Out Of This World: Alien Erotica Collection Box Set

by Jacqueline D Cirque

  Perhaps it was all a dream, a vivid nightmare.

  “Fine,” I smile, and let him lead me back to camp.

  I rest in the tent while the smell of crispy bacon lingers from the campfire outside.

  “You hungry?”

  My stomach grumbles. I reach a hand down to settle it. That’s when I feel the anomaly.

  My fingers jump away like I’ve touched a stovetop.

  Cautiously, I lift my shirt and apply them again to the space just below my navel.

  This time there can be no doubt about it.

  Something is inside me.

  Something is kicking.

  TAKEN BY THE ALIEN

  Fire against a sooty sky. This is all I see as I stare, hands pressed against glass, at the remains of our starship, exploding outwards like a fiery octopus.

  My heart thump, thump, thumps against my suit, there is perspiration on my brow and the cylindrical space of our escape pod seems claustrophobic.

  Get used to it. The beacon’s set, but we are far off the grid here. It could be a long wait.

  I press this thought to the back of my mind, turn and sit on the bench, harness straps hanging now uselessly either side.

  He doesn’t make a move to console me. He offers no wisdom nor conservation. My companion sits there, calm and collected, watching me, his lavender eyes large.

  I’d seen him around the engine area a few times, an engineer of some description, a Quall.

  The Quall, with their blue, star-spangled skin, displaced from their home planet, are always engineers. “A practical, hands-on race,” my commander used to say before no doubt launching into a spiel of their more intimate qualities.

  I’d never had a close encounter with one myself. I steered clear when possible, perfectly happy spending time in the mess hall with my own.

  I’d heard the stories, though. Everyone had. Some even paid for it.

  Timidly, I ask the Quall’s name. He responds, but it’s clear it’s not a name I’ll ever be able to pronounce. He asks mine and I tell him, “Glinda, from the bio department.”

  He takes it in, we exchange pleasantries and all while the last embers of our former life ebb away in the darkness beyond. I don’t dare watch out the window any more.

  The Quall is quite handsome overall. His cheekbones are chiselled, his features perfectly symmetrical, as Quall’s are known. His hair is a dark, jet black, eyes the same obsidian colour, glowing in the half-light of the capsule.

  When we are not rescued the following day, we go about our usual business. We eat. We use the enclosed bathroom at one end of the capsule. We sit on opposing benches. Eventually, we talk, first about our duties in a mechanical kind of way before conversation turns to our colleagues and families back home. I learn a few interesting things of the Quall as a whole and realise that, in all, they are not too dissimilar from us. Externally, yes, with their dark blue skin, black eyes, but internally they suffer the same anguish, feel the same emotions and it becomes clear that we have both lost much in this scenario.

  The Quall has no ‘mate’, as they are called, nor do I, and our loneliness in that moment seems to bind us together.

  My flings on the ship had been limited to an apprentice deck-hand. He’d taken me on more out of pity than anything else and the sex was mechanical and robotic for it. His dick had vibro implants, but all they achieved was to heighten his orgasm… and neglect my own. Dejected, I hadn’t sort out any more adventures during my two-year contract.

  I don’t tell the Quall any of this. When he asks if I have a mate, I simply reply “no”, the single syllable of it dooming me in this small space.

  Two days in we’ve covered most every topic, even though we still sit apart on the benches.

  There’s no trace of our ship outside the windows. There is no light, just the deep nothingness of space. Inside our pod the emergency lights switch off to replicate day and night and I find myself falling asleep to his words. He speaks his native tongue when I ask and it’s like song, sweet and sibyl-like, feminine.

  I awake and he’s still there, watching over me from his bench. I feel safer for it, as if he could protect me from anything.

  The more the Quall tells me, the more I am drawn into his story. He speaks like a poet, each word perfectly suited, almost tactile.

  We discuss lovers, but when I ask the Quall of his conquests he simply replies “many”. I ask him about the stories, if they are true.

  “I can show you, if you’d like.”

  My brain immediately screams ‘no’, but my body is telling a different story. I squirm on the bench.

  I laugh it off on instinct. “It’s been… a while, since I was with a man.”

  The Quall smiles, the first time I have seen him do so. “Do I classify as a ‘man’?”

  I have no answer. I nod instead.

  “Let me show you,” he says, “a demonstration, with your consent. It is, after all, just us.”

  “Okay,” I relent, putting my hands up in surrender. My skin prickles with the thought of what might be about to take place. The cylindrical walls of the capsule seem to fold in. “What do I need to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I will take care of it.”

  I sit back, waiting, watching his eyes, eyes that give away nothing.

  He sits on the bench opposite me, back straight, eyes sparkling, hands together on his lap.

  There’s a tug at the zipper of my jumpsuit, right around my neck. I flinch. Like I said, he hasn’t moved.

  He lifts his hand, as if plucking something from the air. My zipper begins to glide down. The action is smooth. It runs down and my suit peels open. I am bare underneath. The Quall no doubt knows this, but he shows no emotion. His hand simply twists, the zipper moving further down until the middle of my suit becomes two flaps, the zipper having been pulled right down to my crotch.

  Each flap barely covers my breasts. If I was to lean forward they’d be revealed, but I needn’t worry. My suit begins to part, lifting outwards. My breasts are exposed to the air, nipples hard. The Quall’s eyes watch them.

  He turns his hand again and my arms are lifted upwards and out, the cuffs releasing over my wrists, the suit being pulled off.

  I pull my arms in and the suit floats in mid-air behind me before falling around my waist with only the bench to support it.

  I’m stood up by this same power, my suit still being held around my waist by some invisible force.

  The Quall stands now too and extends his arms. His zipper runs down, his suit slides off his arms and it reveals his muscular chest, nipple-less, no belly button, just a dark blue plain of skin interspersed with what looks like stars and comets lower down, as if painted onto the skin.

  There’s a deep flush within me, a strange desire I have never felt before. The Quall lifts his hands and simultaneously we’re lifted off our feet, floating in the air, drawing towards each other. My boots unlock, are guided off my feet and the next thing I know my suit follows, pulled off my ankles and laid out on the floor below me as I drift in the air, breathing heavy.

  The Quall’s suit is gone, too, but while I still wear the thin, company-issue briefs to hide my intimate areas, the Quall enjoys no such luxury. His blue phallus rises impossibly large from between his legs, more human-like than I would have imagined save for the stars and comets that spiral around its body, graduating to the pale tip. He is hairless, perfectly smooth, his testicles not wrinkled like human men but polished like two blue marbles between his legs, glass-like. I haven’t seen anything like it in my entire life.

  The Quall closes his eyes and floats, his legs crossed underneath him, one hand on his muscular thigh, the other in the air.

  I’m on my back, a metre or so from the floor. My legs come together and lift upwards. My panties glide away from me, over my legs, floating away from my feet and then drifting like a leaf onto the ground of the pod.

  I’ve been in zero gravity before, but
this is different, as if I’m suspended in clouds, a light heat all over my skin, intensifying where movement is required, pulling back, like another body against me.

  The same heat is between my legs, pushing them outwards, so that I am spread before him, conscious of my large labia, having always tucked it away, embarrassed in front of men, but unwilling to change nature so.

  I breathe deeply.

  “You are beautiful,” says the Quall. “Perfection.”

  I do not reply.

  “Will you allow me to pleasure you?” he says, his giant blue cock showing no signs of abating, comets glowing upon it.

  I nod.

  There’s a pressure on my clit, light at first. I look down and see nothing, but it’s there, running over the nub in just the right area. My hands press against air and find it solid.

  The Quall has his hand raised, guiding the phantom fingers.

  Something tests my vaginal opening. I see an indentation on my thigh where invisible fingers pull at the flesh. The pressure on my clit increases, another invisible finger sliding down my crevice, growing wet under its touch. It reaches the bottom, the hammock of skin there, and glides forth inside me, stroking my vaginal floor, pleasure soaking through my body.

  The finger is gliding in and out, my labia rolling inwards with it, different fingers pulling me open like a flower, folding me back until I know the Quall will be able to see the velvety folds of my cunt, spread like flower petals for him, moistening for his starry cock.

  All pressure is gone. His hand falls to his thigh and I almost see something of a smirk there, but it’s too fleeting, gone as soon as I make the connection. He floats forward to me, extending out onto his stomach, his blue body drifting over mine, weightless.

  The pale dome of his penis docks against my pussy, half of the head embedded inside the first ring of muscle there, testing me.

  Testing myself, I try to close my legs, but they remain wide.

  We rise higher to the roof and a fear comes over me that I might fall, but the Quall’s hands, his actual, flesh and blood hands, hold me under my back, press me to his chest and I am unable to think any more when his lips press against my own. It’s a human kiss, wet and hot and entirely natural, but there’s an aftertaste, a sweetness in his mouth. My tongue probes to seek it out, twisting over his own, his hands spidering over my back, trying to take in as much of me as possible.

  He breaks away, my head still yearning forward to continue. “May I enter you?”

  “Yes,” I reply, quick and breathless.

  He kisses me with renewed passion and I snake my arms around his neck, feel the tight tendons around his own, his skin like velvet, soft under my fingertips.

  He kisses my neck as he enters me, not his hips, but his whole body gliding forward, easing my pussy open, which stretches around his cock, skin against skin, blue against white, stars and comets filling me.

  His tongue runs down to my nape, running across my shoulder blade, the sweet aftertaste of him still rolling around in my mouth, filling my senses.

  His cock presses deeper into me, widening me further, sliding effortlessly in and out. I picture his balls, the blue glass spheres, swinging freely in the air, feel them knocking against my ass cheeks with each thrust.

  Being taken by something so alien yet so unarguably human at the same time heats me. My skin goes patchy, red areas sweeping across my thighs and my belly as his chest rises against it, the flat plane of his pelvis grinding up against my clitoral hood, pressing against what’s hidden below, seeking the secret and sending electricity shimmering up my spine.

  He holds me like a feather. I take his buttocks, pushing him into me and lifting my legs up, which only sends him deeper, to the very pit of pleasure within me. A different kind of sensation takes over then as he barrel-rolls us over. I’m out top, his hands on my ass, my breasts pressed up against his hairless chest, the blue surface of it.

  He allows me to take over and I move my body low, pulling myself upwards so that only the very head of him is inside me, our combined wetness cooling in the capsule. I wait there until I know he cannot take it and then I plunge down on his shaft until I feel the flattened base of him, balls riding up against the area just above.

  My mouth is back on his. We’re tangled together when there’s a pressure on my buttocks, pulling them apart softly. I dismiss it until I feel another sensation, another cock press up against my asshole, millimetres from the cock that glides below.

  I break away, a thin bridge of spittle between us as I twist my head and see nothing, no one there.

  I look at the Quall and he is smiling. “Trust me,” he says, and I nod again, my hair falling around us, cocooning us here.

  A different kind of pressure, fingers, pull my asshole apart gently and I feel cool air rush into my sphincter followed by the head of this invisible cock, the same size of that below, and just when I’m thinking of how such a tiny canal can possibly take such a giant vessel, the head falls into me, my muscular ring clenching tight around it.

  “Relax,” whispers the Quall into my ear, and I try. “Release,” he says, and I do, allowing the invisible cock to slide halfway into my ass, its friend busy working away below.

  This feeling, the phantom cock half-buried in my ass and my pussy filled to breaking point, bends me back with renewed pleasure, a taboo, primal stretch that breaks my joints.

  I gasp aloud when the invisible cock slides out up to the underside of the head and then glides all the way forward, driving almost into my stomach, stretching me to untold limits, stretching me so far I wonder at how I do not split in two.

  And so the cocks pump away, building up, faster and faster, and I buck against them, relentless, my anal passage softening, taking the giant easier, my pussy sopping below, the two cocks rubbing up against each other in the no man’s land between my legs, the Quall’s lips on my ear, my neck, my breast, weighing each in his hands, alternating between my mouth and nipples.

  It seems endless, this carnal dance between us as we float around the capsule until the Quall is moving with such focus, such intensity, and my pussy is so sensitive, so trigger-fingered that orgasm that seemed so far away minutes ago is imminent.

  I had heard of the Quall being able to ‘port’ their own experiences into you when they come. You experience your orgasm and theirs simultaneously, but as a scientist I’d dismissed it, just as I had the telekinesis. Yet when he places his hand over my temple, my eyes closing by his command, I can feel a transition, my being moving into the space between us, sharing consciousness of both our bodies. I feel my own pleasure, rolling in waves up my body from my pelvis, and I feel his, each time he slides into me, both his cocks, real and phantasmic, the nerves bundled over them, the glands twitching when they press up against my walls, the storm building in his balls below.

  I had not been intimate with Quall anatomy until now. I confessed I did not know if they ejaculated like a human man, if they had semen. I push the thought away, struggling with the sensory overload as it is.

  All of a sudden there’s a surge of energy through the Quall. I feel it within me. His movements become faster and he pulls me closer, his free hand hard against my head. His cocks grow thicker, literally, stretching me further, finding new patches of pleasure inside me. A strange flood of colour runs through his senses and I realise my questions about Qualls are about to be answered.

  Just as he reaches the tipping point, when his cocks pull tight and be burrows himself deep in my ass and pussy, I feel ghostly hands, fingers and mouths all over my body. They run up into my hair, which suspends itself in space, roll my nipples between them, lick the underside of my breasts, my face, wet tongues lashing my clit. And this overload of pleasure, as he comes, is so intense I shake as if struck by lightning, hands pleasuring my every orifice, filled like never before and orgasming endlessly. And as I’m coming, my vision hazy, I’m dimly aware of his real cock sliding out of me, covered in what looks like glitter and stars, a liquid gal
axy that coats my thighs and distended cunt.

  Seeing this, so unnatural, the waves of pleasure still pulling me into the deep, tears rolling down my face from the onslaught of emotion, I fall unconscious.

  I startle awake to a bright light in my eyes. I flinch back into the wall of the escape pod before things begin to become clearer. There’s some sort of med scanning me, he’s telling me that it’s okay, over and over, that I’ve been found.

  I look down at my suit, but it’s done up and in place.

  I push the officer out of the way, but the Quall’s gone.

  “There was a Quall,” I protest, but the officer just looks back. “No, just you, maam, sole survivor.”

  I’m still protesting when they remove me. It is only later, when I have been properly treated, when I remove my jumpsuit and step into the hydro do I notice the stars that fall from the space between my legs.

  ###

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