Alien Games

by Claudia Rose

  The sights and sounds were increasingly erotic, and within minutes Jenna was having another climax.

  When she had finished, she felt the phallus retract to allow her to dismount, which she was able to do with comfort. Again she decided that, while the experience had been pleasurable, she wouldn’t want to do it again.

  The next round passed as mechanically. She was aroused, the body sheath brought her to another wonderful climax, and she enjoyed watching the others on the machines, particularly Zhorta this time, for whom the phallus had assumed the dimensions of a traffic cone. But as quickly as it was over it was forgotten, and Jenna was left with very little desire to repeat the experience.

  Thank goodness, she thought as the sheath released her. One more to go and I’m out of here.

  She wasted no time donning the black jump-suit and the full-face helmet. While the material looked like latex, it slid on easily and was supremely comfortably. The helmet, too, was comfortable, and although she couldn’t see anything, she felt in no way claustrophobic or disoriented. From a distance she could hear Ranisha’s voice, almost as if it were speaking in her mind, Just relax, Jenna, this is the device you will enjoy the most. It will discover your deepest desire or most taboo fantasy and you will find yourself living it as if it were really happening.

  Then Ranisha’s voice faded, and with it almost all awareness that she was taking part in an experiment. Instead the machine transported her to another world, a world of her imagination, but one so real that she never, for a second, doubted its authenticity.

  Jenna was running along an idyllic golden-sand beach, loping in long easy strides, wearing only a white thong bikini. The day was warm, the water clear and glassy, and a gentle tropical breeze was blowing in her face. The beach was totally deserted, the only evidence of human activity the even row of footprints stretching behind her.

  To complement her idyllic surroundings, she felt as well and happy as she could remember feeling in her life. She was a winner, one of the greatest woman athletes of all time, she was rich, she was beautiful, and the world loved her.

  Yet a shadow hovered in the back of her mind, like a small cloud. As good as things were, shouldn’t they be better? Why was she running along this beach alone? Shouldn’t someone be here beside her? She wanted to share her happiness, to be loved, and have a lover.

  Her eye was suddenly caught by a small figure that had jogged down onto the beach a few hundred yards ahead of her. Perhaps this was her lover—after all it was her fantasy. She increased her speed across the firm sand, splashing joyously from time to time through the inch or two of clear water that the gently lapping tide pushed up the beach.

  Gradually she closed the gap between her and the other runner. It was a man, a tall, upright man. He had a chiseled back, and broad shoulders. He was naked but for a small g-string, and she could see the powerful rounds of his buttocks pumping above his well-muscled legs. He was a beautiful man— big, powerful, perfectly formed—her ideal lover.

  When she was within a few strides, she called to him.

  “Wait!”

  Slowly he jogged to a halt and turned to face her.

  Of course! It was Bruce. In her heart of hearts she had known it would be him—despite her past rebuffs, he was her soul mate. She’d been wrong to treat him as she had. He was the person with whom she could share her happiness. He, above all people, would understand her needs, her fears, her triumphs, and her desires.

  “Bruce!” she said, panting lightly. “I’m so glad it’s you!”

  But instead of coming to meet her, Bruce remained motionless, his face blank.

  “Hello, Jenna,” he replied coldly.

  “Hi Bruce,” she said, moving even closer but suddenly feeling awkward. “I wondered if I could run with you for a while?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I’ve decided to respect your wishes and leave you alone from now on.”

  He turned to run on.

  Jenna was stunned. This couldn’t be happening. She felt ill to her stomach, and bile flooded bitterly into her mouth.

  “Bruce! Wait!” she called in panic. She couldn’t lose this beautiful man, she couldn’t have him reject her. Just when she’d realized that he could be her rock in life’s turbulent sea, he was about to give up on her.

  Bruce stopped, but he didn’t turn around. Instead he stood with his shoulders tense, hands on hips, waiting.

  “Bruce, wait,” she pleaded again, softly this time, running with small panicked steps to catch up with him. “I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Please don’t leave me. Please let me make it up to you.”

  The Bruce who turned to face her was a stranger. His face had hardened into granite lines, and he looked down at her from beneath jutting eyebrows.

  “You’ve had three years to say that Jenna. Three years to treat me with courtesy, rather than contempt. Why should I suddenly fall at your feet because you’ve deigned to notice me? I don’t need you, and I’m not even sure I want you anymore.”

  Jenna felt as if her heart had stopped. This wasn’t her fantasy. A huge band was encircling her chest, making it impossible for her to breathe. What had she done? How could she have been so stupid? She couldn’t lose him!

  She began sobbing, huge stinging tears pooled in her eyes and ran in thick lines down past her delicate nose, to drop from her chin onto the exposed skin of her breasts, which were rising and falling urgently in time with her gasps of distress.

  Bruce was unmoved. Again he made to turn away.

  “No, please Bruce! I know I was wrong. I was cruel and unthinking.”

  She grabbed his arm to hold him.

  “Give me one more chance. Do anything you want with me, I deserve it, but please don’t leave me.”

  Bruce looked at her quizzically.

  “Anything?”

  “Yes! Yes! Anything! I don’t care what you do, I deserve to pay for what I did to you. I’d give anything for one more chance.”

  “You humiliated me and caused me pain. Are you prepared to suffer humiliation and pain for what you’ve done?”

  Jenna hesitated for a mere fraction of a second, but it was enough for Bruce, who turned with a grimace of disgust to run on again.

  “Bruce!” she shrieked. “Yes, I am ready! I deserve it. I want to be hurt and humiliated by you, and I hope that after that you’ll be able to forgive me and love me. Please let me prove myself. Please!”

  The last word came out as a sob.

  “All right, but I’m through playing games with you. Balk at one instruction and it’s all over for good. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she affirmed meekly.

  This wasn’t enough for Bruce, he reached forward and seized her left breast roughly, causing her to yelp.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Bruce?” she hazarded desperately, hunching her left shoulder to try and relieve the pressure on her sensitive flesh.

  “Wrong. Try again.”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Better,” he released his hold, and instinctively Jenna put up her hand to rub herself.

  “Stop! You won’t move unless I say so.”

  She froze her hand in mid-air, and waited for his next instruction.

  “Lace your fingers and stand with your hands behind your head.”

  She did so, aware that this made her breasts jut out.

  Bruce fixed her with a dispassionate, almost clinical, stare.

  “So, you’re the great Jenna Walsh. The woman who thinks she’s better than everyone else in the world. The woman who thinks she’s too important to treat other people with kindness.”

  Jenna said nothing, but her eyes began to pool with tears again. Bruce continued.

  “Do you know what I think, Jenna Walsh? I think you’re a whore to fame. What are you?”

  “I’m a whore to fame,” she whispered.

  “Louder!”

  “I’m a whore to fame.”

  “Louder, let the whole beach hear you!�
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  “I’m a whore to fame!”

  “Exactly. And because you’re a whore to fame, you should look like a whore. Let me see your tits!”

  Bruce hooked his fingers into the cups of Jenna’s bikini top and contemptuously bared each of her breasts in turn, tucking the flimsy fabric under the heavy rounds. The halter strained them together and upwards so that they pointed proudly at him. Bruce regarded the magnificent globes, but seemed only marginally impressed.

  “Not a bad rack for a whore, Jenna Walsh, but I think your nipples should be harder. Start rubbing them!”

  Hesitantly she lowered her arms and began delicately massaging her nipples with her thumb and forefinger. This irritated him.

  “That’s not how good whores do it, Jenna Walsh. Get your fingers wet and rub harder. I want to see your nipples swollen and puckered, and I want great big goose bumps right around your aureolae.”

  To demonstrate he licked his own fingers and began rolling one of Jenna’s nipples roughly backwards and forwards, she squealed at the slippery pressure and tried to pull away without success. Bruce let go and admired his handiwork—the nipple was certainly much more enlarged than it had been.

  “See what I mean? Now get them both big and hard or I’ll do it myself.”

  While he watched critically, Jenna set about massaging the points of her breasts firmly. At first she licked her fingers, but it wasn’t making them slippery quickly enough, so with a little look to make sure he didn’t disapprove, Jenna cupped each breast in turn and raised it to her mouth. By straining her neck downwards she was able to lick each nipple until both breasts were wet and slippery with saliva.

  “Good,” said Bruce approvingly. “You’re already acting more like a whore. Now get rubbing, and rub hard, until I say stop!”

  Under his stern eye Jenna rubbed, pulled and pinched at her nipples until they were red, swollen and very tender.

  “That’s enough,” he finally conceded. “But they have to stay like that, so every time I say ‘nipples’ you’d better get rubbing. Understand whore?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Nipples!”

  Bruce smiled at how quickly she complied, despite the obvious discomfort it was causing her.

  “A good whore is more than a good rack though, Jenna Walsh. As the British would say, we’re interested in “tits “n bums”. Turn around and let me see your arse.”

  Obediently Jenna turned to stand with her back to him. Bruce admired her curvaceous buttocks, split by the tiny thong of the bikini briefs.

  “You’ve got all the equipment to be a good whore, but it depends how you move it. Let me see you walk.”

  Jenna set off down the beach at a brisk walk, but halted at Bruce’s command.

  “I’m not after the notorious ‘I’m Jenna Walsh and I’m the greatest’ stride, I want you to walk like a whore! Sashay that arse, let me see those hips sway.”

  Jenna set off again, emphasizing the movement of her bottom by wriggling her hips at the end of each stride. Bruce followed appreciatively, admiring the way her fine derriere seemed to take on a swaying, shimmying life of its own.

  “Stop now!” he finally commanded. “I want to see what else you’ve got.”

  Jenna stood passively waiting for his next order.

  “Nipples.”

  She rubbed vigorously, whimpering a little at the renewed pressure on her tender points.

  “Now, put your hands behind your head, arch your back, legs straight, stance a little wider, and bend at the waist.”

  Jenna did so, aware that this displayed her buttocks to Bruce’s maximum advantage. He was clearly happy with the view, because he sat down in the sand and leaned on one elbow to enjoy it from a comfortable vantage point. With her legs apart and her back arched, each buttock was a firm globe. Between them, Jenna’s inviting cleft was just barely covered by the thin strands of her g-string. From his vantage point on the sand Bruce could also see between Jenna’s parted legs to where her swollen nipples and bared breasts were pulled downwards by gravity into generous handfuls.

  Bruce wasn’t in a hurry to release her, and Jenna was finding the position harder and harder to hold. Bruce could tell this from the way her body began to quiver a little and her shoulders to sag.

  “Hold that position!” he commanded. She straightened up with a small moan.

  Bruce moved closer until he was at eye level with Jenna’s vulnerable behind.

  “Pull your thong to one side.”

  She reached back with her right hand and fumblingly slid her finger underneath the thong, drawing it sideways across her right buttock. Bruce’s view was now completely unobstructed.

  “Tell me how much you enjoy having me look at your arse, Jenna Walsh.”

  “I love having you look at my arse, Master. It’s yours to do what you want with.”

  “Very good. You are learning. Nipples!”

  From his vantage point looking between her legs, Bruce could enjoy the way Jenna once again was forced to massage the tender nubs, which were now pointing deliciously downwards. They must have been more sensitive than he realized, because he noticed her buttocks, and the delicate puckered opening to her back passage, clenching in sympathy with the pain.

  Very lightly Bruce placed one finger against her puckered ring. He felt it contract under his finger, and Jenna flinched and gasped with surprise.

  “Hold still!” he ordered. Gently but firmly he massaged around this opening, without actually inserting his finger. After a moment he felt her begin to relax and press back against his digit.

  It was then that he stopped. He wanted her aroused, but not too aroused yet. He sat back on his haunches in the sand and gave her another command.

  “Let me see you play with your pussy, Jenna Walsh.”

  Her right hand crept between her legs and she began to rub her vulva in a circular motion with the flats of all four fingers. As she rubbed, her fingers aroused the lips so that they began to part and open like the petals of an exotic flower. The moistening caused by her rubbing lubricated her fingers, and soon they were dipping in and out of her hot slit. Her middle finger was particularly active, sliding up and down the tender furrow, circling the clitoris, before returning to the other end and disappearing into her hot shaft as far as the second joint.

  Jenna was becoming increasingly aroused. She found it very erotic to be at Bruce’s command, to reveal her most private places at his order, for his enjoyment. The sensitive tips of her breasts were beginning to feel more pleasure than pain. She breathed deeply and moaned softly as her fingers moved with increasing rapidity. This was exactly what Bruce had been waiting for.

  “Stop!” he ordered.

  With a small mew of frustration, Jenna stopped.

  “Stand up and face me.”

  She did, her bare breasts heaving, the tips engorged peaks.

  “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “So what does that make you?”

  “A whore, Master.”

  “Exactly, and now that we are agreed on that, grab hold of your thong and pull it up between the lips of your pussy.”

  Quickly Jenna obeyed, grasping the front of the garment and pulling firmly, all the while wriggling her hips so that the thin cords became deeply wedged between her aroused vaginal lips. Bruce smiled to see the thongs magically appearing from between the moist folds that encompassed them. As a final test, to ensure they were well wedged, he grasped the garment himself and pulled it, making Jenna rise up onto her toes with a small squeal—one part pain and two parts desire.

  “Do you feel so important now, Jenna Walsh?”

  “No Master!”

  “Good. Get down on your hands and knees and crawl up to those palm trees.”

  Bruce walked behind her, admiring the beautiful woman who was crawling up the sand at his command. Her bare breasts and buttocks swayed deliciously with each crawl, and he enjoyed the way the tight thong alternately a
ppeared and disappeared between her moist cleft.

  Jenna knew what he was looking at and she put as much effort as she could into making her progress as erotic as possible. She arched her back downward to make her buttocks more prominent, wriggling them as she went, and making sure that her heavy breasts swayed rhythmically.

  Finally they reached the shade of a small grove of palm trees. Bruce didn’t seem surprised to find a rope hammock hanging between two of them, and somewhere in the back of her mind Jenna wasn’t surprised either—Given that this is my fantasy.

  But fantasy felt more like reality, and Jenna turned her attention back to what Bruce was doing. He had untied the hammock and was unraveling it, until he had a number of long strands of rope neatly coiled at his feet.

  “Come and stand here,” he ordered.

  Obediently Jenna did as she was told, remaining still while Bruce deftly and expertly fastened long cords to her wrists and ankles. The other ends of each cord he secured firmly to two well-spaced palm trees, so that in very short time she was tightly spread-eagled between them.

  “You look like Fay Wray in King Kong,” he remarked with satisfaction. He stood back to admire her beautiful curves, smooth skin, and straining muscles. Then he stepped up to her and with two swift, brutal movements ripped the two parts of her bikini from her body. Jenna cried out as the thin cords of each garment dug deeply into her soft flesh before tearing free. She gazed at Bruce with wide eyes, both shocked and aroused by the suddenness, and strength, of his action.

  He was unrepentant. “Isn’t the beautiful Jenna Walsh used to being on the receiving end? My apologies, I’d forgotten how you like to call the tune. Let me see if I can help you sing a little.”