Alien's Bride Book Three

by Yamila Abraham

  That thing is going to be vibrating against my…? I couldn’t even handle the thought of it.

  “No!” I snatched it before Elentinus could. “Turn it on, Kang.”

  It almost jerked itself out of my hand once it kicked on. I held onto it with both hands and put it against Elentinus’ cock. He gasped hard enough for his chest to push out against my back. His hands moved from my breasts to grip my shoulders.

  I slowly rubbed the vibrator up and down the length of his shaft, taking care not to bump my cooch with it. Elentinus started squirming and grunting behind me. After a minute of the careful torture I could hear his teeth chattering.

  “Grah!”

  He bent up his cock so that it was nestled against the lips of my cooch again. I could feel it tensing and shuddering against my clit. I managed to keep my focus and rub the ball up the underside of his shaft. Now I could feel the intense vibrations through his cock. My clit and hole got a prickly buzz of pleasure. I squeezed my eyes closed. It was hard not to get as crazy as Elentinus was right now.

  My arms kept stalling with the loss of focus. I set it on the bed against Elentinus’ groin bulge. This sent a constant buzz up inside me.

  “Keep it…keep it pressed against here, Kang,” I said.

  “Ngh!”

  Elentinus squeezed me around my stomach. His cock started gesticulating in the snake whip pattern. He kissed my neck desperately, then craned his chin back.

  I let out short staggered breaths. I was feeling that tickle that came before orgasm. It was lingering, giving me wave after wave of pleasure. I tried to keep as still so I could to sustain it.

  “I’m going to—“ Elentinus said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He knocked Kang’s arm off the bed and lifted me up onto his cock. My hole started to spasm before he’d finished penetrating. He clung to me tight and thrust upwards with fast violent strokes. My orgasm got more powerful. I whimpered in helpless ecstasy. Elentinus growled through his own climax. He kissed my shoulder and groped at me through the animalistic cries. Semen dripped down onto the bed.

  I went slack against him afterwards, but he remained lodged inside me.

  “May I offer you something more?” Kang said.

  I winced. “No.” I leaned back to look into Elentinus eyes. “All I want is you. Just keep fucking me.”

  He cupped my face with his hand and gave me a passionate kiss. Then he steered me to lie down on the middle of the bed and climbed above me.

  “You’re dismissed, Kang,” Elentinus said.

  I heard him whir away and smiled. I wrapped my arms around Elentinus shoulders and joined our lips. When I broke away I looked into his eyes with my moist lips parted.

  “You’re all I need,” I said.

  He caressed my hair several moments while staring deep into my eyes. The loving gaze made me feel fluttery inside. He leaned down to respond to my words with gentle kisses.

  END

  Note from the Author: Thank you so much for supporting me and cover artist Archie the Redcat by purchasing legal copies of this series. If you enjoyed this installment I hope you’ll consider leaving a review.

  Readers of Alien’s Bride fall into two categories: You know who I am and followed me here from the other side of the digital bookstore, or you’ve never heard of me before Alien’s Bride and are discovering my work for the first time.

  Sales of Alien’s Bride tell me that most of you are the latter. If you enjoyed this story I hope you’ll consider purchasing one of my other 75 ebooks. While these stories are all male/male romance, many hetero romance fans have actually enjoyed them. I realize this might not be your kettle of tea…but maybe I can entice you? Please read on for samples of my best stories to date.

  Cold Beautiful

  The novice prison guard Yolkov was taken hostage during a riot at a notorious Russian penitentiary. He would have suffered an excruciating death if not for Zhirov, a burly and soulful inmate who protected him. After the ordeal Yolkov can’t help but seek out Zhirov’s companionship. He believes that his hero was sent from a higher power not just to protect him, but to save him from the abyss his life has become. Zhirov may be feared by the other inmates, but Yolkov sees him for his wisdom, depth, and sublime spirit. He’s put in the precarious position of being willing to do anything for the prisoner.

  There’s talk of a Corrective Colony on a polluted arctic island. Volunteer prisoners can have their sentences reduced if they complete the clean-up. Zhirov is too extreme a criminal to be eligible, but this is the favor he asks of Yolkov. He wants to be outside again, even if it’s working with toxic waste. Yolkov takes his request to the warden. She’s incredulous, but finally agrees when Yolkov volunteers to go to the island also.

  Yolkov has only heard rumors of the disaster at the last Corrective Colony. He has no idea what kind of chaos he’s signed up for. He only knows he’ll do anything for Zhirov, and that may mean relying on his protection once again.

  A poignant and touching single-installment novella by the author of Maelstrom!

  “You should never trust someone like me,” Zhirov said. “It makes me worry for you.”

  Yolkov finished chewing his kasha before answering. “If you wanted to hurt me you could have done it during the riots.”

  The burly prisoner scoffed through his nostrils. He took a hunk of black bread from the meal Yolkov had laid out before them. Zhirov salted the bread casually, as if it wasn’t a delicacy he’d been deprived of for the last fifteen years.

  “So, I protected you during the riots, and now my beautiful dreamer thinks he owes me?”

  Yolkov looked away. “Maybe you believe I’m only going to be nice to you a few times, and then will leave you to rot in the pit. The truth is I actually like your company. You’re more intelligent than any of the shitheads I work with.”

  Zhirov laughed. “How romantic.”

  Yolkov’s brow rose, but then he realized he deserved the admonishment. He’d provided the most intimate setting the prison could afford them: dinner alone in the second floor monitoring station. No cuffs. No other guards.

  Yolkov couldn’t resist seeing him again no matter how many rules he broke. What they’d been through—Yolkov truly believed it had changed his life.

  High-max security had levels to its horror, and Zhirov had been relegated to worst of it. Referred to as ‘the pit’ it was a concrete abyss under the prison with deteriorating cells that hadn’t been renovated since the soviet era. Guards never entered the pit itself, only the periphery kitchen where lower security prisoners crammed food scraps from the rest of the prison into molds and then shoved the barely edible cakes it through tiny windows cut through the concrete for the two hundred or so inmates to fight over. Hydration came from the few bathroom sinks that still functioned.

  Deep in that hell Zhirov had beaten a horde of desperate dogs away from Yolkov. This was mostly with words—when Zhirov shouted even Yolkov cringed. A few prison mongrels he’d smashed in the face or the guts. The massive man could dole out violence without anger, making him even more terrifying. It took only a few vain attempts before the rabble backed away. Yolkov was surrendered to Zhirov without further incident.

  The novice guard couldn’t know relief. As Zhirov led him back to his cell Yolkov had visions of the massive brute raping him again and again. And he knew he should probably let him do it. Ceding to his protection, no matter the terms, might be the only way he could survive the riot. But damn, he was scared. The men of the pit made him jumpy even when there was a concrete wall separating them. Now he’d fallen right in the heart of the abyss.

  Fear like this—it gripped Yolkov on a primal level. He mouthed the words of the song his father used to sing to him as a boy. Verses laced with scent of Vodka from his father’s breath, but sung with smiling eyes—with the promise of strong arms embracing him at the end. He wanted to be that little boy again.

  He realized he trembled. Was he cold? No. The cramped area with pitiful
ventilation was as warm as a cup of piss that summer. He was shaking from fear. Literally quaking.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to rape you.”

  Yolkov blinked a few times. He found himself huddled in the back corner of Zhirov’s cell while the big man stood in a doorway which no longer had a door.

  “They won’t fuck with you while you’re with me. Quit shitting yourself.”

  Yolkov’s chest trembled so vehemently he had a hard time getting words out. “Why—why are you protecting me?”

  Zhirov looked back to smile at him. He smiled more with his eyes than his mouth. Something about that smile—it made Yolkov’s shivering stop.

  “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a pretty face.”

  That’s how it began. Yolkov remembered it sweetly now. He put all his faith in that wretched criminal, and in the end came out unscathed. Zhirov still managed to evoke peace inside him even now. His wretched job, shitty apartment, pathetic wages, horrible divorce—Zhirov could make him forget it all. He could actually make him look forward to going to work. Being close to the man was a new craving he’d developed. He satisfied it in dangerous, idiotic ways like this private dinner. Fuck the rules. None of the other guards were saints either.

  “Okay, beautiful dreamer,” Zhirov said, “why don’t you tell me what you’ve been reading lately?”

  Yolkov’s spirits buoyed. “A bit of Eugene Onegin. I’m not committed to rereading the whole book, mind you.”

  Zhirov let that wonderful smile break through his dense beard. “Ah, yes. ‘Is he the same or grown more wise? Still doth the misanthrope appear? He has returned, say in what guise? What is his latest character?’”

  Yolkov closed his eyes so Zhirov wouldn’t catch him rolling them back in ecstasy. Zhirov’s deep voice, the beautiful poetry—it made his flesh tingle. He took a sip of tea to try and regain his composure.

  “He could be talking about you in that verse,” Yolkov said with forced calm.

  “Da.”

  “Do you know any more?”

  There was a pause that Yolkov would discover later to be meaningful. Zhirov looked into his eyes.

  “’How oft to the Kara shore, She led me through nocturnal mist, Unto the sounding sea to list, Where Nereids murmur evermore…’”

  “Crimean shore,” Yolkov corrected, but then was struck by a realization. His heart began to race. He swallowed and said, “How did you find out?”

  “You think we’re sealed tight in the pit. Information is like water—it can flow through the smallest gap.”

  Yolkov was at a loss. He’d been trying to reconnect with this man, and now he’d just betrayed him with a secret. Any excuse he gave would seem banal. The reality was he hadn’t thought it through yet. He didn’t want to tempt Zhirov with something he couldn’t deliver. He should have given him more consideration—or at the very least, remembered his debt to him.

  “What did you hear?”

  “Not enough. So tell me like I know nothing.”

  Yolkov drew a deep breath. “It’s a Corrective Labor Colony—but not like we’ve ever done before. It’s cleaning up a toxic waste dump on an island in the Kara Sea. They’re accepting lifers as volunteers for the first time, but only because it’s such horrible shit. It’s going to sicken the men. Anyone in low-max is eligible to have their sentence reduced. You’re not eligible, Zhirov. Not even the men in medium are eligible. They won’t allow anyone considered dangerous to volunteer.”

  “I’m no longer dangerous.”

  “You’ve proven this to me, of course, but—“

  “Aleksi.”

  Yolkov felt a sting at the base of his spine that radiated out as a shiver. Goose pimples rose up on his flesh. He’d never heard his first name uttered by his friend.

  “Convince them to let me go. This is the only favor I’ll ever ask of you.”

  Yolkov shuddered out a sigh.

  He thought of that harrowing week once again. A man had gotten into the intermediate gate leading to the doors of the pit’s kitchen and broke it open. Yolkov was yanked inside by two vicious arms. The prisoner (Gugal was it? No matter, he’d had his head blown off in the end) had used his card to open the main gate and the men had teamed out of the pit to the upper level—trampling several of their own as they went. He was handed back carefully, one man to the next, deeper and deeper into the pit. The stench of urine made him gag, and his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the dark. Then they were ripping off his jacket, tearing off his baton. So many hands on him at once. Someone yanked him from their hold and pushed him against the concrete wall.

  “Stop it you dumb fucks! A hostage is no good dead.”

  It was Zhirov, of course.

  Their only contact prior was the time the prisoner had earned a shower up stairs. Zhirov had looked at him through the haze of his stink and said, “You’re too young and beautiful to work in this prison.”

  “Maybe I think I can do good.” Not his aim, by any scope. He simply fished for a reaction.

  “Then you’re a beautiful dreamer.”

  That was it. Those were the only words they’d ever exchanged before the riot, and yet Zhirov had protected him. No, more than that—he’d kept him sane.

  “I’ll get you on the island,” Yolkov said. “I promise.”

  Zhirov emitted a deep sigh of relief.

  ***

  Yolkov saw Zhirov in his dreams that night, as he had many others. His mind’s eye replayed one of the conversations they’d in the corner of Zhirov’s cell.

  The cell itself was disgusting. A triple bunk bed had been solid once, but the mattress frames were gone and the mattresses themselves decomposed in a pile on the floor. The toilet had been ripped out, but the noxious hole it once connected to still served its purpose. The sink was mercifully attached to the wall and still gave water.

  “Why aren’t you as crazed as the rest of them?” Yolkov asked him.

  “Why would I be?”

  Yolkov was incredulous. “You can’t breathe. You can’t bathe. There’s hardly any light. I know you haven’t seen the sun for over a decade. We feed you rancid shit that you have fight to get a share of. All your books were torn into toilet paper ages ago. I’d sooner kill myself than live this way.”

  “Then you’re weak. Your mind is weak.” Zhirov looked at him. Even in the dark Yolkov could see the glimmer in his eyes. “In my mind there’s nothing but beauty. I don’t breathe this piss-soaked stench. I smell the crisp winter air of a pine forest. I see the sun cracking through the boughs above me, and hear the snow crunching beneath my feet. I feast on the quail or maybe grouse—roasted over an open fire. It’s delicious.” Zhirov laughed. “You need books? How about Dostoevsky? ‘People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.’” Zhirov touched his forehead. “I have plenty to read in here.”

  When Yolkov woke he thought of Zhirov’s description of the winter woods. That’s where his mind escaped to. Of course an island deep in the arctic circle would seem like paradise to him, no matter how polluted.

  It made Yolkov’s chest tighten when he considered his promise. He’d have to beg their conniving warden. But then, just the thought of telling Zhirov he could go—of pleasing him so dearly—it would make the nuisance worth it.

  Would he hug him with those arms as big as tree trunks? Yolkov closed his eyes to imagine this. He’d be so warm he’d melt. He wouldn’t even feign protest.

  “So…you’re gay. That’s why you left me.”

  His ex-wife’s shrill voice invaded his fantasy. Yolkov clenched a fist.

  “I left you in Moscow, you dumb bitch. Go sit on another dirty cock.”

  He dropped back on his pillow. The thought of Zhirov’s eyes calmed him. Who had eyes like that in this callous age? His ex-wife’s eyes were always bleary with amphetamines and booze. But Zhirov—his eyes shone out from a soul so deep,
so complex.

  His man-crush on Zhirov caused him not a bit of shame. Sex was for foul connections, like what he once had with his ex-wife. Zhirov and he were connected by the spirit.

  The warden was an unmarried woman in her forties who had taken up the current fad of Moulin Rouge style make-up. Yolkov found her attractive, but powerful women reminded him of his ex-wife. He did his best to hide his distaste of her.

  “So, this is the situation,” she said, “most of the men in low-max tried the Corrective Colony for the Khatan cleanup, so obviously they don’t trust us.”

  Yolkov frowned. “I wasn’t here then.”

  “Never mind. It was a big disaster. A couple of the fuckers died.” She started typing at her computer. “So who do you recommend? He’s from high-max?”

  “Fyodor Zhirov. You know, he protected me during the riots.”

  She made a disgusted face at her computer screen. “From the pit? He’s a fucking psychopath. Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t know his record. I just know he protected me.”

  “You’re a real idiot. He knew he couldn’t escape during the riot, so instead he kissed your newbie ass to trick you into helping him later.”

  Yolkov stayed calm. “He could have done worse things to my ass.”

  “He’s scamming you!” She turned her monitor towards him. “Look at his record.”

  Yolkov read page 1 of 4 on her monitor. Murder, murder, kidnapping, murder…

  “I see it this way,” Yolkov said, “even if he was scamming me, he still protected me. I know some guys get raped to death by those monsters. He kept me safe the whole riot. I’m alive today because of him.”

  “Psh.” She turned her screen back around. “Give him a hundred shower and laundry passes then. I can’t reduce this guy’s sentence. He’s in for over 1,000 years.”

  “He never asked for a reduced sentence. He just wants the chance to be outdoors again.”

  “He’s got nothing to lose. I’m not going to put him on a boat with just a few guards and lots of heavy equipment. I’ll move him to low-max for you. He’ll be out of the pit. Your debt to him will be paid.”