadly, flashing his fangs.

  “We will see, will we not. A pet does not stay with her owner because he makes her. She stays because she wants to. Ancient humans ke
pt animals more than capable of scaling their fences and escaping, but more often than not, those beasts decided to stay and form an alliance.”

  “You compare me to a dumb animal?”

  “There’s no such thing as a dumb animal. Just idiots who don’t know how to speak its language and can’t be bothered learning.”

  I sigh. “Sometimes I want to hate you, and then I can’t because you say something like that.”

  He smiles. “I’m winning you over, aren’t I.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. Not this easily, he’s not. I spent years waiting to be free, doing anything and everything I could to get out on my own. I’m not going to give all that effort up just to fall in love with another master. He’ll never own me.

  John

  I like that she’s not making this easy for me. Nothing worth having is easily won. Scythkin learn that the moment we hatch and find ourselves battling for survival. We are quite literally born fighting, so I respect her desire to fight. She will inevitably lose, of course, but I do not need to tell her that. The struggle must play out in all its acts before she will truly be mine.

  She is testing me.

  She is welcome to.

  I can keep all my promises to her and still discipline her disobedient human self. I have no intention of letting her run amok. I will teach her respect.

  But first I will get her clothed. She has given me her body and shown me her softness. The least I can do is grant her wish to be covered.

  “What do you want to wear?”

  “Something with sharp bits on it.”

  “I don't think that’s safe. Humans aren’t used to being dangerously clad. You could hurt yourself. You could put your eye out. Why don’t you get something warm, or if not warm, revealing?”

  “Sicko,” she says, but she says it with an encouraging smile. This is one of the quirks of humanity. Insults which are meant in friendly ways, along with compliments which can hide deadly intent. It seems innate to the species to try to cover every impulse with a veneer of distraction. I don’t know why humans spend so much time trying to misdirect one another, but it certainly doesn’t help them. They’re a confused species, and my human is a prime example of that confusion. A moment ago, her eyes flashed with fury. Now she is smiling and teasing me. I do not trust this sudden levity one little bit. I believe it is a lie on top of a lie. She has learned to be this way, to hide her true self beneath many masks. I will let her keep them for the moment. I am sure they are all that kept her sane during her time in captivity.

  “Here,” I say, showing her the replicator. “You make something for yourself.”

  She's a quick study with the various functions. A fact I take note of. She's adept with alien systems, which means she’s already likely picked up the basics of flying this ship. I make a mental note to not leave her alone aboard, lest she strand me and go flying off into the great darkness of the space between all things.

  While she fusses with it, I settle in at the controls. We are making good time, and I’m expecting to come up on the rest of my brood in the next few hours. I already know Itch has no intention of making a good impression. Before we meet my brood, though, I’m going to give her a good spanking. Nothing too harsh, just enough to keep her ass warm. Misbehaved humans do best when they have ongoing physical reminders of the need to behave.

  I have to admit, I am looking forward to introducing her to the brood. I will be the envy of them all, but there is no doubt that she is mine. I was the one who went after her, who risked being abandoned in order to do so.

  Tahrek and I will have a conversation. I am second hatched. I deserve more respect than to be ditched on a station. He disagrees, of course. He believes all things can be controlled with the right schedule and the proper accounting. If he were a human, he would be what ancient humans used to call a nerd. I have always been the brawn of the leadership, while he has provided the brains. But thanks to his impatience, the brain has left the body behind.

  I wonder how that struck the others. Some of the last to hatch probably believe it to be amusing. Others will consider it shameful. I know that when I step foot back on our raiding vessel, it will be in a particular kind of triumph none of our clutch have enjoyed before. I will have Itch by my side, on my leash. My beautiful human, who will answer only to me.

  I will teach Tahrek that we are not a species of curfews and timely departures. We are rogue conquerors, and those who follow their instincts and risk battle are the ones who enjoy the spoils.

  I have thought, at times, about deposing him. But that would throw the entire clutch into disarray, all the way down to the very last hatched. I have restrained myself to save the others pain, but Tahrek needs to learn that leaving me behind is not going to result in greater compliance.

  “What do you think?”

  Itch interrupts my brooding thoughts.

  “What do I think about…”

  “Look!”

  That is when I realize her question refers to her new attire. I look at her and I see she has decided on something to wear. A yellow bodysuit, very tight with spiked shoulders and little metallic studs all over the collar. It clings to her body, cupping her breasts, accentuating her hips, making all the soft and curvy places look absolutely inviting.

  “You like?”

  She looks so good I’ve temporarily forgotten about being abandoned by my clutch.

  “I do. Do you?”

  “It’s surprisingly comfortable,” she says, extending a leg and sweeping it out in a circular motion. “Like being naked, but without being actually naked.”

  The plasticated-rubberized fabric is alluring indeed wrapped about her lithe human form.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I suggest. “I think we should test how long it takes to take that suit off you.”

  Being Taken

  Itch

  The morning comes, or at least, the sleep cycle ends with my waking up. I am alone in bed. When I walk out to the cockpit, I find John at the controls. I have a feeling he's hardly slept at all. He is obviously eager to rejoin his family.

  “Morning.”

  “We should be coming up on my broodkin’s ship any moment. Now, be aware, they will not find your attitude amusing. I will not allow them to lay a finger on you, but you will behave yourself or pay the price.”

  Well, that’s one way to say good morning to somebody. A lecture about obedience. I thought he would have been in a better mood. I thought he might have breakfast ready. Usually pets at least get fed, and he’s the one obsessed with keeping me as his.

  “And what price is that?”

  “A very sore ass,” he smiles. “Your rear turned red by the frequent and forceful application of my palm.”

  I scowl at him.

  “If you do that, I will revoke your exemption from my vengeance. I will destroy you.”

  John

  I find her threats adorable, but I know she needs to be punished for them. I cannot maintain order while I am allowing this little human to make threats. She needs to be disciplined firmly, but not cruelly. She needs to know that I mean what I say.

  I was up most of the night anticipating my reunion with the rest of my brood, and I realized that in every scenario I could think of, Itch was going to curse at somebody, try to steal something, and no doubt make an escape attempt. Probably in the first hours of us being aboard.

  It is not typical for a single human to live with scythkin. The others will want her. If she puts herself in their path and gives them reason to punish her, they likely will. I will have to use my influence to keep them from claiming her themselves, but it would be much easier to have her behave herself.

  “Get something to eat,” I tell her. “Humans are fractious when hungry.”

  “Humans are fractious when assholes threaten them within minutes of waking up,” she scowls. “I have to get my own breakfast? At least my other captors brought me food.”

  “Do you want me to cage you and bring you slop?”


  “No,” she pouts.

  There is no pleasing this human. She wants freedom, but she also wants to be taken care of. I have not pointed it out to her, but she has no idea what freedom is, or the effort and skill it takes to survive in a big, cruel universe. She may not like the idea of being a pet, but I think she will hate the reality of being free even more if she ever experiences it.

  She retrieves something from the replicator which is both fried and has pink icing. Fat and sugar, the two weaknesses of all humanity. Me, I’m more partial to a chunk of freshly defeated flesh.

  “So. What are you going to do to them when you catch them up? They were bastards, leaving you behind.”

  “We will rejoin the clutch and I will speak with the first hatched.”

  “You're not the first hatched?”

  “I am not.”

  “Huh. I would have thought you would be. You’re massive.”

  “It’s not all about size.”

  “I thought it was. I thought the first hatched was the biggest, strongest one in a clutch.” She points her food at me. “That’s right. I know about your kind. Everybody does.”

  “It’s possible for a scythkin to be larger and stronger than me.”

  “But your first hatched isn’t, I bet. No wonder he left you behind. Probably thinks you’ll challenge him.”

  She is making a lot of assumptions. They happen to be correct assumptions, but still, I cannot encourage her.

  “You will respect all of my clutch, no matter what order they hatched in.”

  “I’ll respect those who are worthy of respect,” she snaps back. There is nothing respectful in her tone, in her bearing, or in her speech for that matter. I admire her fire, but I cannot let her on board our broodkin vessel without having taught her obedience.

  Itch

  John looks at me for one long, considering moment, then grabs me by the upper arm and swings me over his lap as if I weigh nothing at all. The brief sensation of flying through the air is enjoyable, but that enjoyment quickly turns to outrage when the flat of his palm meets my cheeks in a swift slap.