by Gemma Voss
Time for that later. For now, I watch her writhe over my body, climbing higher and seeking her climax.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she’s chanting as I fuck her with my hand harder and harder. When she does reach her limit, her mouth makes a soundless circle as she tenses up. Her fingers dig into fabric of the couch as I continue to play with her all the way through her pleasure. Finally, she snaps her little hand over my own and taps me frantically. “Ahh, ah, give me a moment, Kila.”
I pull my hand away and take a moment to lick her juices from my fingers. The taste of her is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. “I did not realize I could make you climax with my fingers inside you like that. Will you still need my cock now that I’ve fucked you with my hand?”
She giggles and scoots off me. “Oh no,” she says, “I need your cock more than ever now.”
I like the sound of this. “Good,” I say, “I cannot have my cock become jealous of my hand when they’ve been each other’s only companions for this past month. But at least now I know I am not alone in this…”
“How does an alien get such a dirty mind? Weren’t you a virgin a month ago?” she muses, shimmying her bottoms all the way off. She kneels beside me. “Do I have that effect on people?”
“People?” I say. “No, you have this effect on me and me alone, my beautiful Ella. You see this must be why you like to see your stories on weetches and weezards. Because you also make spells.”
“Cast spells,” she corrects, with the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Witches cast spells.”
“You have cast your spell on me,” I tell her. I lean over so that our faces are level and close enough to kiss. “A love spell. I love you, Ella. This is my love confession to you.” I take her small face between my palms and kiss her, as wildly as they do in the movies she gives me.
When I release her, her eyes are glistening. She throws her arms around me and buries her face in my shoulder. I hear her muffled voice go, “Oh, Kila… Promise me you won’t put that fucking thing in your head again. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I say, running my fingers over her back. Her tears tend to confuse me, but they cry often in movies, so I’ve taken it to be a rather open-ended human response. Is she happy? Is she sad? My stomach clenches at the realization that she did not also confess her love to me. I suppose it might not be a strictly reciprocal ritual, but I wonder what holds her back. Does she not feel as I do? I am not certain I could live another day without her, despite the thirty odd passings I spent before her.
No matter. She is in my arms now, and this is what I will focus on.
We embrace for a minute or so, and then her whimpers turn to small hiccups of laughter.
“What is it?” I ask her, further perplexed.
“I was just thinking about how you said you would ‘strategize’ over telling me you love me,” she says, finally letting me go to wipe at the corners of her eyes.
“Yes,” I shrug. “If there is a battle to be won, then one must strategize.”
“And your strategy was… Give her an amazing orgasm and then go in for the kill,” she says, blue eyes sparkling at me. I suppose she thinks it’s funny that my training is being put to such an un-war-like usage.
“Precisely. I guess I’ve miscalculated. That is the way of it.”
She frowns, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to… Look, I… I just need time. I’m sorry.”
“Do not worry yourself. We will have time. I will make sure of it,” I tell her. “I am not happy that a threat to your life is what brought us together today, but I will not stand to be locked away from you any longer. I am keeping my foot on the ground.”
“You’re putting your foot down, you mean?”
“You find it very amusing when I misunderstand human phrases,” I say. “You enjoy laughing at me?”
She giggles again. “Of course, baby. It’s hilarious.”
“There is one that should be discussed! Why do you call me baby like a small child, an infant? Is that not odd?” While I’m talking, I pull at the edges of her small top, which is all that remains on her body. Every time she laughs, she shakes, calling my eyes to her chest. It’s time to uncover it. She obliges me and tosses it away. I join her on the floor, sliding off the couch until I am seated with her between my legs.
“I guess it’s a little odd, but baby is just saying someone is precious and they belong to you, right? And you take care of them,” she reasons. I brush my fingers over her bare breasts, taking in the contrast between our skin tones. She has no sheen to her, and she has that matte tan color like a smooth swathe of warm sandy beach. My fingers are cool and gray by comparison, shimmering silver where the light hits. She takes my preoccupation as an opportunity to begin removing my pants. I wear Kar’Kali fatigue trousers, which zip open when she begins fiddling with the closure.
“Mmm, I do like to take care of you,” I say, thumbing over her standing nipple, darker in color than the rest of her— not quite pink and not quite brown.
“But now it’s my turn,” she purrs. “To take care of you.”
She grasps my cock in her hand and slowly caresses me. Her lips crash against me as I groan. Then she has two hands on me, pumping my aching length with delicious pressure. Her nipples brush against my chest as she leans forward. Our tongues entwine. It is a full sensory overload. All I can do is clutch her and pant like an animal, my hips begging to pump and thrust against her.
“I think I’m going to ride you,” she tells me, bending to pull the pants away, down my legs until I help her to be rid of them entirely.
“What can you mean?” I ask, not sure how that translation makes sense.
“I’ll show you.” She grins and prowls forward to straddle me. Mesmerized, I drop my hands to the side and watch. With her hand she directs my cock, first grinding it against the folds of her cunt. Her wet slit slides up and down, coating my cock with her juices. I groan and let my head lull back to rest on the seat of the couch behind me. As I open my eyes again, I see the glorious sight of her lifting up and sinking down over my cock.
Tight, slippery, and perfect, her pink slit sucks in my length. Oh, it has been too long since I last felt this clasping warmth. She begins moving over me, and I wonder whether my heart has stopped beating. Her hips make circles that edge me close to my climax in moments. She is mewling with her own pleasure as well, rocking herself back and forth in a dizzying rhythm.
I feel a familiar spark inside, something that is becoming all too common in my life—the instincts that take over. My hormones are spiking, driving me to thrust up in harmony with Ella’s movements. The squeal I hear as a result encourages me further. I grip her hips and pump up into her pussy, slamming her hard. Her expression slackens and she groans as I take control from beneath her. She is coming, but I don’t stop bouncing her up and down on my cock.
At this angle, I can see everything—the clenching of her abdomen as she comes, the creamy juices she’s left on my cock as it slaps in and out of her, and the way her tongue limply wags in her mouth as she screams. It is sheer sensory overload. I follow her climax with my own, spilling my seed inside her as she clutches down on me and pants.
I hold her to my chest as we both recover from our orgasms. I feel shell-shocked.
“That,” she says with a pleased giggle, “Was cowgirl style.”
“You’ll have to explain the misleading nomenclature,” I sigh. “But I will admit that was quite amazing. You should demonstrate the canine version. For scientific study, of course.”
Chapter 20
ELLA
A week later, Kila and I have perfected every sex position known to man (and perhaps a few of our own invention). He spends every night at my apartment. I’m positively glowing with joy from all the orgasms. I’m baking cookies for the fun of it and distributing them around the office like a well-fucked fairy. Kila pays attention to everything, and I mean everything. I’ve never had a more attentive lover. I’ve never known a man to study
ways to please me in his spare time, but Kila walked up to me one morning and interrogated me on the G-spot.
“Why have you not brought this up?” he demanded, showing me an infographic on his tap-pad from a defunct fashion magazine’s website. “I’d like to discuss this erogenous zone. Theoretically, I find it fascinating.”
He then proceeded to make his interest not-so-theoretical, and finger fucked me to his heart’s content. Every day we come to work more like honeymooning lovers, meanwhile Pakka and the team watch us like Puritans sure we’ll burst into flame for our fornicating ways.
It’s Monday, and after a weekend of pure bliss, Kila and I are reluctant to be parted. Today is the day the Kar’Kali have been anxiously awaiting all month. The Alliance’s top chip surgeon is finally on site and ready to remove the malfunctioning hormone suppressors.
“Kila is going first, but we will all have them out by the end of the week. One surgery per day,” Pakka explains to me while Kila is getting strapped into a gurney and covered in weird little wires.
“How do I know you’re not gonna slip in some new chip without telling him and he’ll be zombie Kila?” I demand. The panic I feel as they prep Kila for surgery is not entirely rational, but I can’t help but imagine the worst-case scenarios. This surgeon is supposed to be the absolute top of the line guy, but I imagine it only takes the slip of a hand and my baby is a vegetable. That is if he’s even using his hand. Do these high-tech surgeons just operate a machine that does it for them?
Pakka has an odd look on his face, one I haven’t seen on him before. “Ella,” he stutters. “Is your opinion of me so low that you think I would lie to you and trick Kila into something against his will?”
Are his feelings actually hurt right now?
“I don’t know what a zombie is,” he says, frown deepening. “But I suppose that it is derogatory. Is that your true opinion of the rest of us?”
“No,” I breathe out immediately. “No, Pakka. I don’t… I don’t know what you’re capable of, I’ll admit that. I know you said to Kila that you’d fix him and he’d thank you for it. But I also want you to know that I realize that in your mind everything you’re doing to antagonize Kila is out of love for him. You think you know what’s right and what’s going to make him happy in the long term. You want to force that on him because you care for him.”
“So… you do realize I am right?” He draws his eyebrows together, hopeful.
“No! Just because you care about him and your intentions are good— That doesn’t mean you’re right. You don’t know what’s best for Kila. Only he can decide that. He doesn’t want the suppressor anymore. I can only imagine how happy he’ll be when that chip is out of his head for good,” I say.
“Yes,” he admits sadly.
“Then will you give up this craziness and just let him be free of this? I know he still wants to work on the project. He wants to make it for the other survivors, and for you guys.” I sigh and move in to touch Pakka’s shoulder. When I glance back at the gurney, Kila has turned his head to watch me. Our eyes meet, and he smiles at me.
Pakka shakes his head, but surprises me by saying, “Yes, yes… I believe this has been a doomed effort on my part since the beginning. I hope you realize that I have every respect for you. I admire you. But the death of our people is not the end of our laws, the end of our culture… At least, I had hoped it would not be.”
“When Kila told me the story of why the Kar’Kali began suppressing your natural hormone responses, he really emphasized the fact that it was an adaptation to the Azza invasion. Is that how you see it as well?”
“Certainly,” he agrees.
“Then maybe it’s time to adapt again. Have you ever considered that?”
He becomes pensive and turns to stare across the way to the gurney and the others gathered around Kila. Finally, he closes his eyes and says, “Perhaps, Ella. Perhaps.”
Mori beckons us over to them, and we stall our talk to join them. “He’s ready to go,” Mori tells us. “We’re going to wheel him down.
Kila is grinning, boyish and bright-eyed. It’s adorable, ridiculous combined with the skinny tubes protruding from his forehead via dot-sized orange stickers. “Give me a kiss, my perfect mate. As humans say— for good luck.”
We usually hide our affection from the other Kar’Kali, but I cannot help myself from diving into his lips. His arms twine around me, gently stroking over me. When we break apart, his eyes flicker over my face rapidly, as if memorizing each detail.
“Good luck,” I whisper. “Catch you on the flip side.”
His perplexed smile is the last sight I enjoy before Mori and Kiva wheel him out of the lab. Vala trails them, lifting his phone to his ear before slamming the door behind.
Pakka immediately turns back to me. “Now, our conversation…”
“What else is there to say? We’re in a bit of a stalemate,” I say, making my way back to my computer to check on some emails I need to respond to. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish some things up so everything’s done by the time Kila comes out of there.”
“A deal,” he blurts, following me to my desk. “I do not know what stale mate means but I can guess. And I’d like to propose a deal.”
I grasp one of my pens and start clicking it nervously. I have no idea what kind of a deal he could possibly have in mind, but I’m feeling confident that Kila and I hold all the cards in this equation. Pakka doesn’t want to lose Kila— that much is clear to me. I was so busy hating him for his close-mindedness and his hardheadedness that I forgot that he has emotions buried in there, just like Kila did. He’s in mourning. All of the Kar’Kali are. I know Pakka is burdened by their loss and I get the feeling that he thinks he needs to be the new leader of their whole race. I can’t imagine how hard that must be.
“Tell me what it is. If its within my power, I’d do anything to convince you to put the whole Deviant Exile thing behind us.”
“I do not know if you realize this, but you could very well hold the future of Kar’Kali in your womb—"
Wow, well, not the direction I was imagining this conversation would go… I blink at him, stunned.
“And I would beg you give us the opportunity to fertilize and freeze a number of your eggs with Kila’s seed,” he continues, gravely serious in tone. “We could conduct this each lunar cycle and store them for the event that the surviving Kar’Kali can begin a new colony. To think that we could begin anew with ten to twelve healthy young warriors in just a year’s time—”
“Hold the fuck up,” I say. My voice is like steel. I’ve never felt so angry.
Pakka watches my expression curiously. I can tell he doesn’t understand the meaning of my phrase. Furthermore, I can tell he doesn’t realize just how insane his suggestion is. He’s surprised though, surprised that I would forgo the polite, friendly tone with which I usually handle disagreements.
“You really think for one second that I would give you my eggs? My eggs? My… my… hypothetical precious fucking baby? Or should I say babies since you’re planning on extracting every possible offspring?”
“I see now that I have… not said the right thing,” he says slowly. “This is an insult to human women? Do you not rejoice over each retrieved egg? Was it not you that suggested we explore human female eggs as a resource for our prior study?”
“The only thing you’ll be retrieving,” I grit out, fingers tightening on my pen, “Is your head from your own ass, Pakka! No, I would never allow my offspring to be frozen until they’re useful and ready to be trained from birth for battle!”
He’s shaking his head at me. “Ah, this is because you don’t wish to have your children become warriors. Have you said this to Kila? Because warrior-hood is very important to all Kar’Kali.”
“You don’t get it. You don’t get what I’m trying to tell you about Kila and you don’t get what I’m saying about my eggs—babies— whatever!” I chuck my pen across the room and stand up angrily, palms down
on the desktop. I take a deep breath and whip towards him. “Kila deserves to choose his own life path. And I’d like you to let him do that without all the guilt. He doesn’t deserve that guilt and you know it. As for my children? My children? You better fucking believe that they’ll have every choice in the world and be allowed to do whatever they want. They might be Kar’Kali, but they’ll be humans too. And human women don’t stand for it when their kids are jerked around like puppets… Like sacrificial lambs… Like fucking numbers on the battlefield!”
“Ella,” he starts. “I—”
“I’ve had enough. I need some fresh air,” I say, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair.
“I see. I should have better calculated how this discussion would go,” he says.
“You might not want to think about your own feelings. And that’s your prerogative. But as long as you’re on this planet, you better start considering the feelings of others,” I sniff, trying to force the tears away until the moment when I’m alone.
I don’t wait to hear a response, hustling for the door before he can say something even more infuriating. The walls and floors blur. My vision becomes foggy with tears as I begin to run towards the stairwell. I shrug on my jacket as I go, thankful that I haven’t encountered any other workers. I pass the spot where Kila pinned me against the wall and kissed me so many times. I practically trip myself sprinting up the stairs. My chest is tightening. I begin to sob as I slam open the roof access door.
A gust of cold autumn air slaps my cheeks.
I am in love with him. Why couldn’t I admit it to myself and say it to him when he was saying it to me? Why didn’t I say it before they wheeled him away? I knew it the moment I imagined that something horrible could really happen to him when he goes under the knife. I knew it the moment I imagined our child, some hypothetical little concoction of the two of us— and what I would feel if it was taken away. The joy of my realization swirls with my tears and my anger. It bubbles out of me in a manic, blubbery laugh.